What Might Have Been: A Memorial Day Reflection on the Artists We Lost Before They Were Known

I’m writing in the attic this evening surrounded by old family items and a partially finished piece I was working on featuring Winston Churchill. Fortunate really, a long weekend, inspired to make art, and enjoying a reflective moment. 

I almost decided not to post a blog entry this weekend. But something tugged at me this evening. I was thinking about the artists who never made it home.

For many, Memorial Day is the start of summer break, a time for cookouts, heading out to the lake and spending the afternoon on a boat, or a three-day weekend. But Memorial Day truly isn’t a day for loud celebration. It’s a day for silence, for reflection—for remembering those who died wearing the uniform of the United States Armed Forces.

We honor their service. Their sacrifice.

But there’s another layer, quieter still, that often goes unspoken:

What might they have become, had they lived?

Among the thousands of lives lost in war—across fields, oceans, deserts, and jungles—were men and women who carried more than weapons.

Some carried dreams, quiet ambitions, and creative sparks never given the chance to become fire. What books were never written, what paintings might there be if they had been able to cover the canvas, what songs might have inspired us to laugh, cry, or fall in love?

The Artist Who Never Signed His Name

One such story belongs to Frederick Waugh Jr. He was the son of Frederick Judd Waugh, one of America’s great seascape painters.

His father’s legacy still hangs in museums and private collections, capturing the power and poetry of the sea with brush and oil.

Frederick Jr. was born into that world—a home filled with canvas, color, and craftsmanship.

We don’t know how seriously he pursued art himself. He may have painted. He may not have. But we do know he died in uniform during World War II, serving in the U.S. Navy.

He died young. And the world never saw what he might have created. That, in itself, is a tragedy worth remembering.

The Countless Unknowns

Waugh Jr. is just one name. But he stands for thousands. How many young men and women died in war with a novel unwritten, a song unplayed, a painting unfinished in their minds?

How many were artists—not yet in title, but in spirit—lost before they ever had the chance to express the very things war took away?

We’ll never know their names. But we can still honor the potential that died with them.

Why We Remember

Memorial Day is not about glorifying war. It’s about acknowledging the undeniable cost of it—not just in names on registries or the stones in cemeteries, but in unfinished lives.

So today, when we remember the fallen, we remember all of them—not just as soldiers, but as sons, daughters, dreamers, and creators. People with talents the world will never fully know.

This Memorial Day, honor the silence not just with a flag or a moment of quiet—but with a thought for those who died before they could become who they were meant to be.

Let us remember what they might have created.

Let us remember what might have been.

Let us not forget the sacrifices they made in uniform so we could live in peace on this three-day weekend.

Why This Matters

This matters because they gave everything—and they cannot be here today.

For that reason alone, we are lucky.

And we must honor their sacrifice the best way we can: by continuing to create.

Their voices were silenced. Ours are not.

So if you’re hesitating to make your art, remember this:

Any one of those fallen souls would have given anything to come home and live the life you still have the chance to live.

Don’t waste the opportunity they gave us.

Let us remember what they might have created.

USS Iowa teak. My grandfather’s bourbon decanter, a bust of John Wayne. An unfinished Churchill. I sat with this view while writing this piece. This isn’t just about history—it’s about memory, legacy, and the art that never got made. © Michael Warth