Hugh Neeld: The Curmudgeon Report

Ever since the Tyler Museum of Art purchased 13 acres on the southeast corner of University Boulevard and Lazy Creek Drive as its new location, their fund-raisers have continued with renewed fervor.

The most recent event was a seated black tie dinner followed by an auction of selected antique silverware. It was the most successful fund-raiser in the museum’s history.

I had planned to take my wife, who really likes this kind of thing, but as luck would have it, the cleaners lost my black tie. (Probable grounds for a lawsuit, had we chosen to pursue it.)

But I digress. The story I wanted to tell you is about a childhood friend of mine, Ancel Nunn, now deceased. Ancel, a well known artist, was no stranger to the Tyler Art Museum, and always attracted a crowd when his work was on display there.

In a conversation one time about his career, he told me that art, like any business that markets a product, has it’s tricks of the trade—those special things learned by experience that improve the likelihood of success. He went on to share with me the most closely-guarded secret of the art community—one of their least-known tricks of the trade.

I had seen him quoted in a newspaper story one time as saying, “Artists are driven to reflect society through their art. Most of us strive to produce images like the magic mirror on the wall that affect the viewer’s perception and create a mental relationship. If the artist is subjective, the viewer becomes the voice in the mirror. My goal is to go to the genesis of the subject and discern how it affects the mythological and metaphorical perception of the human mind.”

I didn’t even pretend to understand this, and said so. He laughed, and told me the following story:

The first painting he’d ever sold was at a sidewalk art show in San Antonio. He got $25 for it. After that, as he learned the finer points of the business, he found that the way he talked to prospects was critical.

“Once I learned Transcendental Metaphysicalism,” he said, “I started getting better prices for my work. I used to make up whole sentences and practice them in front of a mirror. The less sense I made in what I said, the more successful I became. Art connoisseurs expect that kind of talk from the artist. All I did was give the customer what he wanted.”

No doubt about it, Ancel was not only a great artist, but when it came to Transcendental Metaphysicalism, he was a master.

When I told this story to my brother, who lives in Portland, Ore., he had one that was similar to tell me. Many years ago, he took a weekly oil painting class just for fun. As a starting project, his instructor had him pick an object and paint it two ways; one realistically and one using colors not usually found in the object.

My brother chose his hands, painting the left one in its natural colors, and the right one in bright, primary colors. The instructor next told him to insert an object in the distance. So, between the hands, he added a big kitchen match. It was lit and the glow faded into a dark background. The art school displayed his painting in a window on the sidewalk, along with those of other students.

Each week when he came to class, his instructor told him that people stopped to ask what the meaning of his painting was, and some had their own ideas. The one that stuck with him was the viewer who thought the normal looking hand was Jesus leading the odd looking hand, a leper, to God, represented by the match. This struck my brother as strange because his painting had no meaning. It was just an exercise to learn painting technique. He does, however, still worship matches.

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A question to ponder:

Why do dogs get mad when you blow in their face, but stick their head out the car window?

putterhugh@suddenlink.net

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Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.

Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
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