A painter. Abstract Expressionist. Although if you ask his daughter, she'll say he was "derivative" like it's a dirty word. Perhaps that's why there are hundred left in the rafters of the desert house, and many on our walls. Still, when people come over, they are wowed, especially by the Diebenkorn-esque painting. I guess that proves her point.
He was gone by the time I came around. Probably good in the end, because he was not exactly accepting. Although, I like to think I have a certain charming ability to warm up grumpy old men. If history is any proof, I've got a 60/40 success rate. He grew up in the South but left for the West after getting kicked out of Westpoint. Talking back in military school is probably not the world's soundest behavior.
I don't know much about when he started painting, or what his folks thought about his talents. Talented he was. I love the work I've seen. And prolific. He left New Mexico for Nevada to paint and teach alongside his wife, an English Professor on the tenure track. She got a job, he followed and they worked at the university together.
He had all the usual conditions you'd expect from a mid-century artist- and got the treatments that went along with the times, to greater and lesser degrees of success. His "issues" showed up in funny ways at home where he insisted on a neutral color pallet and lined the magazines up on the coffee table in perfect order. My partner, his daughter, was never allowed to draw in coloring books because he felt they stifled creativity.
And so, it was only last night that she finished the homemade costumes for our kids. Every year we go through the stress of figuring out what to make and how to make it. Neither of us is particularly crafty and both of us procrastinate. I used to ask more pointedly why we couldn't just buy them off the shelf, but after so many years, I know the answer and besides, as much as it stresses us both out, the end result is always worth it. Not perfect, not particularly well done - but full of character and homemade realness.
My daughter, who is 6, is a bat this year. Her wings made from the split halves of a black umbrella with the ribbing still in. My son, Binary Bard, a character from a popular online game. He looks like a purple and yellow jester with a robotic red eye. They are adorable, she is spent but satisfied, and I'm doing this instead of facing the mess my house became in the process.
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