Fern: Joe retired from teaching twenty-two years ago! For more than one fourth of his life, my husband has been . . . retired! Not working. Not drawing a salary. How on earth could that be?
Twenty-two years ago, Joe and I had gone to a financial advisor, someone used to counseling college professors. I called our financial advisor Mr. Happy Pants.
We showed him our financial portfolio, such as it was. The kids were launched, all had graduated from college. The house was paid off.
Mr. Happy Pants said that Joe – even though he would not collect social security for another five years -- could actually retire. We would be just fine. Not rich. But solvent.
“Well, that certainly gives us something to talk about,” I said that night.
”There’s nothing to talk about,” Joe said. “I’m out.”
We’re both writers. So I presumed that Joe would . . . write. And he did. But he also started to paint.
Who knew? In all our married life, I had only seen Joe draw cartoons to include in the kids’ lunch.
So far, Joe has completed more than seventy paintings. He sold some, donated some for charity, gave some to family and friends. Everyone who goes down to our basement – where the studio is – seems awed.
Joe’s love – beside our family, poker, The Sopranos and a good bourbon – is painting. He is an artist with a true artist’s heart. Here I’m pleased to share some of his work.
(Payday, 1934 – 16” x 20” acrylic on canvas.)
This one I roughly modeled after a period photograph from the Depression. I loved the crowded humanity that the photo evoked. Also the hats.
(Pigeons– 24” x 30” acrylic on canvas.)
The NRA on the doors stands for the National Recovery Administration founded in 1933 to help establish fair business practices. Popular with workers, the NRA blue eagle logo was displayed by many business owners even though they often didn’t follow its guidelines. Here the crowd of job seekers are echoed by the gathering pigeons. When the NRA was scrapped in 1935, its blue eagle was mocked by political cartoonists as a “dead pigeon.”
(Ferriday, Louisiana, 1964 22” x 28” acrylic on canvas.)
I discovered this image as a black-and-white photograph in the New York Times, taken shortly before a horrific event. The original photograph showed a group of Black men standing in front of a shoe repair shop. The shop was set on fire. This was one of the unsolved civil rights murders in the 1960’s, now attributed to the Ku Klux Klan.
I cropped the photo, using only a boy at the very edge of the scene and made his bicycle bright red, a symbol of defiance and resilience.
(902 ½ Monroe - 24” x 36” acrylic on canvas.)
My father’s grocery was on Monroe Street in Toledo, Ohio. On one side was a barber shop, on another the Monroe Bar, where seedy patrons loitered on the sidewalk.
(Willard V. Dempsey: Toledo, 1919Diptych: 20x16 + 20x16 - acrylic on canvas.)
My father was one of the young men in this picture. So was my Uncle Fred, a shoe-shine boy working the crowd. That week he shined Jack Dempsey’s shoes.
The underworld liked Toledo and was well represented on this hot 4th of July day: Waxey Gordon, Owney Madden, Arnold Rothstein. Al Capone can be seen in the loud suit and sunglasses, schtupping the referee.
(Refugetriptych: 3 panels of 12x16 each, Acrylic on canvas)
As an immigrant and the son of an “illegal alien,” I feel connected—emotionally and politically—to the plight of people the world over seeking refuge for themselves and their children.
(GRACE: IOWA PICNIC, 1936 24x36 acrylic on canvas)
This picture of Iowans saying grace before eating is based on vintage photographs. Having become an Iowan now myself, I couldn’t resist placing some of my mother’s Syrian spinach pies (Sfeehas) on the picnic table.
(Fresh Eggs 10x17 Acrylic on canvas board)
Our neighbor, Daphne, had some eggs for sale. Her daughter raises chickens. Our other neighbor, Becky, remarked at how beautiful the eggs were. She thought they’d make a nice painting. I told her I’d give it a try.
(Waiting Area 36x36 acrylic on canvas.)
My latest. I never know for sure what’s going to turn up in a painting—a straw hat, spats, Al Capone with his arms crossed, an older woman pondering something that makes her almost smile.
Wow, what talent —and I love the humanity in Joe’s work!
Love Joe's paintings ... what a hidden gift!