Number One

Medium: Watercolor on paper

Date: 1965

Number One 

My featured painting this week is called “Number One.” This painting was the first of my new adult life. I did not know that then. I only knew that this was the most excitement I had felt since I saw my vision of the flying pig in the clouds in the summer of 1964 in Würzburg, Germany. This was the defining moment. 

A year later in autumn, 1965, I was out of the army. In the last month of my service, I had heard of the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) the most important art school in the USA. During my time in the army, I found the first free time in my life and used it to draw observations of the buildings, plants, and landscapes around me. My work attracted the attention of officers who asked me to draw their wives and children and create presentations for visiting Pentagon generals. I also drew mascots for the battalions they inspected. At that time, we had as many divisions in Germany as the USA had in Vietnam, keeping me busy with various materials like paint, tile, plastic, leather, and wood. Someone remarked, “You could make money doing these figures on the Outside,” and I was informed about RISD. I needed to apply within six months of leaving the army to fit RISD's age timeline. I found myself at a crossroads, wondering what direction my life would take. 

Reflecting on the past, I asked myself why I had joined the Army. I had spoken with our Methodist minister from our Minnesota farm town, expressing that I had done everything I was trained to do and felt incomplete. I had worked my way through college with off-the-books jobs, sending money home to my parents, as many farm kids did. I graduated with honors and secured a prestigious job at Hallmark Cards, achieving my college goal of making money. I bought everything on my wish list, including original paintings from famous artists, a sports car (a TR3), and had a rich girlfriend who wore 34 diamond rings. I even brought her from Kansas City to Minnesota to meet my parents. At Hallmark, I was labeled the “Golden Boy” and received raises in salary. However, despite these successes, I felt unfulfilled. I decided to get an army deferment and return to graduate school to read the many things I did not have time for during my first four college years. The minister advised, “You have made your life too small. Open up, do everything you have denied. Just always be alert to what you are doing and what you are feeling.” Minnesota was very conservative at that time; no kissing before marriage, no drinking beer, and no beer could be sold within a mile and a half of the University, at that time purportedly the biggest campus in the USA. Following the minister’s advice, I decided to join the army to explore and see the world and encounter new experiences. 

I was hoping to learn Chinese and go to Asia but instead, I was assigned to army intelligence and sent to Europe. This was unexpected but a welcome event. For my first two years in Germany, I did not drink beer because of the restrictions in Minnesota. Eventually, I began to draw during my time off and, after two years, had my first beer. Two generals sent me personal letters praising my art talent, and I was named “Model Soldier of the Army.” In Minnesota farm country, education was still not highly respected, and art was a no-no for boys. This was a tremendous change. A beer-drinking artist! Although I still did not want to be labeled an ‘artist,’ I knew art had to be in my future. 

My devotion to art was my secret. I had done what was expected: worked hard on the farm, sent money home, graduated with honors, secured an excellent job with a good salary, and received praise from generals. I had been a model soldier and satisfied the community approved goals. But what about my private goals of art, my secret love? I never wanted anyone's opinion on my art; it was mine. Ultimately, I decided against RISD and planned to go to New York City. One of the loves of my life invited me to visit her in Mississippi. We drove to Florida and then to San Francisco. She eventually entered a convent to become a nun, while I started painting every day. I even sold a picture to the City of San Francisco. However, I saw no future in California among the group the newspaper called ‘hippies,’ so I left for New York in the spring of 1967 after nine months in California. 

Combining my vision in Würzburg with what I achieved in Number One laid the foundation for the many sculptures I created in New York. I discarded masses of pictures that did not work for me. Then, guided by advice from the Castelli Gallery, I found success with my first seven children’s books, despite being rejected by 100 publishers. 

In New York, I met an RISD graduate who said, “You do everything wrong, but it comes out right! I cannot figure out how you do it!” 

I have cherished this painting, my first, my Number One. At the time, I did not realize the lessons it was imparting to me, but now I understand them. These lessons are multifaceted and profound. While I have absorbed their wisdom, applying them consistently remains a challenge; nevertheless, I no longer produce masses of work to discard. 

This painting symbolizes the beginning of my true journey as an artist. It represents the moment I embraced my devotion to art and the path it laid before me. Each brushstroke in Number One is a testament to the exploration of my potential and the breaking of conventional boundaries. It reminds me that the journey of creativity is as important as the destination, urging me to continue pursuing my passion with unwavering determination.