David Lesh

I heard Friday that David Lesh, an innovative illustrator for 30+ years, left us after a brief illness.

I knew Dave only slightly, but my encounters with him were always positive. He was a hero in the communication arts field for his tireless and personally costly battle to save the illustration industry from itself.

I always admired his work, with its simple but strong conceptual foundation and his inventive use of media. My very sincerest condolences go out to his other friends and family.

Here is the David Lesh web site. Enjoy his work as much as he obviously enjoyed making it.

Candis

Candis Wheat, "Untitled", pastel on paper, 18 by 13 inches.

I'm posting this to celebrate my long time and great friend, Candis Wheat. I've always thought this piece, a gift from her years ago, could be a self portrait, although it doesn't objectively look like her.

Candis produced drawings like chickens lay eggs, if those eggs were of the Fabergé variety. She would use cast off bits of paper, check stubs, receipts, shipping tags, torn corners of notebook paper, notepads, whatever was around, and with a pen, pencil, colored pencils, pastels, again whatever was around, create exquisite, beautifully expressive drawings full of humanity and empathy, with a direct connection to the soul. Her observations on the human condition and everyday life were witty and full of truth.

Candis was one of the best friends I have ever had. Outgoing and charmingly self-effacing she was nevertheless sometimes inclined toward what our mutual friend Greg Metz accurately called "hermetic" periods. Once I was selfishly frustrated by one of her prolonged cocoonings. Trying to explain her importance to me, and knowing her deep well of pop culture trivia expertise, I quoted the western "Tombstone" to her. I recalled the line of dialogue delivered by a member of Wyatt Earp's posse. Asked why he was pursuing outlaws instead of resting in bed, an ill Doc Holliday replied, "Because Wyatt Earp is my friend."
The cowboy said derisively, "Hell, I've got a lot of friends."
Doc Holliday said, "I don't."

I do have a lot of friends, but I haven't had many like Candis. She had more friends and admirers than she could count and more than she may have realized. I was just one of many. I could talk to her about anything and, probably more often than she would have liked, I did. She was mysterious, kind, patient, compassionate, witty, brilliant and talented. She was an undiscovered genius. But I'm not sure she wanted to be "discovered" by the wider world anyway.

Candis left us Friday morning, November 9, after an illness, and under the doting care of her longtime companion, Harrison. She'll be missed by everyone who ever met, knew or loved her.

(This drawing was kindly lent for posting by Nicke Mitchell.)

Dugald Stermer

I'm sad to hear of the passing of Dugald Stermer, a great artist who was always passionate about his work and his profession. Although my encounters with him were limited, he was always generous with his time and hospitality.
At the 2005 San Francisco Illustrators Conference my wife Becky and I were fortunate to have dinner with Dugald and Brad Holland. Dugald was jovial and full of stories about mutual acquaintances. It was one of my favorite evenings.
His work can be seen here.

James Cornelius July 3, 1937 - October 6, 2011

I usually use this space to talk about my professional life, although once in a while I'll veer off into a personal story. This is going to be one of those times.

I have two brothers, Derrell and James, who were teenagers when I was born. James died October 6 at the age of 74. The reason I mention this here is because James was, with the possible exception of my mother, my most enduring and enthusiastic cheerleader and loyal supporter. From the time I was aware of anything he encouraged and enjoyed my drawings, no matter how wild they were. Whenever I needed help, of any kind, or advice or compassion, or occasional kick in the ass, he would provide it without hesitation. Any suggestions he made, even bad ones, were intended to help me and to make me more successful. He never offered criticism uninvited.

I can't really list all the ways he changed and affected my own life for the better. That would require a book. My parents were lovely and well meaning people, but their interests, or at least my dad's, didn't go much beyond the farm I grew up on, or the small town environment they made their home. My brothers expanded my childhood horizons and introduced me to things and places I wouldn't have experienced until much later, if at all. Whatever I am today that's good, James was a big part of making that possible.

It's a cliche to say someone "loved life", but if such a description applies to anybody, James is the one. Although that life handed him some difficulties which were understandably disillusioning, particularly to a person who mostly saw and expected the best from people, he never let cynicism or bitterness define who he was. If you wanted or needed a friend, there was none better. He was generous and warm and witty. He loved children, and could make any kid laugh with expert silliness. I'm don't think there was a sound he liked to hear more than that of a kid laughing.

He showed great compassion to everyone in almost any situation. In the last few years he experienced the early stages of Alzheimer's disease. From the point of his diagnosis he volunteered for a study that used experimental drugs to treat the condition, in the hopes of finding a treatment or even a cure. There are risks in such a program, but he jumped into it with enthusiasm, and not just for how it might help him. His main focus was in helping other people, future Alzheimer's patients for whom successful tested medications could make a positive difference. His doctors suspect one of the medication's side effects contributed to the weakening of the main artery carrying blood to his brain, and could have been the cause of the kind of aneurism that ended his life. He may have sacrificed his own life to help people he would never know. That's the definition of a hero. But he was always a hero to me.

Jeffrey Catherine Jones, 1944 - 2011

Jeffrey Catherine Jones, a.k.a. Jeff Jones, began her career as a fantasy and science fiction illustrator in the 1960s. She was the only illustrator to rival the great Frank Frazetta in originality of imagery and style on the many paperback book covers which caught my pubescent eye. Those covers reinforced my realization that one could actually pursue a career in making images, and they were a profound influence in the direction of my life focus.
She died this morning.

The economy of detail and color and directness of paint application found in her paintings are qualities I have admired from my first encounter with a Jones painting.

Okay, you can probably see why this cover would be compelling to my 14 year old eyes. But it's one of many books I bought with Jones covers, not all of which featured the female anatomy so prominently.

This is a good example of how Jones used no more or no less detail than was necessary to make this statement. It's a beautiful example of her fantasy imagery.

In recent work she approached plein air landscape painting, and those may be some of my favorites, maybe more appealing to my adult eye. Here are some examples.




My sympathies go out to Jeffrey Catherines Jones' family and personal friends. Her many fans, including me, will miss seeing new work, but will always be glad to have experienced this singular artist's vision.

Chris Rovillo 1951-2010

In a business full of egos the size of Mount Rushmore, with maybe a few deserved, I don't think I ever saw Chris Rovillo have an egotistical moment. He was a kind, compassionate, friendly, talented, funny, guitar-playing man.
Chris died last night. His health had been questionable for some time, but I think only those closest to him received the news without being shocked. The old adage "the good die young" has applied to every eulogy, memorial, whatever these are, that I have written since this blog began. I have to add Chris to the list of Don Punchatz, George Toomer, Bill Ross and Monte Wade. I hope I don't have to add anyone else for a long time.
Chris' graphic design work won many awards, and it is certainly one of the primary reasons the Dallas area has long been considered a major design force. I had the privilege of working with him on a few projects, including this poster for the Neiman-Marcus Adolphus Hotel Children's Christmas Parade. The whole thing was Chris' idea, I just fleshed it out. I was glad to hear that whenever he exhibited the poster he spoke well of my contribution. The illustration was included in the New York Society of Illustrators 44th Annual Exhibition.
Chris was also kind enough to buy this painting, "Sub-Marina", for his wife Jeanne's collection of mermaid images.
Another life well lived. May we all have that thought applied to our own journeys through this often bizarre, usually great visit to Earth.

Bill Ross

Photograph of Bill Ross by Willie Baronet.

I learned this weekend that Nashville artist Bill Ross ended his life last week. I knew Bill from his time in Dallas in the early 1980s, but I had lost contact since his move to Tennessee. We reconnected through the miracle of Facebook last year. There was no clue in his posts there that such a deep despair was affecting him in such a profound way. He is survived by his wife and two daughters.
Bill brought freshness and wit to the classic cartoon style. He was very generous in his comments on this blog and elsewhere. I hope his close friends and family can find some peace and understanding in such a sad and tragic situation.

Monte Wade 1951 - 2009

Monte Wade, owner of the Monte Wade Gallery in San Antonio, which has represented my paintings since 2003, died on December 9.
As I was splitting company with a gallery in Taos, which closed shortly thereafter, Monte moved my work to his own gallery there, managed by his daughter. After that gallery closed he exhibited my work at his San Antonio location. He was always supportive and encouraging, open to just about anything I wanted to show, just about the perfect art dealer.
His wry sense of humor and way with a story will be missed by everyone who knew him. My condolences go out to his family and friends.

Don Ivan Punchatz 1936 - 2009

One Sunday, when I was still in high school, I found an ad, for what I don’t remember, in a local newspaper. The page was dominated by a pen and ink drawing of the date “1984”, a reference to the dystopian novel by George Orwell. The numbers were anthropomorphized into threatening faces of steel. It touched my little teenage heavy metal heart. That page was thumb tacked to my bedroom wall for at least a year.

A few years later I was in the art program at East Texas State University, pouring over the Society of Illustrators annuals, where I found that image again, and read that it was created by Don Ivan Punchatz. I found his name in the index and looked up his other numerous pieces, at which point I became a fan.

In the summer of 1976 I had the opportunity to work for Don as an intern at his Sketchpad Studio, serendipitously located in nearby Arlington, Texas. Of the few developments in one’s life that we can call really pivotal, especially in a positive way, this ranked very high as one of mine.

The Sketchpad was set up like the studios of the Renaissance masters, with “elves”, as some of us called ourselves, helping Don in various ways complete his illustration assignments for advertising, editorial and book clients from all over the country. They included Playboy and Penthouse magazine (whatever one might think of their photographic content or publishing philosophy, they also included articles with art from top level illustrators), National Lampoon, Rolling Stone, and others, as well as all the major book publishers, with covers for the writings of Harlan Ellison, Ray Bradbury and Graham Greene. His work was regularly represented in the annual competitions of Graphis, Communications Arts and the Society of Illustrators, among many more.

Don had a wicked sense of humor. A couple of weeks into my stay at the Sketchpad he took me outside the studio for one of the infamous “Porch Talks” and told me of a prank he was in the process of playing on the rest of the staff. When I first dropped off my student portfolio for his perusal some of the full time Sketchpadders (with whom I’ve been good friends now for over thirty years) apparently wondered about a t-shirt design I had created promoting a Willie Nelson concert at the university. He had told them I was Willie Nelson’s stepson, and that it was a sensitive issue with me and I preferred not to talk about it. He wanted to know if I was comfortable going along with this, and he was clearly pleased when I, a little country mouse in the presence of a giant, said “Uh, sure”.
Eventually I had to ‘fess up, but Don seemed to enjoy the joke as long as it lasted.

In the ensuing years Don came to be not only a mentor and hero, but a friend and confidant as well, always supportive and encouraging, happy to give advice in the most constructive of ways. He was immensely talented, kind and generous, an unfortunately rare combination in the art world.
Although he was brilliant in all genres of illustration, I think Don was, at heart, a fantasy/science fiction artist. Now I like to think he is among those stars whose worlds he so imaginatively and skillfully brought to life.

Below I’ve included a very meager sampling of his massive output (all images © The Estate of Don Ivan Punchatz).

The first of Don's illustrations I ever encountered, at a tender teenage year. It immediately adorned my bedroom wall.

This cover for Harlan Ellison's Dangerous Visions broke the illustration standard of a single scene representing a whole book, with segmented images tied together with figures appearing to move between different dimensions.

Sigmund Freud

I don't know what this was for, but damn, it's cool.

I don't know what this was for, either, but again, cool.

Packaging for the wildly successful video game "Doom".

R.I.P., Elvis

George Toomer

A communication arts legend, George Toomer, aka "Buffalo George", died earlier this week at the age of 64. He lived and worked in Dallas, Tx, and was, among other things, an artist, social and food critic, designer, restaurant creator, mentor, prankster, hero and all around good person.
Remembrances of his influence and friendship from the many people who called him friend and colleague can be found at this Facebook page, "Friends of the Buffalo".
A couple of personal notes, he had a nickname for me, "Amish from Space", apparently based on his perception of me as quiet and unassuming and also odd in some way, presumably a good way. He lived and worked in a large two story house in the middle of a heavily developed neighborhood in the shadow of the Dallas central business district ("downtown"), with a wraparound porch. Every time I saw him he would say "Come by and visit and we'll hang out on the porch". I think I did once at least, but not nearly enough. He was full of stories and advice, a witty and entertaining man.
I have no doubt that should there be an afterlife, he is in the middle of it holding court and giving the proprietors what-for about the design and attitudes of the place.
Vaya con Dios, friend.