Jacqueline (Jackie) Baer died on Nov. 25, 2023, at the age of 90. Jackie was an artist who worked in many mediums and the matriarch of an extraordinary Vineyard family of artists and teachers. During the last years of her life, Jackie created dozens of sculptures by applying a tapestry of beads onto mannequins. At her memorial in April, Jackie’s daughter, Gretchen Baer, told the following story about her mother. Gretchen has given MV A&I permission to reprint her eulogy.
“I think I’ll name it ‘The Night Bird Calls,’” my mother announced as I wandered into her beading studio. I’m intrigued. She rarely, if ever, titles her work.
“Have you heard it? The night bird?” she asks.
Her focus is on finding the perfect placement of the final beads of her creation. It’s a different shape than her usual beaded mannequins; it’s a huge, pod-shaped vase, about four feet tall.
“The night bird calls right outside my window around this time of night. I can hear him right now. Can’t you?” She points toward the open window. The red August sky is glowing through the trees. “I don’t hear it, Mom, but I love the name! I’ll go outside and give a listen.”
I step out the back door and walk down our wooded driveway. I’m curious, I want to hear the night bird, but I hear nothing unusual.
I return to her studio with a broom and the news that I can’t hear her bird. I sweep up the beads that she continuously drops while she works. I sweep a couple times a day to lessen the amount that sticks to her bare feet.
Her studio is like being inside a jewel box. There are bags of beads from floor to ceiling. Beads flow from every surface. It’s organized chaos. Bedazzled mannequins lounge around in magnificent attire.
My mother has always excelled at every artform she choses — ceramics, photography, drawing, painting, jewelry making, and lots more. But her opus is her beaded mannequins. She started around five years ago when my dad got sick. Between the ages of 85 and 90 years old, she created more than 75 hand-beaded mannequins and large beaded creations.
“The Night Bird Calls” was one of the last three pieces she made last summer, the final summer of her life. And oh, what a fabulous summer it was! We made art, we went to the Dumptique constantly, we went to the beach and sat with our feet in the ocean. But September came and I had to go back to Arizona. I promised her that I would come home in November to turn the house into a Christmas village, with all the Christmas things she’s collected over the years. I came back a couple weeks early when I got the call she wasn’t doing well. With the help of my brother Justin, we built my mom a Christmas village. For three days we lived in Christmasland, then we had a real Thanksgiving, then we returned for a final night in our village. We all watched the Lawrence Welk Christmas Special, then she said “I’m ready now,” and she went to bed, never to awaken.
The night she died, our house suddenly felt so lonely and empty — so I did what I’ve been taught by my parents to do, to make art. I went out to the Cleopatra lounge and painted. I wanted to find my mother, to know where she went. I discovered her here in the creative flame. A tiny fire that we hold in our hands, that is passed on from my mother and my father, to me, to you, and to everyone they inspired with art. It lives on through us, with the hope that it will bring light and joy to future generations.
The night my mother died, I painted deep into the night. And in the wee hours, something said to me — go outside now — there is something there for you. I went out into the cold, still, moonlit night and I heard it.
It was in the tree right next to her studio window, just like she said. It was the night bird, and it was singing the most beautiful song.