Guest Elderblogger: Mick Brady

[EDITOR'S NOTE: While I am away for a few days, five fantastic elders agreed to guest blog here at Time Goes By. Mick Brady blogs at Dancing in Tongues and at The Blog Brothers with his – well, brother, of course. His story here, which he titles, A Portrait of the Artist as a Free Man, is one all of us can happily heed. Please welcome Mick with plenty of kudos and comments.]

Not to paint too bleak a picture, so to speak, but the reality is that it takes a great deal of talent, perseverance, business savvy, a bit of luck and a willingness to toil in relative obscurity for long periods of time with little or no reward, in order to become a "successful" artist, American style.

Even then, assuming you meet all the requirements, the odds are slim that you'll become a star. In fact, they're roughly about the same as any kid shooting hoops in The Bronx, who's dreaming of becoming a starter in the NBA. But then, there are hoop dreams, and there are art dreams, and no shortage of dreamers to dream them.

The problem for many of these dreamers, both young and old, is that fame and fortune seems to be the sole measure of success. When it doesn't turn out that way, bitterness and disillusionment often set in and many find it hard to make the adjustment. The choice then becomes one of either throwing more time and energy into what looks like a losing proposition, or cutting one's losses and moving on to new horizons.

It's a tough place to be. Imagine you had chosen a medical career and after years of training and hardship you discover that they're only hiring a dozen doctors. Instead of doing brain surgery, you wind up flipping hamburgers.

As an artist myself, I have many friends who've had to make that decision. Some have started over and found new careers. Some, a fortunate few, found safety in academia where there is ample time to create. And some of the more determined are waiting on tables or mowing lawns to this day, still waiting to be discovered.

Some feel they've been cheated and look back bitterly on their lives as having been wasted on an empty quest. A select few have actually made it in New York, but even they are not all that happy, either.

My own art career has gone through almost all of the above except the part about making it in New York. I did attempt it as a young man, though, back in the 60s, but after a few tumultuous years, returned home to become a designer and illustrator. I had a family to support and bohemia just wasn't going to cut it.

This then led to a career as a college professor and the chance to return to fine art. Following a number of successful shows, I began experimenting with the computer and after accepting an early retirement and moving to Santa Barbara, I began showing my new digital paintings.

Attempt Number Three is still a work still in progress and I've been trying to remain optimistic. I recently fired my agent in New York.

A few weeks ago, however, my wife, who teaches at the Santa Barbara City College, forwarded an email to me which she had received from the director of the school art gallery. It was an announcement of an exhibit that was to open that week, entitled The Brothers Pedersen: Modern Masters. I had never heard of them, but then I had not spent much time exploring the art scene here in California. I think I'm still a bit of an art snob, being from New York.

Lately it seems, perhaps as a result of my own growing disappointment, I have tended to avoid art openings whenever possible, but something in the text caught my eye: “Aage and Jens Pedersen have a combined total of nearly 140 years of making art”, and this was to be “their first two-person show together.”

Even more intriguing were the accompanying photos: there they were, side by side, the two brothers - warm, open faces, bright eyes filled with merriment and most incredibly, they were smiling! Openly. Joyously. In a New York minute, my cool postmodernist bubble had burst. I had to meet these guys.

No sooner had we arrived at the gallery that evening, when Jens caught my eye and walked over with an extended hand and a broad smile to greet us. "Hello. How do you do? Glad you could come. My name is Jens." Now, this was something I had never experienced before, either in New York or in L.A - the artist reaching out to greet his audience.

He then introduced us to his brother and the four of us spent the next half hour or so, with a few interruptions, chattering on excitedly about their work, their lives, and their history. Most fun I've had in an art gallery in a long, long time.

Originally from Denmark, Jens, 89, and his brother Aage, 86, had been making art since they were children. Their uncle, a professor at the Royal Academy of Art in Copenhagen, had seen to it that their house was filled with paintings and music, and all of this seemed to mesmerize the two young boys. Paintings won out over music, and they would later wind up studying at that same Academy themselves.

They probably would have gone on to experience certain success in their own country were it not for the German occupation of Denmark, which forced them and their fellow countrymen to endure five long years of fear, hardship and suffering. Not long after the war ended, they sailed for America.

Although well aware that New York at that time was on its way to becoming the center of gravity for artists, they wisely decided to move on to California, where relatives from their native country had already settled. They soon learned that shockwaves had already arrived from the east, created by painters like Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning and Franz Kline, and they soon joined in the excitement, taking up the banner of modernist abstraction in their own work. They have never looked back.

Along the way, they both worked at other jobs to sustain themselves and their families, often painting on a part-time basis. Aage had become a watchmaker, Jens worked at a variety of trades, but they never lost sight of the art at the center of it all. As Jens put it, "I've worked many jobs in life, but now I'm back to where I've always belonged, painting full time." The dream never died.

Toward the end of our conversation, I asked Jens, who is approaching 90, if it had become more difficult to work as he got older. He looked at me with bemused puzzlement.

“More difficult? Yes, in this sense: It becomes more difficult each day to stay and finish my breakfast before rushing into my studio to work. I have more ideas than ever, they become more exciting each day, and my wife insists that I finish my breakfast before I start working. So, yes, it becomes more difficult." His wife, standing next to us, confirmed this, with a loving smile.

He then added, "If you're not doing this for the pure joy of doing it, then there is no reason to do it. You should find something else to do." I then understood the smiles, the twinkle in the eyes, the warm welcome. They were not interested in the fame or the fortune, they didn't need the recognition. They were true creators. They had never lost the excitement that they had felt as children when squishing paint between their fingers and smearing it all over that big sheet of paper. They were painting for the sheer joy of it, and by the looks of things, they may go on doing it for another 140 years.

Let's see, I'll be 65 in June. By my new way of reckoning, I have at least 25 more years of pure exultation ahead of me. Maybe even more, if I can just keep everything in perspective.

From the Artists' Catalog:

”Theirs is not cool, theory-driven painting but a passionate, lyric exploration. Historically, they seem more influenced by Wassily Kandinsky's spiritual-based attitude than Marcel Duchamp and his conceptual followers. The Pedersen brothers, known as artists' artists, are widely admired and respected in the Santa Barbara art community. They are true masters of their craft and are inspirations to all who come to know them and their work.”