Plainfield Garden Club








Member: Hibshman, Mrs. Henry J. (Anna Burnett) '85

1325 Watchung Avenue, Plainfield NJ

Medford, NJ

December 22, 2012

Anna Burnett Hibshman, 96, formerly from Plainfield, New Jersey, but at the time of her death lived at Medford Leas Retirnement Community in Medford, New Jersey, near Philadelphia, passed away on Tuesday evening December, 18, 2012. Mrs. Hibshman grew up in Indiana. She received a degree in Nursing and in related sciences from the hospital school of nursing affiliated with Purdue University. It was there that she met her husband, Henry, and they spent their married life in Plainfield, except for three years in North Africa, where Dr. Hibshman taught Petroleum Engineering in Libya and Algeria. Both were active in community endeavors, particularly in the Friends of the Library, The Muhlenberg Hospital, The Mayor's Beautification Committee, and in many organizations of the Crescent Avenue Presbyterian Church. Mrs. Hibshman taught elementary science at the Hartridge School in Plainfield and for a short time she also taught in the Muhlenberg Hospital School of Nursing.

She served in the Medford Leas Resident's Board and was active until her death in many volunteer projects at the Leas. Mrs. Hibshman's husband, Henry, preceded her in death.

They are the parents of five children: Jane Broestler, Niceville, Florida; John Hibshman (deceased); David Hibshman, Logan, Utah; Martha Collins, Willets, California; and Peter Hibshman, Dover, Delaware. She also leaves eleven grandchildren. Her parents, Walter and Ida Burnett and her sisters Geneva and Majel preceded her in death.

A memorial service will be held on December 28, 2012 at 2 p.m. in the Gathering Room at Medford Leas, Medford, New Jersey.

In lieu of flowers, donations will be accepted to the Medford Leas Residence Assistance Program, One Medford Leas Way, Medford, NJ 08055.

Published in the Journal & Courier from December 22 to December 23, 2012

1985 Membership List

1986 Directory

1986 - 1987 Membership Roster

1987 Directory

1987 Membership List

1988 Membership List

1989 Membership List

May 1990 Program for the GCA Zone IV Meeting hosted by Plainfield GC

1990 Membership List

1991 Membership List

1991 Annual Report

1992 - 1993 Membership List

1992 postcard (front)

1992 postcard (back)

1993 Membership List

1994 Membership List

1995 Membership List

1996 Letter of Resignation

1996 Corresponding Secretary Report

January 9, 2013 Executive Board Meeting Minutes

Correspondence
A condolence note was sent in memory of past member Anna Hibshman.

January 15, 2013 Barnes Museum

Anne Shepherd remembers Anna very well and said she was a very interesting person. Her son, she recalled, was "curator at Barnes Museum" in Philadelphia. Anne highly recommends going to see the works of art at Barnes, even though they are no longer hung in the owner's original house.

His Passion Is Color Artist Nicholas King Has Made The Rooms In His Home Resemble Impressionist Paintings. Now, He's Using The Same Talent To Revive The Barnes Foundation Gardens.
March 10, 1995|By Susan Caba, INQUIRER STAFF WRITER

Nicholas King's life is color. It is how he takes in a landscape, seeing the marriage between yellow and violet. It is how he views a painting, looking for orange that balances blue. It is how he orders his life, searching for the mysterious roses and dusky mauves that lurk in shadows.

This immersion in color is not at first apparent, even in King's cluttered office at the Barnes Foundation in Lower Merion, where he is both archivist and art teacher. At first glance, he seems an Academy of the Arts-type fellow, muted and immune to the lure of the riotous impressionists.

His eyes are blue, pale like the glinting shadows in a deep, new snow. He has full bow-shaped lips that purse when he pauses to choose his words, and sandy brown hair, cut short.

His clothes are prep-school unremarkable, except that a Barnes identification card hangs on an orange grosgrain ribbon that peeks like a vest

from under the lapels of his navy blue jacket. Readying himself for a walk across the Barnes arboretum to the stone cottage nearby that he shares with a friend, King throws a red muffler with narrow white stripes around his neck.

"Most people are afraid of color," he says, pausing in the little courtyard outside the former carriage house.

Then he opens the door. Color, as though pent-up and longing for company, bursts through the opening and into the light.

The walls are pink and tangerine and aquamarine, one hue mixing unself- consciously with another, flooding and saturating the senses.

"I want people to think they are walking into a painting every time they enter a room," King says.

The effect is exactly that - of a Matisse painting in which colors are intensified, perspectives flattened or exaggerated, details emphasized for dramatic effect. Improbable combinations of pattern stand out against bold swaths of color.

The kitchen table is made of blue and white ceramic tiles, bordered in bright orange. A string of red Chinese lanterns drapes across a window. Even the wine glasses on their racks are multi-hued, with ruby bowls and golden stems. Behind the table, a pink neon bird glimmers on a shelf.

Here and there, flowers are casually arranged. A delicate sprig of jasmine, studded with pale pink buds and starry white flowers, arches over a fragment of stone in a shallow tray of water on the table. The musky-sweet smell of the flowers mixes with the crisp, smoky odors of embers glowing in a wood stove.

Pepito, a whippet, jumps up excitedly from his basket.

This house says more about King's inner life in five minutes than could be gleaned in a year of conversations. Exuberant, chaotic and yet somehow orderly, it is a backdrop that gives deeper meaning to everything he says about color, art, light and emotion.

King paints, and his own paintings are vivid explorations of the landscape, the paint layered alla prima - directly from the tube - in quick, short strokes onto a bare canvas.

"As you see, I love layering everything," he says. "I don't use brown, black or gray ever in the palette - I'm more interested in color."


King's house is exhilarating, dizzying, explosive - in a way, impressionism intensified and escaped from the canvas. The shock it produces must be similar to the stunned reaction of the public when Albert C. Barnes first exhibited his art collection in Philadelphia in 1923.

King came to the Barnes 50 years after that, hired by Violette deMazia - Barnes' chief acolyte - long after Barnes and his wife, Laura, were dead. The Barnes has defined his life ever since.

At the foundation, King pursued his two passions - gardening and painting - in a setting not only rich in treasures, but inaccessible to almost anyone else. He lived in the Barnes mansion for 15 years, in a guest room that was once Laura Barnes' upstairs sitting room.

At night he would often wander in the galleries, studying the paintings by moonlight.

"To be with that collection every day - to have the freedom to move paintings to a different light to study them, or to make new arrangements with them to study them in a different relationship - it was incredible. It can't be equaled anywhere in the world," he says.

"The price I paid was to be on call 24 hours a day," he adds, acknowledging that deMazia was a demanding boss.

Every Saturday, she summoned King to a four-hour private lecture on the art collection - training for his eventual role as a teacher of the art appreciation classes still taught at the Barnes Foundation.

On Sundays, he studied on his own in the library. And when deMazia suggested that he needed to get over his shyness, he taught art seminars through Main Line School Night, a community education organization.

It was a cloistered life, but King used the time to absorb all the lessons of the impressionists and post-impressionists. He left the Barnes in 1988, after a falling-out with deMazia shortly before her death.

"It was like being cast out of paradise," he says. He returned to the Barnes as a teacher, but not a resident, in 1992.

Now, even a brief walk with King through the current exhibit of Barnes paintings on loan to the Philadelphia Museum of Art is a short course in art history.

He stops at a Renoir landscape, which is surrounded by a cluster of admirers. He likes it, too, but notes casually: "There's a lot of mistakes in that painting."

The offhandedness of his critique is breathtaking, and a few people glance his way. This is Renoir. What mistakes?

King points to a particular patch of blue paint near the foreground. It isn't tethered to the adjacent area with the proper feathered brush strokes. He gestures to an oval area of leafy detail. The brushwork is out of character with that in the rest of the painting.


He lingers at Cezanne's painting of Mont Ste. Victoire. Gentle planes of dark and light undulate at the base of the painting, swelling - at first gently and then urgently - into the painted distance, culminating in the towering mountain peak, touched by light.

"So many people come back from France and tell me, 'I saw Mont Ste. Victoire, and it's just like Cezanne painted it,' " he says.

He pauses, then exclaims: "It is not!"

"What the artist sees with his eyes is only a point of departure for a work of art," he says.

Even though deMazia hired him to care for the art, King says the Barnes gardens "really refocused my life."

"The problems of the gardener are really the same as the problems of an artist working on canvas," he says. "The gardener uses the same concepts as a painter - color, light, line and space."

But, if the Barnes Foundation was paradise, the gardens were the forbidden fruit.

Barnes wanted the surrounding property to be an extension of his art collection. He collaborated closely with his wife so that the vistas seen through the doors and windows of the galleries would complement the paintings inside.

In spring, the gardens bloomed with the pale, delicate palette of Renoir. As summer deepened, so did the color scheme, until it vibrated in the fall with all the vivacious hues of Matisse's Joy of Life.

Until 1941, art students studied in the gardens as well as the galleries.

But when her husband brought deMazia to the Foundation - ostensibly as a teacher, in reality a very close companion - Laura Barnes retaliated. She banned art students from the gardens. The feud between the two women lasted beyond Laura Barnes' death in 1966.

King got strict orders from deMazia when he was hired: No fraternizing with the gardeners - not even a greeting. He could paint the gardens from his room, but - he recalls - if he wanted to get his hands in the dirt, he had to wait until evening when deMazia had gone home.

Meantime, the old-time gardeners were dying. And deMazia was letting her rival's gardens wither away.

"When the formal gardens were torn out in the '80s - I never got over that blow. They were 60-year-old established gardens," King says. "You can't recreate that - the iris gardens, the cutting gardens . . . Many of the original compositions created by Dr. and Mrs. Barnes were destroyed."

Three times a formal lilac garden of 256 shrubs - planted to suggest, when blooming, the ornate pattern of an Oriental rug when viewed from the second floor of the house - was threatened. Each time, King saved the lilacs by promising to trim and maintain them himself.

"Imagine if we got rid of all 256 plants?" he asks, still horrified at the idea. The thankful garden staff dubbed him "curator of lilacs."

By the time deMazia died, the original gardens were largely gone. And when King returned to the Barnes in 1992, the focus was on repairing the galleries and ensuring the safety of the paintings.

But with the future of the Barnes seemingly ensured by the success of the art collection's world tour, some attention is now turning toward reconstruction of the gardens. Barnes Foundation Board President Richard Glanton said two years ago that he wanted the gardens revived.

Since then, head gardener Peter Sandusky Hibshman - with the help of King and other staff members - has begun replanting the formal gardens. The foundation's cutting garden has been reinstated, using Laura Barnes' original plans. One thousand rose bushes have been ordered. And the lilacs are thriving.

"The garden was my love - it wasn't a hobby, it was my love," says King. ''Really, it was like my wife.

"The gardens were, at their peak, one of the most beautiful works of art here, equal to any in the gallery. I never dreamed that we would live to see a restoration of any of the gardens."

A LECTURE BY THE ARTIST

* "The Garden Legacy of Dr. and Mrs. Barnes," a lecture by Nicholas King, is scheduled for 7 tonight at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Tickets are $5.

January 15, 2013 Barnes Museum

Anne Shepherd remembers Anna very well and said she was a very interesting person. Her son, she recalled, was "curator at Barnes Museum" in Philadelphia. Anne highly recommends going to see the works of art at Barnes, even though they are no longer hung in the owner's original house.

www.barnesfoundation.org

His Passion Is Color Artist Nicholas King Has Made The Rooms In His Home Resemble Impressionist Paintings. Now, He's Using The Same Talent To Revive The Barnes Foundation Gardens.
March 10, 1995|By Susan Caba, INQUIRER STAFF WRITER

Nicholas King's life is color. It is how he takes in a landscape, seeing the marriage between yellow and violet. It is how he views a painting, looking for orange that balances blue. It is how he orders his life, searching for the mysterious roses and dusky mauves that lurk in shadows.

This immersion in color is not at first apparent, even in King's cluttered office at the Barnes Foundation in Lower Merion, where he is both archivist and art teacher. At first glance, he seems an Academy of the Arts-type fellow, muted and immune to the lure of the riotous impressionists.

His eyes are blue, pale like the glinting shadows in a deep, new snow. He has full bow-shaped lips that purse when he pauses to choose his words, and sandy brown hair, cut short.

His clothes are prep-school unremarkable, except that a Barnes identification card hangs on an orange grosgrain ribbon that peeks like a vest

from under the lapels of his navy blue jacket. Readying himself for a walk across the Barnes arboretum to the stone cottage nearby that he shares with a friend, King throws a red muffler with narrow white stripes around his neck.

"Most people are afraid of color," he says, pausing in the little courtyard outside the former carriage house.

Then he opens the door. Color, as though pent-up and longing for company, bursts through the opening and into the light.

The walls are pink and tangerine and aquamarine, one hue mixing unself- consciously with another, flooding and saturating the senses.

"I want people to think they are walking into a painting every time they enter a room," King says.

The effect is exactly that - of a Matisse painting in which colors are intensified, perspectives flattened or exaggerated, details emphasized for dramatic effect. Improbable combinations of pattern stand out against bold swaths of color.

The kitchen table is made of blue and white ceramic tiles, bordered in bright orange. A string of red Chinese lanterns drapes across a window. Even the wine glasses on their racks are multi-hued, with ruby bowls and golden stems. Behind the table, a pink neon bird glimmers on a shelf.

Here and there, flowers are casually arranged. A delicate sprig of jasmine, studded with pale pink buds and starry white flowers, arches over a fragment of stone in a shallow tray of water on the table. The musky-sweet smell of the flowers mixes with the crisp, smoky odors of embers glowing in a wood stove.

Pepito, a whippet, jumps up excitedly from his basket.

This house says more about King's inner life in five minutes than could be gleaned in a year of conversations. Exuberant, chaotic and yet somehow orderly, it is a backdrop that gives deeper meaning to everything he says about color, art, light and emotion.

King paints, and his own paintings are vivid explorations of the landscape, the paint layered alla prima - directly from the tube - in quick, short strokes onto a bare canvas.

"As you see, I love layering everything," he says. "I don't use brown, black or gray ever in the palette - I'm more interested in color."


King's house is exhilarating, dizzying, explosive - in a way, impressionism intensified and escaped from the canvas. The shock it produces must be similar to the stunned reaction of the public when Albert C. Barnes first exhibited his art collection in Philadelphia in 1923.

King came to the Barnes 50 years after that, hired by Violette deMazia - Barnes' chief acolyte - long after Barnes and his wife, Laura, were dead. The Barnes has defined his life ever since.

At the foundation, King pursued his two passions - gardening and painting - in a setting not only rich in treasures, but inaccessible to almost anyone else. He lived in the Barnes mansion for 15 years, in a guest room that was once Laura Barnes' upstairs sitting room.

At night he would often wander in the galleries, studying the paintings by moonlight.

"To be with that collection every day - to have the freedom to move paintings to a different light to study them, or to make new arrangements with them to study them in a different relationship - it was incredible. It can't be equaled anywhere in the world," he says.

"The price I paid was to be on call 24 hours a day," he adds, acknowledging that deMazia was a demanding boss.

Every Saturday, she summoned King to a four-hour private lecture on the art collection - training for his eventual role as a teacher of the art appreciation classes still taught at the Barnes Foundation.

On Sundays, he studied on his own in the library. And when deMazia suggested that he needed to get over his shyness, he taught art seminars through Main Line School Night, a community education organization.

It was a cloistered life, but King used the time to absorb all the lessons of the impressionists and post-impressionists. He left the Barnes in 1988, after a falling-out with deMazia shortly before her death.

"It was like being cast out of paradise," he says. He returned to the Barnes as a teacher, but not a resident, in 1992.

Now, even a brief walk with King through the current exhibit of Barnes paintings on loan to the Philadelphia Museum of Art is a short course in art history.

He stops at a Renoir landscape, which is surrounded by a cluster of admirers. He likes it, too, but notes casually: "There's a lot of mistakes in that painting."

The offhandedness of his critique is breathtaking, and a few people glance his way. This is Renoir. What mistakes?

King points to a particular patch of blue paint near the foreground. It isn't tethered to the adjacent area with the proper feathered brush strokes. He gestures to an oval area of leafy detail. The brushwork is out of character with that in the rest of the painting.


He lingers at Cezanne's painting of Mont Ste. Victoire. Gentle planes of dark and light undulate at the base of the painting, swelling - at first gently and then urgently - into the painted distance, culminating in the towering mountain peak, touched by light.

"So many people come back from France and tell me, 'I saw Mont Ste. Victoire, and it's just like Cezanne painted it,' " he says.

He pauses, then exclaims: "It is not!"

"What the artist sees with his eyes is only a point of departure for a work of art," he says.

Even though deMazia hired him to care for the art, King says the Barnes gardens "really refocused my life."

"The problems of the gardener are really the same as the problems of an artist working on canvas," he says. "The gardener uses the same concepts as a painter - color, light, line and space."

But, if the Barnes Foundation was paradise, the gardens were the forbidden fruit.

Barnes wanted the surrounding property to be an extension of his art collection. He collaborated closely with his wife so that the vistas seen through the doors and windows of the galleries would complement the paintings inside.

In spring, the gardens bloomed with the pale, delicate palette of Renoir. As summer deepened, so did the color scheme, until it vibrated in the fall with all the vivacious hues of Matisse's Joy of Life.

Until 1941, art students studied in the gardens as well as the galleries.

But when her husband brought deMazia to the Foundation - ostensibly as a teacher, in reality a very close companion - Laura Barnes retaliated. She banned art students from the gardens. The feud between the two women lasted beyond Laura Barnes' death in 1966.

King got strict orders from deMazia when he was hired: No fraternizing with the gardeners - not even a greeting. He could paint the gardens from his room, but - he recalls - if he wanted to get his hands in the dirt, he had to wait until evening when deMazia had gone home.

Meantime, the old-time gardeners were dying. And deMazia was letting her rival's gardens wither away.

"When the formal gardens were torn out in the '80s - I never got over that blow. They were 60-year-old established gardens," King says. "You can't recreate that - the iris gardens, the cutting gardens . . . Many of the original compositions created by Dr. and Mrs. Barnes were destroyed."

Three times a formal lilac garden of 256 shrubs - planted to suggest, when blooming, the ornate pattern of an Oriental rug when viewed from the second floor of the house - was threatened. Each time, King saved the lilacs by promising to trim and maintain them himself.

"Imagine if we got rid of all 256 plants?" he asks, still horrified at the idea. The thankful garden staff dubbed him "curator of lilacs."

By the time deMazia died, the original gardens were largely gone. And when King returned to the Barnes in 1992, the focus was on repairing the galleries and ensuring the safety of the paintings.

But with the future of the Barnes seemingly ensured by the success of the art collection's world tour, some attention is now turning toward reconstruction of the gardens. Barnes Foundation Board President Richard Glanton said two years ago that he wanted the gardens revived.

Since then, head gardener Peter Sandusky Hibshman - with the help of King and other staff members - has begun replanting the formal gardens. The foundation's cutting garden has been reinstated, using Laura Barnes' original plans. One thousand rose bushes have been ordered. And the lilacs are thriving.

"The garden was my love - it wasn't a hobby, it was my love," says King. ''Really, it was like my wife.

"The gardens were, at their peak, one of the most beautiful works of art here, equal to any in the gallery. I never dreamed that we would live to see a restoration of any of the gardens."

A LECTURE BY THE ARTIST

* "The Garden Legacy of Dr. and Mrs. Barnes," a lecture by Nicholas King, is scheduled for 7 tonight at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Tickets are $5.

September 1991 Historical Society of Plainfield

Plainfield Historical Society Memorabilia From the Archives of Barbara Tracy Sandford

This is a sampling of materials saved by Barbara Sandford in her "Plainfield Historical Society" file.

Plainfield Historical Society Memorabilia

Index (73 pages)

1985-1986 Year Book of the Plainfield Garden Club

1985-1986 Year Book of the Plainfield Garden Club

1993-1994 Year Book of the Plainfield Garden Club

1989-1990 Year Book of the Plainfield Garden Club

1988-1989 Year Book of the Plainfield Garden Club

1990-1991 Year Book for the Plainfield Garden Club

1995-1996 Annual Report

Monday Afternoon Club Membership

Detwiller bluprints 4 Crabapple Lane

August 8, 2015

Library offers trove of vintage Plainfield home blueprints for sale

Plainfield homeowners and history buffs are getting a one-of-a-kind opportunity as the Plainfield Public Library prepares to offer upwards of 3,000 blueprint originals from its Detwiller Collection for sale to the public.

The blueprints offered for sale are part of a trove of many thousands recovered from a dumpster at City Hall by the late Plainfield architect and artist Charles Detwiller.

While many of Plainfield's grand homes and mansion are among the blueprints (though fewer than originally, owing to some 'fingering' before strict controls were put in place), the appeal of the collection will be stronger for those who live in or admire the more modest vintage homes from the turn of the 20th century to the World War II era.

These homes include many classic Tudors and other 'cottage' and 'revival' styles, as well as 'foursquares', ranches and Cape Cods and more contemporary stules.

These represent the bulk of Plainfield's building stock from its most expansive period and they were often enough improved or expanded – giving rise to the need for plans showing the original building and the proposed alterations to be filed with the City's inspections department.

It is those blueprints, which have now been cataloged and digitized, that are being offered for sale. In library parlance, they have been de-accessioned, meaning that they no longer need be kept permanently by the Library and are available for dispostion to private parties.

The Library has a portal to the Charles Detwiller Blueprint Collection on its website (see here) and has made a complete list of the blueprints for sale also available online (see here).

The list is alphabetized by street name, and then number. However, I would advise reading the Library's instructions closely so you make the proper notations for your request (see here) – easing the staff's task in finding the item(s) in which you are interested. Paying attention to the suggested time frames needed and numbers of items per request will help you avoid headaches. So, please read and follow the instructions carefully – as carpenters like to say, 'measure twice, cut once'.

The sale will run from September 1 to November 13, 2015 in a two-step process –

You check the offerings to find items that interest you, making careful notations; and

You and the Library work out a pick-up appointment, at which you will be able to view the actual items and make a final decision on your purchase.

Single-page blueprints are priced at $50 each and multiple-page sets at $100. Cash or credit cards are fine, but the Library will not accept personal checks.

Proceeds of the sale will be used to finance the further digitization of the blueprint collection – meaning that we can look forward to another offering of materials at some future point.

The Detwiller Collection is absolutely unique in its size and scope, covering decades of Plainfield history and thousands of buildings throughout the city. Plainfield residents owe Charlie Detwiller a debt of gratitude for his perspicacity that cannot be repaid.

And we owe a debt of gratitude to Library Director Joe Da Rold for the vision that saw in these rescued documents an invaluable resource for the community, and devised means and methods of ensuring these fragile records would be available to Plainfield residents permanently through having them digitized.

EDITOR'S NOTE:
Mr. Detwiller is the late husband of PGC Honorary member Cath Detwiller. Mr. Detwiller's Aunt Laura was a long-time member of the PGC and a very talented botanical artist. Read about the Detwiller family here:

Detwiller, Mrs. Charles H. (Catherine or "Cath" Campbell), Jr. '57

Detwiller, Miss Laura Cecelia '29

And Mr. Detwiller's in-laws:

Campbell, Mrs. William Hall (Mabel C. Raper) '28

Davis, Mrs. F. Edgar (Dorothy or "Dottie" Campbell) '60