Collector Gina Puzzuoli finds inspiration in the stories behind the artwork hanging in herwestvirginia home
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By John O’hern
When Gina Puzzuoli was growing up in Cleveland, her mother was crippled and her father, a student at Western Reserve University, would take her to the Cleveland Museum of Art on weekends because it was free. Curious, even at that early age, she was fascinated by the labels for the works of art. Many of them noted that the works were gifts to the museum. She wondered, “why, if you owned that would you give it away?” Her father replied, “if they hadn’t, we wouldn’t have got to see it!”
Although she valued old things, her family was poor. “art was valued,” she comments, “but we didn’t have anything. My father always stressed to me that you need to make a difference in life… that life is a gift and you’d better not waste it.”
Today, Gina is a psychiatrist at the Charleston, west Virginia, outpatient clinic of the Hershel “Woody” williams VA Hospital in Huntington and owns Stray Dog Antiques in Charleston— chock-a-block full of other people’s treasurers awaiting their new homes.
Next door she lives among her own treasures—her husband Gary Needham, their dogs and cats, and an important collection of art by women artists.
Over the years, inspired by the labels at the Cleveland Museum, she has given away many pieces—to friends, to the Cleveland Museum and to museums in Westvirginia, the Huntington Museum of Art and the Art Museum of West Virginia University, her alma mater. In medical school in the early ’70s the five women students weren’t particularly welcomed. “we worked hard to succeed,”
she comments, “and I got to be a little bit of a feminist.” When she was able to afford to buy art for herself
“the first few happened to be women,” she explains. “i thought, ‘wait, this makes sense!’
“The first piece was by Nell Blaine. I had read about her and learned she had gone to Mykonos to study the color. while there, she contracted polio. Her artist friends raised money to bring her home where she was in an iron lung for year. She was paralyzed but learned to paint with her left hand. My brother was injured in a car accident in the ’80s and was paraplegic. Dealing with my brother, Blaine’s story hit home in a poignant way. I read that her work was at Fischbach Gallery in Newyork. I got myself gussied up and flew from west virginia to Newyork.
I got off the elevator and as I walked into the gallery I began to lose my nerve. Larry Dicarlo greeted me. When I told him I was interested in Nell Blaine’s paintings, he offered me coffee and said he would bring out some of her paintings. He showed me all this work
but there was one of a spring bouquet with an eggplant that I loved and it was in my price range! Larry said he would send it to me and if I wanted to keep it, I could send him a check.
“I went back to Newyork for an opening at Fischbach and Larry sent me over to the Robert Schoelkopf Gallery to see the work of Louisa Matthíasdóttir. The Schoelkopfs sent me the painting I wanted and I sent them a check. Later,
I bought a Louise Nevelson… and
I knew I was on a path.”
She would often go to Cambridge, Massachusetts, for weekend courses to maintain her accreditation. She would stay in Boston at the Copley Plaza which was near the famed Newbury Street and its galleries. She began reading about late 19th- and early 20th-century Boston and New England women artists whose work she found at
Childs Gallery.
“I’ve also bought a few really, really good pieces through Katherine Degn at Kraushaar Galleries in Newyork,” she comments. For Gina, the story is important—the story of the artist first and then the story of the work itself. “The story is why I’m a psychiatrist,” she says. Gary interjects, “it’s the story in the painting and the story of the person. I could listen to Gina’s stories
about the artists all day long.”
“Edith Dimock was married to William Glackens,” Gina relates. “after Glackens died, she was so distraught she destroyed the body of her work she still had. Katherine Degn had found a little watercolor and she mentioned she knew of three other watercolors. Dimock’s story filled my soul. I was on a mission and bought the paintings—one at a time. “When I began collecting,” she continues, “people started giving me books on women artists. Linda Nochlin had written an essay ‘Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?’ and I bought her books. I had to fall in love with the artists before I would consider their art. a lot of these women, not unlike myself, were not necessarily valued for their work in the beginning. Their work is about their talent and their energy. I’m fortunate to live with their energy in my home.”