To see and closely examine the actual spirit portraits of the Bang Sisters, for me, was a form of enlightenment. Although almost a century old, the portraits are as fresh looking as the dew glistening in the sun on the rose petals in my yard this morning. The wooden frames that hold the portraits have aged but the paintings have not. Some of the pictures, especially that of William Mervin and the young girl, Pat Murphy, look as though they are about to speak; another, that of a young woman, seemed to change her very expression and the direction she was looking when I was there. The portraits seem more like windows, the spirit looking through from the outside.
The beautiful portrait of Pat Murphy, with her long golden curls, represents the earlier period of the spirit portraits; brush strokes, or whatever they are, can be seen on the canvas. There is no glass on this portrait and I was given permission to touch it with my finger. It looks as though someone simply stood in front of the canvas and painted the figure with paint and brushes�an invisible artist and his subject.
The rest of the paintings I examined were all of the later periods, representing the actual precipitation phenomena by the Bangs. These magnificent pieces of spirit art were precipitated in full light right in front of the sitters' eyes and, in most cases, under test conditions. They are so different, wondrous and unlike anything I have ever seen that it is hard to actually put it into words. The colouring and fleshy tones of the faces, where one texture ends and one begins, not a brush stroke is to be seen; the entire portrait looks as though, like a cloud of smoke, or dust, simply drifted into the room and situated itself, or landed itself, bit by bit, on to the canvas. Although the figures appear life-like, and almost moving, there is, without question, a transcendent countenance on their faces which gives the impression that the observer is indeed in the presence of something not of this world.
The blues, reds, whites, golds and fleshtones, are nothing like the hues with which we are familiar. The �fine dust of the butterfly's wings is a perfect description of the other worldly material on the canvas. Is it not one of the most wonderful things that we could ever have the opportunity to see and understand, that spirits, in their mysterious and glorious ways use the pigment and scent of flowers, sounds and musical notes, vibrations on every level, minerals of every kind, textures, hues - on and on it goes with their non-stop relationship with Nature, even perhaps, the dusty wings of the silent harbinger of peace itself' the butterfly' how utterly wonderful.

Although I am trying to describe the indescribable, what I can say of them is absolutely unlike any of the others; no two are alike. The facial colours are different, even with the two Indians� faces, one being more of a copper colour and one being olive coloured and lighter. Hair, clothes, background, everything is different on each portrait. The portrait of Leolyn Pettingill is a bust and face portrait only, she is shrouded in a mist with a white rose in her hair, the light golden colour of which is impossible to describe. The Indian, Smart Weed, is an almost full length portrait, more than five feet high; she appears to be standing in a grove in front of marble steps; a heavenly mist slightly shrouds the background of trees and wild roses which are everywhere. The figure is so life-like that she looks as though she is about to actually step out of the frame. Her gorgeous jet black hair is pulled forward in two ponytails, braided in the middle of each and almost waist length. She has a gold band around her head and bracelets on each wrist of the same; there are numerous strands of pearls around her neck and in her left hand she holds a bunch of light pink roses.
The unnamed portrait is the young woman who seemed to change her expression and the direction in which she was looking. Her eyes, that of an indescribable realm of stunning blue only add to the penetrating gaze of hers which seems to look right through you. Her bright golden hair is pulled up into a bun on top and there appears to be one gold earring on her right ear; the dress of pure white she wears is bowed at the shoulders and a thin necklace of gold graces her bare neck. In ways that can hardly be described, I felt that his young woman was watching me; following me with her gaze the entire time I was there. The feeling I had was one of irritation on her part for she was the only one without a name and as this was, on my part, a mission of love and honour for the spirits, I have named her Emily, in honour of Emily French, the Direct Voice medium.
The younger Indian, Blossom wears a yellow canvas-like gown of some kind with the collar pulled high up to the neck; the skin is more of a fleshy colour, and pink strands of beads or pearls fall about her; her eyes, set deep within her face are piercing brown. William Mervin, mentioned earlier, wears a dark black suit and vest; a pin of some kind is situated on the top section of his tie; he sports a handlebar style moustache. This portrait, to me is the most life-like I have ever seen. The young girl, Pat Murphy, wears a nightgown and adds to the absolutely heavenly countenance of this angel; her brownish-golden hair, in waves and ringlets flowing down; once again, the eyes, the ever present eyes of these magnificent works of art looking through you from the other life in which they dwell.

The portrait of Leolyn Pettingill was precipitated, under test conditions in the lounge of the hotel (the hotel was named after her, Leolyn), and the rest were precipitated in the home of the Bangs Sisters on Library Street in Lily Dale. I had the opportunity to examine their house and as you can well imagine, to say it was a thrill is putting it lightly my friends.


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