It started with a bit of Beatles memorabilia:

“My strongest recollection,” said Richard Marks, “was ages ago walking into Easton’s premier framing shop, Lu-Ev Gallery, mostly known for framing Waterfowl Art with lithographs signed by John Lennon. The prints were from one of the 300 sets made as a wedding gift to Yoko. Lu-Ev framed five from the set beautifully”.

And, up until a few years ago, despite other framing choices, Lu-Ev was where you went to have things framed—artists preparing for Waterfowl, museum shows from across the Shore, or neighbors carrying in photos from graduations, anniversaries, and fishing trips. The faces behind the counter never changed much, and neither did the feeling. “To me, it was an anchor downtown,” Marks said. “And you knew the work there would be done professionally”.

The anchor began in 1946, when Lucille and Everett Henry opened Lu Ev Gift Mart, a tidy white storefront near the bank on Dover Street. “Framing wasn’t even part of the equation,” said Wayne Johnson, who would take over the business decades later. “They sold engraved invitations and greeting cards.” Everett, always tinkering, added framing a few years later, working out of a small shop near Hill’s Drug Store and carrying finished frames back across town for pickup.

It was a different Easton then—small, local, and stitched together by family businesses whose names everyone knew. After the war, Lu Ev was one of them.

By 1973, the Johnson family took over. They were not experienced framers. In fact, they ran a bus company. “My great-grandfather started our transit company in 1921,” Johnson said. “We had 500 buses on the street in the district area.” When the Washington Metro absorbed the private lines in the early ’70s, the family looked for a new start. “Dad came up to Easton, walked into Lu Ev, met Everett Henry,” Johnson said. “Dad expressed interest, and Everett told him he wanted to retire.”

They bought the shop. “We knew nothing about it,” Johnson said. But his father loved finish carpentry, his brother Bobby could fix anything, and Wayne handled customers. They kept the invitations for a while, sending the engraving work out, but framing soon became the heart of the business.

“We bought molding by the length—twelve-foot sticks stacked along the wall—and cut every frame ourselves,” Johnson said. “With forty or fifty styles in stock, we could move fast. If the size was right, a customer could drop off a picture and we’d have it ready in a day.”

When suppliers began offering pre-cut molding—”chops,” as they were called—the business changed again. “There’s almost no waste in a chop,” Johnson said. “With length molding, there’s a lot of waste because there are imperfections.” The shop’s sample wall grew, and so did its reputation. Within a decade, Lu Ev needed more room.

“In less than ten years, we moved across the street,” Johnson said. “We went from about 1,500 square feet to 7,000.” The new space brought better tools—pneumatic nailers and pinners that turned 24-hour jobs into two-hour ones, a vacuum press, and the capacity to handle major projects for the Waterfowl Festival and the Academy Art Museum, as well as custom work for collectors and homeowners throughout the Shore.

“When we moved across the street, we became a legitimate art gallery,” Johnson said. “We had room to expand.”

Marks remembered that era. “When I moved here in 1976, most art was either a duck print or a decoy,” he said. “Waterfowl weekend was probably a month’s business in one weekend.”

Lu Ev became part of Easton’s rhythm. “We were approached once to close our store during Waterfowl weekend,” Johnson said. “I told them, we’re here 365 days a year—and you’re here for one.” He smiled. “This is Easton. We stay open.”

The people made the place. “We had Joanne—she worked 27 years,” Johnson said. “Another lady was Chris Barr, she worked 25.” Marks agreed. “Joanne was wonderful and helpful and knowledgeable,” he said. “She always gave great advice on mattes and frames and called to let me know when the work was finished.”

For 50 years, the sound of saws and the smell of fresh mat board never stopped. Then life changed. “In 2017, my youngest brother died,” Johnson said. “In 2022, my other brother died. We went from three down to one. Age catches up.”

By 2023, it was time. “I wanted something to happen to the business before something happened to me,” he said. “I did not want to sell it piece by piece.”

That’s when Marks stepped in.

He hadn’t planned to run a ‘shop.’ “The original intent of getting the equipment was knowing we needed another frame shop,” he said. “I can acquire the equipment and figure out the rest later.” Then local artists started calling. “They asked, could you carry art supplies?” Marks said. “A lot of them have special brands they like—quality they prefer that’s not always available. Some of it can be found online, but not all of it. People wanted more than just the big box stores; they asked for the local touch.”

That changed everything. If they were going to carry art supplies, they needed a visible storefront. When the former Trade Winds boutique closed, the space became available. “Alice Ryan and her family, who owned Trade Whims, were wonderful in helping with the transition,” Marks said. “Even some of the furnishings they left behind were useful.”

He also had help from the man who came before him. “We didn’t just buy the equipment from Lu-Ev,” Marks said. “Wayne came with the equipment—helping us get things set up, showing us how to operate it. He made the transition smooth.”

The new shop will open as Who Framed You, a name suggested by artist Shelton Hawkins. “My niece’s husband, a graphic designer in Asheville, did the logo,” Marks said. “I told him an owl would be cool, and I sent a picture of Amy wearing these funky glasses. The result fits perfectly.”

Marks’s team includes familiar faces. “Artist Cheryl Southwick is amazing—she framed for years at the Academy Art Museum,” he said. Also joining are Taylor Wheatley and Kearson Harnon, both former Michaels managers who know the ropes. “We could not be more fortunate to have assembled such an incredible team.”

The shop is now open, with a ribbon-cutting ceremony planned for October 20. “Even though we do not have a complete art supply inventory yet, we want to be ready for Waterfowl and the holidays,” Marks said. “Our focus will be on custom framing, curated art supplies, and quick turnaround. We hope folks recognize that small business is part of the fabric of the community and are banking on the loyalty small towns still have for small stores, but know we still need to be competitive.”

If there’s a thread running from 1946 to today, it’s continuity—of craft, of people, of care. Johnson put it: “We were very fortunate to have good people. That’s what kept it going.” Marks agreed. “Good things come together when good people work together,” he said.

The framing lights are on again, though not in the old Lu Ev building. Who Framed You has opened around the corner at 11 North Harrison Street. New space, but with the same tools, the same craft, and the same care that framed Easton’s history for nearly fifty years. Inside, the scent of fresh matte board returns. Hands accustomed to the craft are at work. The name on the door is new, but the soul of the business endures.

Val Cavalheri is a writer and photographer. She has written for various publications, including The Washington Post.  Previously, she served as the editor of several magazines, including Bliss and Virginia Woman. Although her camera is never far from her reach, Val retired her photography studio when she moved from Northern Virginia to the Eastern Shore a few years ago.. She and her husband, Wayne Gaiteri, have two children and one grandchild.

If you spent any time in Easton over the last few decades, you probably spotted her. A green Vespa parked outside Out of the Fire restaurant, or moving steadily along the sidewalk, its rider upright, hair catching the wind. That was Rima Parkhurst. Even well into her 90s, she had places to be and people to see. When she died on June 18, 2025, at the age of 97, the town didn’t just lose a familiar figure. It lost someone who showed what it meant to live exactly the way you wanted.

Rima didn’t come to Easton on a straight path. By the time she settled here, she’d already had more than a few careers. She was born in Cleveland, Ohio, on January 2, 1928, in a time when girls were supposed to be polite, patient, and quiet. But that was never her style. She worked in Washington, D.C., as assistant director of the American Civil Liberties Union, ran the Democratic National Committee’s Democratic Advisory Council, and became the first director of government affairs at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.

Rima later took on another first — Amtrak’s vice president of passenger services, the first woman to hold the job. She co-founded Parkhurst-Spence Consultants, a political consulting firm. She worked alongside former Senator Birch Bayh at his law firm before making Easton her home.

Once here, she didn’t waste time finding her place. She joined the boards of the Academy Art Museum, Chesapeake Chamber Music Society, and the Talbot Arts Council. She also became a Court Appointed Special Advocate for children in Talbot County — work she called the most difficult and the most meaningful she’d ever done.

One of the people who saw her in both public and private moments was Amy Haines, owner of Out of the Fire. First, a lunch regular, Rima became a friend who wasn’t shy about her opinions. When Haines announced she was moving the restaurant to a new location, Rima, then 94, wasn’t happy. “She would lament about the move and how much she would miss her favorite table,” Haines said. “I said, ‘Rima, you’ll be fine. It’s the same food, same people, same environment. Basically shut the flock up.’ And guess what? It was fine.”

That was Rima’s way — dig in her heels, then adjust. “She always worked through things with a great amount of aplomb, adaptability, and resilience,” Haines said.

She carried that same determination into her transportation choices. In her late 80s, she rode a Vespa without a helmet. She was often told a crash could kill her. Rima’s answer? “If I die driving my Vespa, that will be a very happy death,” she told friends. At 95, after a serious car accident ended her driving days, her children bought her a three-wheeler with a spot on the back for her cane. Haines still remembers seeing her ride through town, grinning from ear to ear.

Haines’ husband Richard Marks also got to know Rima through their shared involvement in the arts. In 2017, when the Dock Street Foundation brought the Ruth Starr Rose exhibit to Easton, she was the one who organized and trained the docents. “In no time, she knew more about Ruth Starr Rose than any of us,” Marks said. “She had a tremendous thirst for knowledge — she could never learn enough about enough things.”

Their work together turned into a friendship. For her 90th birthday, Marks and Haines took Rima to New York to see Hamilton. They stayed at the Algonquin Hotel, a place she appreciated for its history of writers and actors. “That was special,” Marks said. “One of many great memories.”

That’s what made Rima so special — her ability to turn a working relationship into something lasting. Rima’s friendships often began like that, with a shared project that led to phone calls, visits, and years of staying in each other’s lives. That was the case for Busy Graham, whose connection to Rima started in the early 1990s, when she was running the Institute of Musical Traditions and learned that the Maryland State Arts Council’s site visitor for their first grant application would be Rima Parkhurst. Graham thought the name sounded familiar “Come to find out that Rima was among my Mom’s very best friends on the Shore–AND the mother of musician-singer-songwriter Brooke Parkhurst whose concerts and recordings I had long admired. A very small world indeed!”

What started as a professional encounter quickly turned into a friendship. Graham said she came to admire Rima’s determination to live on her own terms. “She was a force of nature,” she said. “She definitely knew how she wanted to live her life.” That meant refusing a helmet on her scooter, being less than enthusiastic about moving to a retirement community, or waking up after her car accident annoyed that it wasn’t her time. “She thought that might have been it,” Graham added. “But then she came around, got used to it, and made the most of those last years.”

Gerry Early, who led the Talbot County Arts Council for more than two decades, knew her as both a colleague and a friend. “She was a wonderful, active, positive, creative, friendly, enthusiastic, and enormously popular board member,” he said. Her time there left a mark on arts programming in Talbot County’s schools and organizations. Even after they no longer worked together, they continued to meet regularly to talk about the arts and politics.

That was Rima, someone who couldn’t stay still. After stepping down from a position she had held, she wrote to friends letting them know she was looking for something new to do — and, in typical Rima fashion, gave them a detailed breakdown of what she could offer. “I bring the sum of all my experiences,” she wrote, reminding them that the sum included editing professional journals, directing congressional liaison at the Kennedy Center, serving as Vice President of Passenger Services at Amtrak, and leading local boards from CASA to Chesapeake Chamber Music. Her “ideal job,” she explained, was one where she worked three days a week with interesting people, had fun, and made a difference in the community — something she managed to do in almost everything she touched.

Ask anyone who knew her and you’ll hear the same words: resilient, curious, bold, independent. She liked a good debate. If you made your case, she might change her mind. If you didn’t, she might tell you you were “full of s***.” She read constantly, surrounded herself with younger friends, and kept up with technology, texting, emailing, and researching.

When she decided she had had enough, she handled it the same way she’d handled most things in her life — directly. Haines remembers Rima’s text to her husband, saying she was voluntarily entering hospice. “She told him, ‘I am tired and I don’t want to do this.’”

Still, when Haines went to Talbot Hospice to see her, the moment landed hard. Rima was asleep. Haines kissed her on the forehead, held her hand, and said goodbye. “My stoic rationalism broke down at that moment,” she said. “I wept for the loss of her physical presence and how I would miss her sassiness in my life.”

That sassiness was only part of how others saw her: to Amy Haines, she was also “a marvelous and cantankerous matriarch.” Busy Graham called her “a force of nature.” In Gerry Early’s account, she was an advocate whose work would outlast her. To Richard Marks, she was a woman with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, always eager to learn and teach in equal measure.

Put all of that together, and you can still see her — head high, moving through town, entirely in motion.

A memorial service will be held at the Academy Art Museum on Thursday, August 21, from 5–7 p.m., with friends, family, and neighbors gathering to share their own Rima stories.

It started in 1986 in a tight-knit fiber cohort at Cranbrook Academy of Art. That’s where Anne Lindberg and Piper Shepard first met—two young artists drawn to textile, space, and the possibilities of working with their hands. Nearly forty years later, they’re showing side-by-side at the Academy Art Museum (AAM) in Easton. Their solo exhibitions, seen and unseen by Lindberg and Fields, Voids, and Translations: Works on Paper and Textiles by Shepard, occupy separate spaces but feel in conversation—with each other, with the building, and with those stopping by to look.

“When I came to the museum last fall,” said Lindberg, “I was encouraged to make the project in a fairly narrow, two-story space at the north end of the museum. And so it became quickly apparent to me that if I built something in that space, you would see part of it on the first floor, and you would need to go to the second floor to see the rest of it. So quite literally, it’s seen and unseen.”

“seen” 2025 graphite, Flashe, acrylic and colored pencil on mat board 60 x 70 inches by Anne Lindberg

Her installation consists of thousands of fine chromatic threads stretched from wall to wall, forming a diaphanous field of color. From a distance, it looks like light or film. “Lots of questions come about,” she said. “Is this light? Is this paint? What is it? And eventually, you do discover what it is and what it might mean to you.”

The same rhythm lives in Lindberg’s graphite drawings. “There are thousands of lines tightly stacked together,” she said. “My arm is moving from one side of the board to the other. So it’s almost as if each of those lines is a breath. They often take me more than one breath, but they’re an expression. And then I lift the pencil, return to the start point again, and carry on with another one.” She describes it as rhythmic, paced, and slow. “We’re also aware when we breathe—of a big breath or a short breath. So the metaphor of the breath makes a lot of sense to me.”

Like Shepard, Lindberg is interested in how a viewer first encounters the work with their body. “The drawings and thread installations greet you through your gut first, your physiology. And then maybe later you start asking analytical questions—what am I looking at?”

That physical, sensory entry point is something both artists lean into, even if their methods differ.  For Shepard, it begins with familiar material. “There’s something so accessible about textile,” Shepard said. “We all know it so well—we wear it every day. So that ubiquity, that accessibility, allows me to connect with the audience.”

Shepherd’s panels—some as tall as a doorway—are hand-cut with surgical precision. “It’s a subtractive process,” she said. “Yet at the same time, I’m making a work that becomes present through what’s taken away.” Cutouts become lace, and lace becomes architecture. “I’m working with the kind of in-between space of light and shadow, of presence and absence, of the haptic and the optic.”

Once the form is complete, she adds a layer of graphite. “I start with drawing in order to create the imagery or the pattern that I’m making,” she said. “Then, by layering it with graphite, it’s the suspended drawing in space you’re experiencing.”

“Thicket”, 2023, 13’ x 10’, handout muslin, gesso, graphite, aluminum armature by Piper Shepard

Although both artists were trained in fiber, they have since moved beyond their traditions. “We’re making work with textile materials or in textile ways,” said Lindberg, “but not in traditional ways.” She sees this exhibit as part of a larger shift: “The place of textiles in contemporary art has changed, certainly in the time that we’ve made work. We’ve watched that change, and that’s been rewarding and exciting.”

Their shared history makes the exhibit feel like more than just a pairing. “We’ve been in conversation since graduate school,” Shepard said. “Even if we weren’t in the same place, we’ve always been talking. There’s just a long-standing dialogue between our work.”

Besides the dialogue, they’ve also collaborated formally in the past—at the Kansas City Art Institute, where they both taught in the ’90s, and later on exhibitions that combined Shepard’s textile printing with Lindberg’s printmaking. One early piece involved a sculptural base and three large textiles. “The middle one we worked on together,” said Lindberg. “Piper made one, I made one, and the third we made together.” In another collaboration, they used cameras to photograph landscapes, then each transformed the imagery into large-scale environmental work—Shepard through silk screen printing and Lindberg through carved wood.

Even now, they still approach space the same way. “How do we want people to experience the work?” Shepard said. “How do they move through it? How does the architecture shape their experience?” That kind of thinking, she added, “has been a part of our conversation since 1986.”

It’s also a part of their lineage. Their mentor at Cranbrook, Gerhardt Knodel, urged them to think about textiles on a larger scale. “He understood that textiles can have an impact at scale,” Lindberg said. “They don’t have to be intimate. They can be architectural.” She referenced historical examples like the “wild man tapestries” that stretched across castle walls. “He showed us those and said, ‘You can work this way.’”

That respect for size and for the women in the field who shaped it continues to ground both artists. “We had really strong women role models,” said Shepard. “Olga de Amaral, Magdalena Abakanowicz, Joyce Scott, Anni Albers—people who believed in textile as a serious form. I’m forever grateful.”

For Shepard, Anni Albers remains a constant touchstone. “She was the first textile artist to have a solo show at MoMA,” she said. “She wrote an essay in 1957—The Pliable Plane—and it’s still one of the most important texts for anyone thinking about textile and architecture,” Lindberg added that even the campus of Cranbrook was steeped in that legacy. “It was designed by Eliel Saarinen,” she said. “And his wife, Loja, was a weaver. Her work is everywhere—on the walls, under the windows, in the chapel. We were encouraged to sit under it, touch it, and be around it. It was part of our education.”

Their exhibitions in Easton may be solo shows, but the friendship is threaded through both. “We don’t see each other as often these days,” said Lindberg, who lives in the Hudson Valley. Shepard is based in Baltimore. But their work remains in conversation—on the walls, in the air, and across the space between.

————

Lindberg: seen and unseen runs through Fall 2026
Shepard: Fields, Voids, and Translations runs through October 12, 2025
Academy Art Museum

Both exhibitions are located at the Academy Art Museum, 106 South Street, Easton, Maryland. For more information, visit academyartmuseum.org.

Part history, part relaxation, part entertainment, part exhilaration—but 100% fun. That’s how guests describe their time aboard the Selina II, a lovingly preserved 1926 Crosby catboat docked in St. Michaels. And for Captain Iris Robertson, who’s spent 25 years at the helm, it’s all of that and more.

“I grew up on Selina,” Captain Iris said. “She was built in 1926. I wasn’t built until 1958, but I spent my childhood on the boat. It was my destiny.”

That destiny has seen her take thousands of guests out on the water, sharing the boat’s story, the Bay’s ecology, and the joy of a good sail. From champagne sunset cruises to history-rich day sails, Captain Iris has made it her mission to turn each outing into something special.

The boat itself is worth the trip — gaff-rigged, 44 feet from stem to stern with the boom out, and 16 feet wide. “Cat-rigged,” Captain Iris explains, “means the mast is all the way forward. Boats like this were traditionally half as wide as they were long. That makes them really stable.” Which, it turns out, was the whole point.

Her grandparents’ first boat, a narrow powerboat, had given the family a real scare when it rolled so badly during a trip that water came over the sides. “My grandmother was holding a baby,” she said. “That was it. She said, ‘Get rid of the boat.’”

Soon after, they were invited sailing on a friend’s catboat. The wide, steady feel won her grandmother over. Robertson’s grandfather commissioned a similar boat, named it after his mother – Selina — and when he built a second one, he honored her again.

“My grandfather was her first master, then my parents, and then me,” she says. “I promised my dad I’d take care of her for 25 years. This season is the 25th.”

Robertson first took over the boat in 2001 and spent a year restoring her. After an abbreviated first season in Cambridge, she moved operations to Tilghman Island, and by 2004 had found a slip in St. Michaels. “I’d been trying to get into St. Michaels from the beginning,” she says. “It just made sense.”

And clearly, it worked. In peak season, Selina II goes out as many as five times a day—day sails, sunset cruises, moonlight rides. Robertson estimates she’s taken more than 11,000 trips over the years and around 60,000 guests. “You can do the math,” she said. “It’s a lot.”

One recent guest called the experience “1% terror, 99% flavor,”. “I didn’t actually feel terrified,” she added, “but it was exciting in the best way.”

Another couple, Brittany and Brian Flynn, said they loved the boat’s deep family history. “She told us about the town, the Bay, the boat, her family — it was like a floating museum and lounge all in one,” Brittany said. Added Brian, “We learned so much. She’s just incredibly knowledgeable. And the boat is beautiful.

The guests Robertson sailed with that day—who got to learn local history, sip craft beer, and watch an interview unfold — declared it “the best ride ever.” When told that, Captain Iris smiled. “That’s what I aim for,” she said. “Making each trip the best ever.”

To make sure that happens, she aims to make each trip is a little different. “I always ask, ‘What are you interested in?’ Some people want to know about the Bay, others want the story of the boat, or the town, or conservation. We go with the flow.”

She’s seen the Bay change over the years. “When I first started here, the watermen came in with 25 bushels. Now it’s three,” she says. “The water quality may be a tad better than the worst years, but it’s still a long way from healthy. I used to see more fish jumping, more birds. It’s not just what you read—it’s what you see when you’re out here every day.”

Still, Captain Iris keeps it hopeful. “If I can get someone to ask, ‘What can I do to help?’– then I’ve done my job.”

That balance of beauty and meaning is part of what’s made Selina II an icon. “She’s part of my family,” she said, “but she’s become part of St. Michaels too.” The boat has appeared in countless paintings, on magazine covers, and even in state tourism campaigns. “People tell me I can’t leave,” she said. 

In her comment was a touch of nostalgia because the end of this season will mark a turning point. The boat will return to Greenport, New York — the town where she was built — just in time for her 100th birthday. And she’ll stay in the family.

“My niece Salina — yes, with an ‘a’ — is taking her over,” Robertson says. “She lives in Greenport, which is kind of amazing. It’s come full circle.”

Whether her niece and nephew will run it as a charter is still being worked out. “She said she doesn’t want to run a boat business. He said maybe they can find someone who does but can’t afford a boat. It’s a lot of work. This boat is like a horse — you’ve got to feed it every day.”

Robertson has made sure they feel no pressure. “I’ve had three offers to buy the boat and business,” she says. “I told them, ‘You don’t have to take her. But if you do, I’ll love the story.’”

Just recently, on April 24, a ribbon cutting ceremony was held at the Harbour Inn Marina in St. Michaels to welcome Sail Selina II into the Chesapeake Gateways Network for its final season. The event included remarks from National Park Service Chesapeake Gateways Superintendent Wendy O’Sullivan.

As for her own next chapter, the Captain has  a few ideas. “I haven’t been to a festival, or a concert, or even an event in 25 years,” she says. “I’m looking forward to gardening, traveling, spending time with my husband. I might still captain someone else’s boat from time to time — just to keep my hand in.”

And the guests will keep coming through this final season, many of them drawn by word of mouth or the chance to be part of something with history and heart.

“Being on the water with the wind in the sail, osprey overhead, and guests who are really present– that’s the sweet spot,” she says. “That’s when you know it was all worth it.”