It’s widely understood that in the late 19th and early 20th century, Boston and
New York were extraordinarily fertile ground for the glorious bloom that was to
become American painting. Perhaps less well known is the role Cincinnati and
Ohio had as the birthplace for several fine painters who went on to have a close
association with both New York and “The Athens of America”.
My first awareness of Cincinnati came in the form of a book that my first mentor,
Allan Banks, had in his studio one day. I was quite young, but remember clearly
the spell cast on me by Frank Duveneck’s Whistling Boy. Allan had seen one or
two Duvenecks “in the flesh” and described them with enthusiasm. We talked
about why he was significant, and what could be learned from the study of his
pictures. Coincidentally, I had friends that were beginning to think of where
they would go to college, and the University of Cincinnati had been mentioned
by several. So, as an adolescent, Cincinnati had already assumed its place in my
mind as a desirable and cultured place to visit.
At graduation, and after four years of study with Allan, I left for Boston to
become one of the last two students of R.H. Ives Gammell, then 87 years old, and
referred to by some as the ‘last of the old masters’. Though small in size, Mr.
Gammell was a powerful and demanding personality with a towering intellect.
In addition to my studies learning the “grammar” of painting, it was my part-time 

job to assist him with errands and getting to and fro. Of the belief that one
should never waste a moment to improve one’s mind, each and every time I
taxied him somewhere, he would quiz me on what I knew – and didn’t know. If
ever I asked him a question for which he didn’t know the answer, he would say
so and convey that he would do his best to find out.
One day he asked me to name which three painters in art history carved their
forms out primarily through the construction of planes. This time, I had the
answers. Among them, of course, was Frank Duveneck. He seemed surprised
and delighted that I knew of him. The rest of the ensuing conversation had to do
with the unusually high number of very fine painters who hailed from Ohio,
some of whom had later been personally acquainted with Claude Monet. He
added how it was a fact that these painters had an outsized influence on the
development of American art.
Fast forward several more years and Mr. Gammell had passed from the scene.
After briefly opening a school of painting back in Sandusky, Ohio with Allan, I
left for Minneapolis for two more years with painter Richard Lack. By the
summer of 1985, I had rounded out my training under his very capable
instruction and was free and finished with my formal studies. Needing a fresh
direction and new challenges, I glanced around and learned a former Lack
student, Tim Chambers, was moving to the Washington D.C. area and needed
some roomates. I moved in the early Fall. It was exhilirating. I copied in the
National Gallery, painted landscapes in the National Arboretum and began
selling through a prominent gallery in Alexandria. In the spring of 1986, I
happened to chat with some old high school buddies that had stayed on in
Cincinnati after graduation from University, and a time to visit with them was
setlled on. I made the 8 hour long drive, and promptly fell in love with the
Queen City.
By late Spring, I had come to an agreement with Ran Gallery to represent my
work. When a call came from friends saying they had an unused room available,
I decided the Queen City would be my destiny. I moved that summer and
immediately began accepting portrait commissions, selling garden landscapes
and still lifes. Among my favorite spots was the Cincinnati Art Museum and its
fine permanent collection, including a room full of Duvenecks and his numerous
associates. For the great respect and even adulation shown him among his
pupils, I found it noteworthy that he had a knack for developing talent, but not
at the expense of negating his charges’ own personal strengths and unique
vision. This, I woud later come to conclude, was the sign of a masterful teacher.
That Fall, eager to travel and experience the world, I took flight to Europe on a
six week backpack trip. Studying and learning about the breadth and depth of
art history at its origins was everything I’d hoped it would be. The Renaissance,
up close and personal. Eventually, I found my way to Florence, Italy to visit the
museums there, and to meet an expat American painter and former Gammell
and Lack student, Charles Cecil. Charles had been living and teaching in
Florence for some time. His school of painting looked like it was right out of
Michaelangelo’s era – soaring ceilings, with a resident sculptor and a cadre of
earnest students of painting. The main subject of our first conversation? Charles
had launched head long into an enthusiastic analysis of, of all things, Frank
Duveneck and his experiences in Italy, of course!
Back in Cincinnati, it wasn’t long before I delved into an indepth study of the
Cincinnati School as a whole, its origins and who were its final direct adherents. I
was reminded of the crucial role Joseph DeCamp, a friend and protogé of
Duveneck, played in the development of R.H. Ives Gammell’s career. Widely
considered in his day as the best trained painter this side of the Atlantic,
DeCamp went on to become a cornerstone of the Boston Painters. This study also
lead me to Herman (D. 1969) and Bessie Wessel (D. 1973), a married couple, each
painters who were close associates of Frank Duveneck. Their work fairly bursted
with life – often short on refined finish, but long on vibrancy and, as Herman
would put it, “snap”. I eventually discovered the Wessel’s historic home and
studio still existed, and my wife and I would eventually come to own it – along
with Duveneck’s easel – still in the studio. Through my exposure to the artists
who inhabited this exceptional city bordering the Ohio River, my own work
evolved in ways it otherwise wouldn’t have. “Snap” seemed the common trait of
the Cincinnati school that came to appeal to me most, if only because I viewed it
then as a valuable corrective to my own early tendancy to overwork some of my
passages. I concluded that for me, there is no particular value to a high level of
finish if the end result feels lifeless and uninspired.
So it was that in coming to Cincinnati, I came full circle. Not only did I return to
Ohio, the state in which I was born, but with the help of the Cincinnati School, I
would uncover its direct connection with my Boston training and my true heart
as a painter.