When I came to Stanford as a freshman in 1963, I fell in love with the landscape, which was so different from that of my home in Missouri. The Foothills were a golden brown that September, and after the winter rain, December through February, I marveled to see them turn a vibrant green.
My cousin’s grandmother lived in Woodside, and, starting in 1964, when I gained a Corvair convertible, I loved nothing more than driving down Sand Hill Road to visit her. In those days, that area was gloriously undeveloped. As graduation approached, I found myself wishing to capture this beautiful scene, but alas, I am not an artist. My cousin knew a talented painter who was then a freshman at Stanford. His name was Alexander Carl Bratenahl [’69].
I wrote to my father, seeking counsel on whether I should splurge on commissioning a painting. “I met this painter who’s a friend of cousin Amy,” I wrote. “He just sold his last painting for $2,800, but he said he could whip off a California landscape for me for $35 to $40. I’ve seen three or four of his paintings, and they are really lovely. If you’ve ever seen any by Andrew Wyeth, they’re much like that, and I’m very tempted.”
On my bedroom wall nearly 60 years later hangs Bratenahl’s lovely painting of Sand Hill Road.
I was worried about being profligate with what was, after all, my father’s money. He had already paid so much for tuition, books, and living expenses.
“Judging from your recent letter, maybe I’d better hang on to my coin, such as it is,” I wrote. “The only thing is, when else would I ever get a chance to have a painting done for me personally, and of a scene I myself picked out?”
In going through family correspondence—where I recently came across my 1966 letter—I did not find evidence of a yes or no from Dad. But on my bedroom wall nearly 60 years later hangs Bratenahl’s lovely painting of Sand Hill Road.
I lost touch with Bratenahl. Thanks to Google, I now know he stayed in California and lived in Marin County, where he continued to paint. Tragically, he died of AIDS on June 7, 1993. He was only 47.
Anne Sutton Canfield, ’67, lives in Kansas City, Mo. Email her at stanford.magazine@stanford.edu.
