Steven Levin
Self-Portrait, 1998. Oil on canvas, 12" x 16". Collection of Glenn Queen, TN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Steven Levin is an American Classical Realist painter who lives in Stillwater, Minnesota. Growing up in the 1970s and being influenced by his father, a commercial artist, Mr. Levin has spent his life striving for artistic excellence in his work. Training in the realist drawing and painting tradition in Minneapolis, during the early 1980s, the city which perpetuated the teachings of the academic/Bostonian lineage of late twentieth century painter, R.H. Ives Gammell through his foremost student, Richard Lack, Mr. Levin perfected his craft through studying in studio-schools that stemmed from this lineage. Eventually going on to teach and pass on the tradition to the next generation of promising students, Mr. Levin would come to dedicate his life to his painting practice, gaining representation from numerous galleries and solidifying his name as an accomplished Modern-Classical Realist painter. Mr. Levin was also a member of the first society dedicated to raising awareness of the Classical Realist movement, The American Society of Classical Realism, in which he wrote multiple articles for the society’s publications: the Classical Realism Quarterly and the Classical Realism Journal. This interview took place between Mr. Levin and Emilio Longo via email correspondence between July, 2018 and February, 2023.
Your interests in art developed early in your childhood. Your father was a commercial artist and you would often spend time drawing beside him in his studio. He would come to be your first art teacher, providing you with drawing lessons and instructional books to cultivate your technical abilities. Tell me about this early period of your life?
I always loved drawing. My father had a small office in the basement of his house with two large desks and a drafting table. His work was up all around on the walls. My favourite thing to do on a weekend was sit at one of the desks and draw, with my dad working at one of the other desks. He would show me how he would draw something in pastel, or watercolor, or just pencil. He was very skilled in any medium, even clay. He was also an excellent cartoonist.
He had a collection of Dover reprints of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Dante’s Inferno and others mostly illustrated with woodcuts by Gustave Dore. We would look through those and talk about the design and the drawing. He had a big book of the work of Dean Cornwell which was probably the most influential on me. I used to stare at all those gorgeous paintings so well constructed, and all painted in that wonderfully loose style with a loaded brush. That’s how I wanted to paint. For a time I was copying drawings by Cornwell in charcoal and pastel, dad would give me advice, show me how to construct a figure, a head and how to model with chalk. I remember a few watercolour lessons as well, just practicing from magazine clippings. He had a large file drawer full of carefully alphabetised magazine clippings which he used for his illustration work. Clippings of people, horses, dogs, cars and trucks, things like that which he could refer to for poses.
He bought me a drawing instructional book by the illustrator and cartoonist Burne Hogarth which had wonderful chalk drawings of heads, hands and figures with the anatomy clearly indicated and labeled, it was wonderful. I made many copies from this book as well. When I began being interested in cartooning, he bought me a book on that which was full of good advice for cartoonists on style, lettering, subjects, selling and marketing. I still have all these books.
I had also been an avid collector of comic books in my younger years and really admired the drawing ability of those artists. I remember I would sometimes show these comic books to my dad, not to talk about the stories but rather to talk about the artists. I did quite a bit of copying from these as well and would sell some of my drawings to friends in grade school.
I always loved drawing. My father had a small office in the basement of his house with two large desks and a drafting table. His work was up all around on the walls. My favourite thing to do on a weekend was sit at one of the desks and draw, with my dad working at one of the other desks. He would show me how he would draw something in pastel, or watercolor, or just pencil. He was very skilled in any medium, even clay. He was also an excellent cartoonist.
He had a collection of Dover reprints of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Dante’s Inferno and others mostly illustrated with woodcuts by Gustave Dore. We would look through those and talk about the design and the drawing. He had a big book of the work of Dean Cornwell which was probably the most influential on me. I used to stare at all those gorgeous paintings so well constructed, and all painted in that wonderfully loose style with a loaded brush. That’s how I wanted to paint. For a time I was copying drawings by Cornwell in charcoal and pastel, dad would give me advice, show me how to construct a figure, a head and how to model with chalk. I remember a few watercolour lessons as well, just practicing from magazine clippings. He had a large file drawer full of carefully alphabetised magazine clippings which he used for his illustration work. Clippings of people, horses, dogs, cars and trucks, things like that which he could refer to for poses.
He bought me a drawing instructional book by the illustrator and cartoonist Burne Hogarth which had wonderful chalk drawings of heads, hands and figures with the anatomy clearly indicated and labeled, it was wonderful. I made many copies from this book as well. When I began being interested in cartooning, he bought me a book on that which was full of good advice for cartoonists on style, lettering, subjects, selling and marketing. I still have all these books.
I had also been an avid collector of comic books in my younger years and really admired the drawing ability of those artists. I remember I would sometimes show these comic books to my dad, not to talk about the stories but rather to talk about the artists. I did quite a bit of copying from these as well and would sell some of my drawings to friends in grade school.
Donald Levin, Portrait of Sergeant Donald “Okie” Brashear, 1951. Graphite on paper, 11" x 8". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Donald Levin, Portrait of Private Dimmick “Hap”, 1951. Graphite and ink on paper, 11" x 8". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Donald Levin, Self Portrait, 1951. Graphite on paper, 11" x 8". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Donald Levin, Portrait of Private Dimmick “Hap”, 1951. Graphite and ink on paper, 11" x 8". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Donald Levin, Self Portrait, 1951. Graphite on paper, 11" x 8". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
The early training that you undertook with your father, Donald Levin, sounds like it was based primarily on copying from photographic reproductions. Did your father value the notion of working directly from life?
He did not get much of an opportunity to work from life himself, in his commercial work it was all from photos or his imagination. The training he had received was in a two-year commercial art program offered by the Walker Art Museum in the early 1950s. This was all he needed to make a career in the field, but I would not describe it as solid academic training. He did recognise working from life as an ideal and he understood it to be the traditional method, but he was a practical man, so he never stressed it for me.
He knew that my success as an artist depended as much on my own drive as my talent, so I think he was careful not to impose a regime of any kind for me but was always ready to answer questions or demonstrate something when asked. His studio paraphernalia was entirely geared toward commercial art, nothing like plaster casts about and almost nothing relating to the old masters. He did have several books on the old masters and was somewhat knowledgeable about them but they didn’t really inform his own creative work.
During your teenage years, you became fascinated by the work of the American Illustrators who were, at the time, the preservers of the realist tradition. What was it about their work that held your attention?
At this time in my life, I knew very little of the fine art world and of the old masters. The American illustrators were everything to me, this was undoubtedly my father’s influence whose advice I respected very much. I had bought a giant book of the entire Norman Rockwell Post covers and would page through it lovingly with tremendous admiration for his ability. He could paint anything. And it seemed he loved every object in his paintings, all sorts of clothing, expressions, items of every kind, a book, a bucket or even a toad was beautifully done. Even the way he painted shoes caught my eye. Such command of shape and detail. Also, the works of J.C. Leyendecker were very familiar to me through my father, he had a few books with his work in them. They were a marvel to me, so clean and crisp and heavily stylised but beautiful. The signature I used for my art as a teenager was modeled from Leyendecker’s signature. And of course, there was Dean Cornwell who I already mentioned. I knew of others like Flagg, Howard Chandler Christie and Charles Dana Gibson. Gibson, I admired greatly. My father had told me that the comic book artists I liked so much would all have worked with a brush like Gibson and not a pen of some kind as I had assumed. This stunned me and when I tried it myself, I was amazed at how difficult it was to acquire the control.
He did not get much of an opportunity to work from life himself, in his commercial work it was all from photos or his imagination. The training he had received was in a two-year commercial art program offered by the Walker Art Museum in the early 1950s. This was all he needed to make a career in the field, but I would not describe it as solid academic training. He did recognise working from life as an ideal and he understood it to be the traditional method, but he was a practical man, so he never stressed it for me.
He knew that my success as an artist depended as much on my own drive as my talent, so I think he was careful not to impose a regime of any kind for me but was always ready to answer questions or demonstrate something when asked. His studio paraphernalia was entirely geared toward commercial art, nothing like plaster casts about and almost nothing relating to the old masters. He did have several books on the old masters and was somewhat knowledgeable about them but they didn’t really inform his own creative work.
During your teenage years, you became fascinated by the work of the American Illustrators who were, at the time, the preservers of the realist tradition. What was it about their work that held your attention?
At this time in my life, I knew very little of the fine art world and of the old masters. The American illustrators were everything to me, this was undoubtedly my father’s influence whose advice I respected very much. I had bought a giant book of the entire Norman Rockwell Post covers and would page through it lovingly with tremendous admiration for his ability. He could paint anything. And it seemed he loved every object in his paintings, all sorts of clothing, expressions, items of every kind, a book, a bucket or even a toad was beautifully done. Even the way he painted shoes caught my eye. Such command of shape and detail. Also, the works of J.C. Leyendecker were very familiar to me through my father, he had a few books with his work in them. They were a marvel to me, so clean and crisp and heavily stylised but beautiful. The signature I used for my art as a teenager was modeled from Leyendecker’s signature. And of course, there was Dean Cornwell who I already mentioned. I knew of others like Flagg, Howard Chandler Christie and Charles Dana Gibson. Gibson, I admired greatly. My father had told me that the comic book artists I liked so much would all have worked with a brush like Gibson and not a pen of some kind as I had assumed. This stunned me and when I tried it myself, I was amazed at how difficult it was to acquire the control.
Donald Levin with fellow students at the Walker Art Center (second row from bottom, far right). 1949. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Donald Levin, The Chase, 1990. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Donald Levin at the age of 22 working in an advertising firm in Minneapolis. 1950. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Donald Levin, The Chase, 1990. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Donald Levin at the age of 22 working in an advertising firm in Minneapolis. 1950. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
By the time you graduated high school, you had made the decision to pursue art as a life. You would come to enrol in the Minneapolis College of Art and Design (MCAD), however you only stayed for a year due to being dissatisfied with the lack of skill-based training available. What was this experience like for you?
This year was a very depressing time for me. While my high school friends had all found a place for themselves in various colleges and were moving forward with purpose and excitement in their lives, I felt that I didn’t fit in at all at MCAD and that my time was being utterly wasted. By Christmas, my father could see that I was not happy there and suggested I try taking a class at the Minnetonka Center for the Arts (he had recently received their bulletin in the mail) just to have something in my week that I enjoyed. I looked over the selection of classes and chose the one taught by Annette LeSueur. It was every Tuesday afternoon, February through April. Those sessions at the Art Center opened up a new world of possibility for me. That one class turned out to be a life changing event.
I learned about the Atelier Lack through Annette, and that summer, I dropped out of MCAD and took a cast drawing and figure drawing class at Atelier Lack. I also toured the St. Paul School of Associated Art, another option that my father and I had talked about. This presented me with three choices that I grappled with all summer. Enroll at Atelier Lack that fall, and start on a path to become a classical painter, enroll at Annette’s school that fall (which did not yet exist and had no track record, but which would give me more flexibility to decide between fine art painter and illustrator), or choose the St. Paul School, another very expensive school which was entirely geared to commercial art.
I chose the St. Paul school. I called Annette and told her, knowing she would be disappointed. I then lived with that decision for about 2 weeks in August before deciding that it was a mistake. I called Annette back and decided to take a chance on her school instead. It turned out to be the right choice I think.
I remember joking at times with my friends in high school and after that I was never the rebellious type, I got along fine with my parents and had no desires to engage in that sort of behaviour, i.e., drinking, smoking and getting into trouble. It was only later that I realised my rebellion had taken a different form; in the early 1980s, studying to be a realist painter was a rebellious act.
You mentioned that you didn’t fit in at MCAD. At the time, was the college based on Modernist ideologies?
Yes, at that time I had some understanding of what befell the realist art tradition in the 20th century and could see the current state of things reflected in the MCAD first year curriculum. I had two required classes that were still based on a traditional approach. One was my philosophy class, which was an overview of the western tradition and this was well taught. The other was art history, again a traditional survey of western art from the ancient world to the modern. Again, very well taught and without any of the modern anti-western lenses through which students are now expected to see things. The other required course was a conceptual design course which accounted for the largest portion of my time there and was a waste in my view. It was in this class that I realised I would never learn to draw and paint here when my instructor, a very bright and likeable man, took up my brush (it was about the only time I recall painting in any of my classes and was only on that one day) to demonstrate and stated with some evident impatience that I needed to learn to paint. As if I ought to get on with acquiring the knowledge from someplace, not there.
Of the remaining course offerings for a first-year student, I searched for something pertaining to drawing or painting and found very little. I was able to take one drawing class which I believe was an elective and not required, if memory serves. This class was fairly decent, we drew from life in a large room with many students scattered around the model seated on small benches where you could prop up your large drawing board. It was realism, not much in the way of solid instruction, but something anyway. This class was my favourite. At the end of each class the instructor would show a few slides of drawings of artists from history, most of which were 20th century artists, but not all. This, and of course my art history class were my only exposure to the work of the old masters. The general view was not exactly open disdain for their works, but rather a sense that all the really important art occurred post 1900 or so. I do not recall a single other student there at MCAD, including those in my drawing class, who showed any interest in traditional work as part of a future occupation.
I only confided my interest in realistic work at the very end of the year in a conference with my design teacher, who as I said was knowledgeable and kind. I was in danger of failing his class but did not really care as I was planning on not returning. I had learned of Atelier Lack by then from my class with Annette and when I mentioned the Atelier to this instructor, he was familiar with it. He seemed to take a bit of exception to my complaint about the lack of realist training at MCAD. He told me that in his personal work he was painting an homage to Michelangelo with hundreds of figures realistically done. I found this news quite surprising, but it did not change my mind about his class in general or MCAD. He did not try to talk me out of my decision to leave, but only warned that my lassitude for serious work would not be tolerated at Atelier Lack. This was good advice.
This year was a very depressing time for me. While my high school friends had all found a place for themselves in various colleges and were moving forward with purpose and excitement in their lives, I felt that I didn’t fit in at all at MCAD and that my time was being utterly wasted. By Christmas, my father could see that I was not happy there and suggested I try taking a class at the Minnetonka Center for the Arts (he had recently received their bulletin in the mail) just to have something in my week that I enjoyed. I looked over the selection of classes and chose the one taught by Annette LeSueur. It was every Tuesday afternoon, February through April. Those sessions at the Art Center opened up a new world of possibility for me. That one class turned out to be a life changing event.
I learned about the Atelier Lack through Annette, and that summer, I dropped out of MCAD and took a cast drawing and figure drawing class at Atelier Lack. I also toured the St. Paul School of Associated Art, another option that my father and I had talked about. This presented me with three choices that I grappled with all summer. Enroll at Atelier Lack that fall, and start on a path to become a classical painter, enroll at Annette’s school that fall (which did not yet exist and had no track record, but which would give me more flexibility to decide between fine art painter and illustrator), or choose the St. Paul School, another very expensive school which was entirely geared to commercial art.
I chose the St. Paul school. I called Annette and told her, knowing she would be disappointed. I then lived with that decision for about 2 weeks in August before deciding that it was a mistake. I called Annette back and decided to take a chance on her school instead. It turned out to be the right choice I think.
I remember joking at times with my friends in high school and after that I was never the rebellious type, I got along fine with my parents and had no desires to engage in that sort of behaviour, i.e., drinking, smoking and getting into trouble. It was only later that I realised my rebellion had taken a different form; in the early 1980s, studying to be a realist painter was a rebellious act.
You mentioned that you didn’t fit in at MCAD. At the time, was the college based on Modernist ideologies?
Yes, at that time I had some understanding of what befell the realist art tradition in the 20th century and could see the current state of things reflected in the MCAD first year curriculum. I had two required classes that were still based on a traditional approach. One was my philosophy class, which was an overview of the western tradition and this was well taught. The other was art history, again a traditional survey of western art from the ancient world to the modern. Again, very well taught and without any of the modern anti-western lenses through which students are now expected to see things. The other required course was a conceptual design course which accounted for the largest portion of my time there and was a waste in my view. It was in this class that I realised I would never learn to draw and paint here when my instructor, a very bright and likeable man, took up my brush (it was about the only time I recall painting in any of my classes and was only on that one day) to demonstrate and stated with some evident impatience that I needed to learn to paint. As if I ought to get on with acquiring the knowledge from someplace, not there.
Of the remaining course offerings for a first-year student, I searched for something pertaining to drawing or painting and found very little. I was able to take one drawing class which I believe was an elective and not required, if memory serves. This class was fairly decent, we drew from life in a large room with many students scattered around the model seated on small benches where you could prop up your large drawing board. It was realism, not much in the way of solid instruction, but something anyway. This class was my favourite. At the end of each class the instructor would show a few slides of drawings of artists from history, most of which were 20th century artists, but not all. This, and of course my art history class were my only exposure to the work of the old masters. The general view was not exactly open disdain for their works, but rather a sense that all the really important art occurred post 1900 or so. I do not recall a single other student there at MCAD, including those in my drawing class, who showed any interest in traditional work as part of a future occupation.
I only confided my interest in realistic work at the very end of the year in a conference with my design teacher, who as I said was knowledgeable and kind. I was in danger of failing his class but did not really care as I was planning on not returning. I had learned of Atelier Lack by then from my class with Annette and when I mentioned the Atelier to this instructor, he was familiar with it. He seemed to take a bit of exception to my complaint about the lack of realist training at MCAD. He told me that in his personal work he was painting an homage to Michelangelo with hundreds of figures realistically done. I found this news quite surprising, but it did not change my mind about his class in general or MCAD. He did not try to talk me out of my decision to leave, but only warned that my lassitude for serious work would not be tolerated at Atelier Lack. This was good advice.
Steven Levin painting en plein air in the Western suburbs of Minneapolis. 1989. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Moonrise, 1985. Oil on canvas, 19" x 16". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Moonrise, 1985. Oil on canvas, 19" x 16". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
It is interesting to learn that the course of training you undertook with Annette LeSueur at the Minnetonka Center for the Arts had such a dramatic impact on your life. Can you provide an overview of what these initial Tuesday afternoon classes involved?
I had a Tuesday morning class at MCAD and every Tuesday afternoon I would drive West away from the city out towards the Minnetonka Center for the Arts, feeling better with each mile. I remember my first meeting with Annette, there was some confusion as to which room the class was meeting in. I went into the room, but no one was there. Stepping back out into the hallway I saw a woman running down the hall towards me, arms full of books, a big smile on her face asking, “are you my student?” Annette was all energy and enthusiasm, full of knowledge, armed with wonderful books and from the first day, I was at least doing something practical involving drawing and painting. She had no structured course at that point, but rather used her extensive knowledge to teach to the student’s interest. I started doing several different copies from plates she had. A Ruben’s drawing, a Bargue-Gerome plate and a small section from the Gerome painting, The Rug Merchants. Her popularity garnered her a following which allowed her to open her own school in the fall of 1983.
My drawing ability at this point was amateurish but still a little better than most. I could reproduce something from the flat in terms of shape and general proportion, but my understanding of light and shadow was poor. I knew next to nothing of academic style drawing, the closest I had come was the copies I had done out of the book on Dean Cornwell.
My drawing ability improved quickly at first, once I was given the basics of how to reproduce something from the flat using the Sight-Size method. I did many copies in this way from high quality photos that Annette had. Her collection of these for teaching purposes was substantial. All these awakened my sense of taste and gave me a skill level to shoot for which I could never have gotten at any art college. After that my ability improved more slowly only through the daily life drawing class over a period of several years. Subtlety of shape, of modeling, the cultivation of an aesthetic, all this is generally acquired slowly, if at all.
As a teacher Annette was absolutely dedicated and full of confidence in herself and her students. Her drive kept the school open and running through some difficulties over the years. Her attendance could be sporadic, but when she was there, she was a buoyant presence. She could be mercurial, going off in different directions at times as she was often thinking about the ideal way to teach, as well as the ideal setting for school. Her interests went beyond the traditional atelier approach and encompassed pen and ink drawing and book illustration. The effect was sometimes a lack of focus on the very basics of drawing and painting.
You mentioned that Ms. LeSueur eventually opened her own school, the name of which was Atelier LeSueur, founded in Excelsior, Minnesota. It sounds like it was a natural progression from those initial Tuesday afternoon classes at the Minnetonka Center for the Arts to continuing your training at her newly formed school, in which you stayed for five years. Can you provide a detailed summary of your time at Atelier LeSueur?
I took only the one class from Annette while she was at the Art Center, I believe it went from February to May. In the summer I took two classes at Atelier Lack, one a beginning cast drawing class and the other, beginning figure drawing. That fall, I began as part of the first group of full-time students at the newly formed Atelier LeSueur.
Atelier LeSueur began its first year with just three or four rented rooms on the top floor of an old public school building in Excelsior, Minnesota. We had no figure drawing the first year. I began by copying from the flat in the morning, much as I had done in that initial class at the Art Center. I also painted three still lifes in the afternoons my first year, as did the other students. This work was all done in the same room. However, this was not how Atelier Lack was run, beginning students would never start with colour still lifes. I think Annette wanted to be sure that students stayed interested so she felt she could not begin with something as tedious as cast drawing, at least for that first year. A more standard progression of exercises eventually obtained but our first two years were a bit unorthodox.
The lighting was as you would expect in an old school building, several large windows in each room, some facing east, another room had south light and another north light. We turned on the overhead lights only if nobody was painting. Still lifes were mostly painted with natural light except for a few set-ups which were illuminated with artificial light.
By the third year we had settled into a curriculum consisting generally of first year students doing cast drawing and painting, second year was still lifes, third year would be spent on portraits and the fourth year was small interior paintings. This is only a general description and might vary somewhat with each individual. Life drawing and painting was done throughout all four years. Days were divided in half, one half would be cubicle work (casts, still life and portraiture) the other half was work with the nude model. Pencil drawing from the nude was 2 days a week, the other three days with the nude model would again depend on your skill level, it would be either charcoal drawing, black and white painting or colour painting.
I had a Tuesday morning class at MCAD and every Tuesday afternoon I would drive West away from the city out towards the Minnetonka Center for the Arts, feeling better with each mile. I remember my first meeting with Annette, there was some confusion as to which room the class was meeting in. I went into the room, but no one was there. Stepping back out into the hallway I saw a woman running down the hall towards me, arms full of books, a big smile on her face asking, “are you my student?” Annette was all energy and enthusiasm, full of knowledge, armed with wonderful books and from the first day, I was at least doing something practical involving drawing and painting. She had no structured course at that point, but rather used her extensive knowledge to teach to the student’s interest. I started doing several different copies from plates she had. A Ruben’s drawing, a Bargue-Gerome plate and a small section from the Gerome painting, The Rug Merchants. Her popularity garnered her a following which allowed her to open her own school in the fall of 1983.
My drawing ability at this point was amateurish but still a little better than most. I could reproduce something from the flat in terms of shape and general proportion, but my understanding of light and shadow was poor. I knew next to nothing of academic style drawing, the closest I had come was the copies I had done out of the book on Dean Cornwell.
My drawing ability improved quickly at first, once I was given the basics of how to reproduce something from the flat using the Sight-Size method. I did many copies in this way from high quality photos that Annette had. Her collection of these for teaching purposes was substantial. All these awakened my sense of taste and gave me a skill level to shoot for which I could never have gotten at any art college. After that my ability improved more slowly only through the daily life drawing class over a period of several years. Subtlety of shape, of modeling, the cultivation of an aesthetic, all this is generally acquired slowly, if at all.
As a teacher Annette was absolutely dedicated and full of confidence in herself and her students. Her drive kept the school open and running through some difficulties over the years. Her attendance could be sporadic, but when she was there, she was a buoyant presence. She could be mercurial, going off in different directions at times as she was often thinking about the ideal way to teach, as well as the ideal setting for school. Her interests went beyond the traditional atelier approach and encompassed pen and ink drawing and book illustration. The effect was sometimes a lack of focus on the very basics of drawing and painting.
You mentioned that Ms. LeSueur eventually opened her own school, the name of which was Atelier LeSueur, founded in Excelsior, Minnesota. It sounds like it was a natural progression from those initial Tuesday afternoon classes at the Minnetonka Center for the Arts to continuing your training at her newly formed school, in which you stayed for five years. Can you provide a detailed summary of your time at Atelier LeSueur?
I took only the one class from Annette while she was at the Art Center, I believe it went from February to May. In the summer I took two classes at Atelier Lack, one a beginning cast drawing class and the other, beginning figure drawing. That fall, I began as part of the first group of full-time students at the newly formed Atelier LeSueur.
Atelier LeSueur began its first year with just three or four rented rooms on the top floor of an old public school building in Excelsior, Minnesota. We had no figure drawing the first year. I began by copying from the flat in the morning, much as I had done in that initial class at the Art Center. I also painted three still lifes in the afternoons my first year, as did the other students. This work was all done in the same room. However, this was not how Atelier Lack was run, beginning students would never start with colour still lifes. I think Annette wanted to be sure that students stayed interested so she felt she could not begin with something as tedious as cast drawing, at least for that first year. A more standard progression of exercises eventually obtained but our first two years were a bit unorthodox.
The lighting was as you would expect in an old school building, several large windows in each room, some facing east, another room had south light and another north light. We turned on the overhead lights only if nobody was painting. Still lifes were mostly painted with natural light except for a few set-ups which were illuminated with artificial light.
By the third year we had settled into a curriculum consisting generally of first year students doing cast drawing and painting, second year was still lifes, third year would be spent on portraits and the fourth year was small interior paintings. This is only a general description and might vary somewhat with each individual. Life drawing and painting was done throughout all four years. Days were divided in half, one half would be cubicle work (casts, still life and portraiture) the other half was work with the nude model. Pencil drawing from the nude was 2 days a week, the other three days with the nude model would again depend on your skill level, it would be either charcoal drawing, black and white painting or colour painting.
The Cookie Jar, 1984. Oil on canvas, 12" x 18". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
At the time, Atelier LeSueur was one of the few schools that had a practical and theoretical knowledge base of old masterly workmanship and good taste, which was gained through a lineage that stemmed back to the Boston School. Were discussions concerning lineage often brought up?
The lineage was often mentioned, going backwards it was Lack, Gammell, Paxton, Gerome, Delaroche and David. David and Delaroche were never really discussed but the others were. For Gerome it was his superb draftsmanship and careful process with which he put together his paintings that was talked about. For Paxton, he was the bridge that connected that academic draftsmanship with impressionist colour that became the hallmark of the Boston School. His many beautiful interiors were sometimes analysed for qualities of design, colour harmony, drawing, but especially for his impressionist way of seeing the various parts in relation to the whole. That is the “big look” which was often emphasised by Annette and Richard Lack.
As for Gammell it was his book, Twilight of Painting, which was a fascinating, if somewhat bitter dissertation on what befell the art of painting in the 20th century. This was required reading for all first-year students. I recall often talking about Gammell’s tenacity as a painter determined to make headway in a world that was completely set against what he was doing in his art and his teaching. Richard Lack, however, was the one most discussed and whose work we all looked to the most for example. There were numerous visits to his studio and some exhibitions of his that were held during that time. Also, we had many examples of his work to see and study in person at the school.
Annette allowed a great deal of freedom in the early years of the atelier. I think she was still formulating what sort of school she wanted to have. There was no single master’s work who was held up as the ideal but instead, a great many styles and personalities were discussed over the years. My feeling was always that there was so much to learn, discover and understand that it was the work of a lifetime to become conversant with the great art of the past.
I don’t remember any great debates about art though, I may have forgotten them. I do remember when the huge Bouguereau show happened in 1984, we all wanted to paint like him for about the next 5 years. Then when the huge Sorolla show came in 1990, we all wanted to paint like Sorolla. Such is the life of an art student.
The lineage was often mentioned, going backwards it was Lack, Gammell, Paxton, Gerome, Delaroche and David. David and Delaroche were never really discussed but the others were. For Gerome it was his superb draftsmanship and careful process with which he put together his paintings that was talked about. For Paxton, he was the bridge that connected that academic draftsmanship with impressionist colour that became the hallmark of the Boston School. His many beautiful interiors were sometimes analysed for qualities of design, colour harmony, drawing, but especially for his impressionist way of seeing the various parts in relation to the whole. That is the “big look” which was often emphasised by Annette and Richard Lack.
As for Gammell it was his book, Twilight of Painting, which was a fascinating, if somewhat bitter dissertation on what befell the art of painting in the 20th century. This was required reading for all first-year students. I recall often talking about Gammell’s tenacity as a painter determined to make headway in a world that was completely set against what he was doing in his art and his teaching. Richard Lack, however, was the one most discussed and whose work we all looked to the most for example. There were numerous visits to his studio and some exhibitions of his that were held during that time. Also, we had many examples of his work to see and study in person at the school.
Annette allowed a great deal of freedom in the early years of the atelier. I think she was still formulating what sort of school she wanted to have. There was no single master’s work who was held up as the ideal but instead, a great many styles and personalities were discussed over the years. My feeling was always that there was so much to learn, discover and understand that it was the work of a lifetime to become conversant with the great art of the past.
I don’t remember any great debates about art though, I may have forgotten them. I do remember when the huge Bouguereau show happened in 1984, we all wanted to paint like him for about the next 5 years. Then when the huge Sorolla show came in 1990, we all wanted to paint like Sorolla. Such is the life of an art student.
Bust of Socrates, 1986. Oil on canvas, 30" x 17". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Winter Interior, 1996. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Student Self-Portrait, 1986. Oil on canvas, 40" x 32". Collection of Marilyn Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Winter Interior, 1996. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Student Self-Portrait, 1986. Oil on canvas, 40" x 32". Collection of Marilyn Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Atelier LeSueur operated for 15 years and was the training grounds for many artists of tremendous technical abilities. The school ceased in 1996. Are you able to explain the reasons for its closer?
I had quit teaching in the Spring of 1995 though I kept my studio there at the school. The school had always struggled to pay the bills. I believe at that point finances were stretched about as thin as they could get and something was bound to give. Originally, the school was located in Excelsior, Minnesota from 1983 to 1992. The new location, though very lovely, made a car a necessity for models and students, and so limited somewhat our ability to get both. This probably had an impact. There was at that time (mid-1990s) the beginnings of what has now become an explosion of atelier styled schools across the country. The competition from this may also have had an effect.
For Annette, I can only assume it was a very difficult blow. Having a first-rate art school has always been her dream. For my colleague, Michael Coyle, the other main instructor, he opened his own school for a time (the Coyle Studio of Fine Art, also located in Excelsior, Minnesota) and so several students followed him there. As for me, it was ultimately a good thing. I had already ceased teaching the year before and since I could no longer keep my studio there it forced me to separate entirely from the atelier and find new studio space. The summer of 1996, I took a studio above the John Pence Gallery in San Francisco (who now represented me). The following January, I went to London and painted there for 6 months. On the whole, leaving the atelier was a very healthy thing for my artistic life.
Can you explain the series of events that lead to your discovery of Richard Lack?
As I mentioned before, it was Annette who had told me about Richard Lack and his school shortly after I started taking her class when I was 18. I took two classes that summer at Atelier Lack, both taught by his assistant at the time, a man named George Hermann. It was at some point that same spring that I visited Atelier Lack for the first time and had my first visit to Lack’s studio.
Before meeting Annette and hearing about Richard Lack, I had no idea really that there was anyone doing work of that sort who was not an illustrator. I knew of wildlife artists and had met several as a teenager when my father and I used to attend the annual wildlife art show in Minneapolis. I knew there were cowboy artists as well, but I did not know there was such a thing anymore as a fine artist who painted in the classical tradition until I met Richard Lack. Until that point, I thought I wanted to be an illustrator. That notion would change over the next three years.
Upon your first visit to Atelier Lack, what was your initial reaction to the setting and philosophy of the school?
I remember that it was a very different atmosphere than at MCAD. It consisted of a large figure drawing room and some smaller rooms. Examples of works (I did not know whose could be seen on some of the walls), figurative paintings and other studies. The students there, I think at that time there were around 12 or 15, all had their own work areas. These were cubicles equipped with artificial lighting for the beginning students while the advanced students had a good-sized window. Black drapery gave some privacy from the main corridor. Adorning the walls were various figure studies, paintings and reproductions of artworks. There were many plaster casts around, on shelves and in some of the students’ set ups. Some had still life set-ups and with others a portrait was in progress. Easels were around of course, drawings and paintings everywhere in the cubicles. Paints, palettes, brushes, the odd mix of the smell of turpentine, linseed oil and old bread (from a few of the still lifes).
The students were earnest and serious, not so different from those at MCAD though most were a bit older. Many already had a degree. Several spoke of having searched for something like this training but not finding it anywhere. A few were frustrated at the years of lost time. I met Michael Coyle that day who I mentioned, he was I think about 30 then and had to beg Lack to take him on because Lack thought him too old to start. I was intimidated by the talent and by the loftiness of what they were pursuing. I did not feel as at home there as you might think, it was still a very different environment than what I thought I was looking for.
I had quit teaching in the Spring of 1995 though I kept my studio there at the school. The school had always struggled to pay the bills. I believe at that point finances were stretched about as thin as they could get and something was bound to give. Originally, the school was located in Excelsior, Minnesota from 1983 to 1992. The new location, though very lovely, made a car a necessity for models and students, and so limited somewhat our ability to get both. This probably had an impact. There was at that time (mid-1990s) the beginnings of what has now become an explosion of atelier styled schools across the country. The competition from this may also have had an effect.
For Annette, I can only assume it was a very difficult blow. Having a first-rate art school has always been her dream. For my colleague, Michael Coyle, the other main instructor, he opened his own school for a time (the Coyle Studio of Fine Art, also located in Excelsior, Minnesota) and so several students followed him there. As for me, it was ultimately a good thing. I had already ceased teaching the year before and since I could no longer keep my studio there it forced me to separate entirely from the atelier and find new studio space. The summer of 1996, I took a studio above the John Pence Gallery in San Francisco (who now represented me). The following January, I went to London and painted there for 6 months. On the whole, leaving the atelier was a very healthy thing for my artistic life.
Can you explain the series of events that lead to your discovery of Richard Lack?
As I mentioned before, it was Annette who had told me about Richard Lack and his school shortly after I started taking her class when I was 18. I took two classes that summer at Atelier Lack, both taught by his assistant at the time, a man named George Hermann. It was at some point that same spring that I visited Atelier Lack for the first time and had my first visit to Lack’s studio.
Before meeting Annette and hearing about Richard Lack, I had no idea really that there was anyone doing work of that sort who was not an illustrator. I knew of wildlife artists and had met several as a teenager when my father and I used to attend the annual wildlife art show in Minneapolis. I knew there were cowboy artists as well, but I did not know there was such a thing anymore as a fine artist who painted in the classical tradition until I met Richard Lack. Until that point, I thought I wanted to be an illustrator. That notion would change over the next three years.
Upon your first visit to Atelier Lack, what was your initial reaction to the setting and philosophy of the school?
I remember that it was a very different atmosphere than at MCAD. It consisted of a large figure drawing room and some smaller rooms. Examples of works (I did not know whose could be seen on some of the walls), figurative paintings and other studies. The students there, I think at that time there were around 12 or 15, all had their own work areas. These were cubicles equipped with artificial lighting for the beginning students while the advanced students had a good-sized window. Black drapery gave some privacy from the main corridor. Adorning the walls were various figure studies, paintings and reproductions of artworks. There were many plaster casts around, on shelves and in some of the students’ set ups. Some had still life set-ups and with others a portrait was in progress. Easels were around of course, drawings and paintings everywhere in the cubicles. Paints, palettes, brushes, the odd mix of the smell of turpentine, linseed oil and old bread (from a few of the still lifes).
The students were earnest and serious, not so different from those at MCAD though most were a bit older. Many already had a degree. Several spoke of having searched for something like this training but not finding it anywhere. A few were frustrated at the years of lost time. I met Michael Coyle that day who I mentioned, he was I think about 30 then and had to beg Lack to take him on because Lack thought him too old to start. I was intimidated by the talent and by the loftiness of what they were pursuing. I did not feel as at home there as you might think, it was still a very different environment than what I thought I was looking for.
Self-Portrait, 1991. Oil on canvas, 21" x 17". Collection of Annette LeSueur, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
You mentioned that you came to visit Richard Lack’s studio at the approximate age of 18. Can you provide a detailed recollection of the first time you met Mr. Lack and your initial reaction to his studio?
I think the first time I met Richard Lack must have been when I went to Atelier Lack to sign up for the summer class with George Hermann. This may have been the same day I received my tour of the school that I described earlier. However, it may have been a separate visit, I just do not recall exactly. I remember stepping into the office and seeing Richard sitting behind the desk wearing reading glasses. This visit was fairly brief, he told me about the classes, took my name, I must have paid for the class then and that was about it.
As for going to his studio for the first time, that was probably the following winter after I started at Annette’s school. I remember she took several of us students there on a kind of field trip. We entered from the front door of his house which opened directly into his studio. It was quite an impressive sight, I will describe how it looked in the time I knew him, it changed little over the years so I think this description will serve for how it must have looked that day. The studio is a large 24 x 30 foot room, with a huge 8 x 10 foot skylight at the far corner, a fireplace at the center on the left side, a small day bed and window on the right side, and a curtained off portion in the far corner away from the skylight where you can see canvases and some shelves in the darkened space. On the near left side was a small etching press, above it a second skylight, much smaller which was often covered with a screen. Above the fireplace was Lack’s large imaginative painting titled, Perseus and Andromeda, to the left of that on the wall was his exquisite interior titled, The Trio, depicting his three children playing classical instruments. On the wall near the front door was a beautiful pastel done by William Sargent Kendall, Gammell’s first teacher, of a female nude in sunlight. On the far wall lit by the skylight was Lack’s lovely painting of Katherine holding their son, Michael, as well as his imaginative painting titled, Metamorphosis of the Gods, and the masterly half-length portrait of his mother. There was also a large oriental rug on the floor, a reddish coloured painting taboret, a model stand and finally fully lit by the skylight was Lack’s large easel holding whatever painting he was working on that day.
What did the training comprise that Mr. Hermann set for you during the two classes you took at Atelier Lack that summer?
I did one charcoal figure drawing, a female nude and one charcoal cast drawing, a mask of Diana. I struggled to grasp the very basics. It was hot, (it was summer, there was no air conditioning) the work was painfully slow and unrewarding. We studied the basic lessons of the Sight-Size method, how to map out shadow shapes and reduce the complexity of nature to flat, simple value statements. I was unused to working standing up, and the Sight-Size method involves constant walking back and forth which was also new and strange. Even learning to sharpen the charcoal without breaking it was difficult. I remember thinking at the time that a charcoal stick was a most ridiculous medium. I understood this kind of tedium to encompass the basics of what I would be learning in a full-time atelier. It was a bit disheartening.
What I took away from the experience was that here at least was a serious, dedicated and difficult approach to learning how to draw and paint from life. It contrasted in that way sharply from what I encountered at MCAD which seemed to have all the pretense but none of the substance of a serious art school. However, my first exposure to the atelier approach with its reverence for the Old Masters left me wondering whether it might be too high-minded for my aims at the time, which were still to become an illustrator rather than a fine artist.
I think the first time I met Richard Lack must have been when I went to Atelier Lack to sign up for the summer class with George Hermann. This may have been the same day I received my tour of the school that I described earlier. However, it may have been a separate visit, I just do not recall exactly. I remember stepping into the office and seeing Richard sitting behind the desk wearing reading glasses. This visit was fairly brief, he told me about the classes, took my name, I must have paid for the class then and that was about it.
As for going to his studio for the first time, that was probably the following winter after I started at Annette’s school. I remember she took several of us students there on a kind of field trip. We entered from the front door of his house which opened directly into his studio. It was quite an impressive sight, I will describe how it looked in the time I knew him, it changed little over the years so I think this description will serve for how it must have looked that day. The studio is a large 24 x 30 foot room, with a huge 8 x 10 foot skylight at the far corner, a fireplace at the center on the left side, a small day bed and window on the right side, and a curtained off portion in the far corner away from the skylight where you can see canvases and some shelves in the darkened space. On the near left side was a small etching press, above it a second skylight, much smaller which was often covered with a screen. Above the fireplace was Lack’s large imaginative painting titled, Perseus and Andromeda, to the left of that on the wall was his exquisite interior titled, The Trio, depicting his three children playing classical instruments. On the wall near the front door was a beautiful pastel done by William Sargent Kendall, Gammell’s first teacher, of a female nude in sunlight. On the far wall lit by the skylight was Lack’s lovely painting of Katherine holding their son, Michael, as well as his imaginative painting titled, Metamorphosis of the Gods, and the masterly half-length portrait of his mother. There was also a large oriental rug on the floor, a reddish coloured painting taboret, a model stand and finally fully lit by the skylight was Lack’s large easel holding whatever painting he was working on that day.
What did the training comprise that Mr. Hermann set for you during the two classes you took at Atelier Lack that summer?
I did one charcoal figure drawing, a female nude and one charcoal cast drawing, a mask of Diana. I struggled to grasp the very basics. It was hot, (it was summer, there was no air conditioning) the work was painfully slow and unrewarding. We studied the basic lessons of the Sight-Size method, how to map out shadow shapes and reduce the complexity of nature to flat, simple value statements. I was unused to working standing up, and the Sight-Size method involves constant walking back and forth which was also new and strange. Even learning to sharpen the charcoal without breaking it was difficult. I remember thinking at the time that a charcoal stick was a most ridiculous medium. I understood this kind of tedium to encompass the basics of what I would be learning in a full-time atelier. It was a bit disheartening.
What I took away from the experience was that here at least was a serious, dedicated and difficult approach to learning how to draw and paint from life. It contrasted in that way sharply from what I encountered at MCAD which seemed to have all the pretense but none of the substance of a serious art school. However, my first exposure to the atelier approach with its reverence for the Old Masters left me wondering whether it might be too high-minded for my aims at the time, which were still to become an illustrator rather than a fine artist.
Porcelain and Lime, 1993. Oil on canvas, 12" x 15". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Remnants of a Painting Day, 1997. Oil on canvas, 10" x 13". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Remnants of a Painting Day, 1997. Oil on canvas, 10" x 13". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
It seems as though many of the early generation realists were vacillating between choosing to pursue Illustration or Fine Art, due to the modernist trends that were prevalent in the majority of college Art programs. What led you to trust that Fine Art was the right decision and to subsequently enrol in the full-time program at Atelier LeSueur?
I continued my studies at Atelier LeSueur for the first two years and into my third year thinking I would probably go on to become an illustrator of some kind. It was toward the end of my third year when I was finishing my large self-portrait that I began to embrace the idea of being a fine artist. In the spring of that year (1986) I went on a road trip with Jeff Larson, Rick Kochenash and another Lack student to Washington D.C. for the grand opening of the Heritage Art Gallery, a gallery started specifically to represent Classical Realism. From there we went onto New York. We saw an enormous amount of art. Besides the works at the Heritage Art Gallery opening, we visited the National Gallery of Art, the National Portrait Gallery, the Corcoran Gallery of Art, the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, the Brandywine Conservancy and Museum of Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Frick Collection. I am amazed now to think of how much we packed into that short trip. I was filled with inspiration to paint great pictures. While in New York, I bought a book of Rembrandt’s self-portraits. That book influenced me to document my life with self-portraits as he did. I think it was these things together, the trip, the book and the self-portrait that I finished when I returned home that caused me to change my thinking and decide to become a fine artist.
In the fall of 1983, you began your full-time training at Atelier LeSueur, following your two initial classes at Atelier Lack with George Hermann and after your brief enrolment at the St. Paul School of Associated Art. The decision to choose between entering the full-time program at Atelier LeSueur or Atelier Lack must have been a difficult one to make. What factors led you to choose Atelier LeSueur?
I started as a full-time student at Atelier LeSueur in the fall of 1983 when I was 19. Although the exercises themselves were very much in line with what was on offer at Atelier Lack, Annette’s teaching embraced the old masters as well as the golden age illustrators and that was a factor in my decision. Also, I reasoned that I could benefit just as well studying with recent graduates of Atelier Lack (as all my teachers were). There was also talk of Lack having some kind of advanced painting program eventually at Annette’s school which I might be able to take advantage of when the time came. I am sure the fact that I had already developed a friendship with Annette played into my decision to stay. I must admit too that my immaturity at the time led me to make the easier decision which was to remain in a comfortable and probably slightly less demanding situation.
You would come to train at Atelier LeSueur for a total length of 5 years. Can you provide an overview of your daily schedule and the nature of the exercises you completed during your student years?
It should be understood that the program in the first years of Atelier LeSueur was not what could be called a normal atelier program. However, the basic four-year program would eventually obtain as follows: cubicle work consisting of cast drawing, cast painting in black and white, colour still lifes, colour portraits and finally, interiors. Over the same period the work in the figure drawing room would consist of pencil drawings all throughout, charcoal figure drawing, figure painting in black and white and finally figure painting in colour.
As for my own student experience it was this:
First year: Many pencil copies from the flat of the Bargue-Gerome plates, weekly anatomy lessons and three colour still lifes under natural light.
Second year: More copies from the flat now of figure drawings, also here we have the beginning of pencil drawing and charcoal drawing from the live model in the mornings. Pencil drawing was two mornings a week and charcoal drawing the other three mornings a week. I also did one more colour still life and a cast drawing. Landscape painting took place in the summer.
Third year: My third year was again a mixture, I did a cast painting then moved ahead with a large self-portrait. Figure drawing in charcoal and pencil in the mornings as well as memory drawing from the live model. This consisted of looking at the model and making mental notes for ten minutes, then the model would take a ten minute break while students drew until memory failure. The cycle repeated for the three-hour session. It was very difficult. I also began figure painting in black and white oil. Pencil drawing copies continued. Landscape painting continued in the summer.
Fourth year: Portraits. I did several portrait heads from the live model. Pencil figure drawing, as well as figure painting now in colour. Landscape painting in the summer.
Fifth year: Two small interior paintings, also a large ¾ portrait. Pencil figure drawing, colour oil figure painting. Landscape painting in the summer. I began teaching my own group of students during this year.
Throughout my studies there were interspersed discussions and copies of illustrators like Howard Pyle, N.C. Wyeth and Arthur Rackham. There were classes going on of part-time students who were doing copies of these and many other illustrators. The full-time students were encouraged to do various kinds of copying, in pencil or oil of the masters or of the Golden Age illustrators (Annette had an extensive collection of reproductions for both), even simple tracings of their compositions could be a method of study.
My Sixth year was spent along with two other students in the imaginative painting course overseen by Richard Lack, which was held in one of the classrooms at Atelier LeSueur.
In 1991, you painted “Portrait of Annette LeSueur,” which depicts the head and shoulders of Ms. LeSueur in a three-quarter pose, wearing a blue woollen jumper. From the delicate brushwork in the jumper to the subtle rendering of light on the face, this is indeed a fine portrait. Can you provide the backstory of how this portrait came to be, as well as an overview of the process you underwent in painting it?
I had been doing a few portrait commissions for some students between around 1988 and 1991. I had finished my studies at this point and was renting a studio at Atelier LeSueur and teaching there. Annette approached me one day and asked if I would paint her portrait. Richard Lack had done a beautifully finished portrait head of her about 15 years earlier when she was a student and now she wanted a second one from me. We agreed on the size and price and she bought the pale blue sweater specifically for the portrait on advice from a friend.
At this time, I was beginning to dispense with a preliminary drawing for my paintings feeling that I could draw well enough directly on the canvas in charcoal. I did a very small colour sketch on board first from life. This is a practice I had begun using for commissions as it makes for a good visual contract between the artist and the sitter. I did not use photographs for this work but painted the entire thing directly from life. I think we had around 20 sittings over a period of many months. I painted this in a direct method with no underpainting technique. I deliberately posed her turning away and looking off to the side for two reasons. First, Lack’s portrait of Annette depicted her straight on from the front looking directly at you and I wanted mine to be different. But secondly because I wanted to convey one of her traits which is that she is always looking off to the future and making plans, and I wanted to show that in the painting. I captured a sadness in her as well which was partly because it was really there, and partly because of my inexperience in being able to coax the right expression from a sitter.
I continued my studies at Atelier LeSueur for the first two years and into my third year thinking I would probably go on to become an illustrator of some kind. It was toward the end of my third year when I was finishing my large self-portrait that I began to embrace the idea of being a fine artist. In the spring of that year (1986) I went on a road trip with Jeff Larson, Rick Kochenash and another Lack student to Washington D.C. for the grand opening of the Heritage Art Gallery, a gallery started specifically to represent Classical Realism. From there we went onto New York. We saw an enormous amount of art. Besides the works at the Heritage Art Gallery opening, we visited the National Gallery of Art, the National Portrait Gallery, the Corcoran Gallery of Art, the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, the Brandywine Conservancy and Museum of Art, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Frick Collection. I am amazed now to think of how much we packed into that short trip. I was filled with inspiration to paint great pictures. While in New York, I bought a book of Rembrandt’s self-portraits. That book influenced me to document my life with self-portraits as he did. I think it was these things together, the trip, the book and the self-portrait that I finished when I returned home that caused me to change my thinking and decide to become a fine artist.
In the fall of 1983, you began your full-time training at Atelier LeSueur, following your two initial classes at Atelier Lack with George Hermann and after your brief enrolment at the St. Paul School of Associated Art. The decision to choose between entering the full-time program at Atelier LeSueur or Atelier Lack must have been a difficult one to make. What factors led you to choose Atelier LeSueur?
I started as a full-time student at Atelier LeSueur in the fall of 1983 when I was 19. Although the exercises themselves were very much in line with what was on offer at Atelier Lack, Annette’s teaching embraced the old masters as well as the golden age illustrators and that was a factor in my decision. Also, I reasoned that I could benefit just as well studying with recent graduates of Atelier Lack (as all my teachers were). There was also talk of Lack having some kind of advanced painting program eventually at Annette’s school which I might be able to take advantage of when the time came. I am sure the fact that I had already developed a friendship with Annette played into my decision to stay. I must admit too that my immaturity at the time led me to make the easier decision which was to remain in a comfortable and probably slightly less demanding situation.
You would come to train at Atelier LeSueur for a total length of 5 years. Can you provide an overview of your daily schedule and the nature of the exercises you completed during your student years?
It should be understood that the program in the first years of Atelier LeSueur was not what could be called a normal atelier program. However, the basic four-year program would eventually obtain as follows: cubicle work consisting of cast drawing, cast painting in black and white, colour still lifes, colour portraits and finally, interiors. Over the same period the work in the figure drawing room would consist of pencil drawings all throughout, charcoal figure drawing, figure painting in black and white and finally figure painting in colour.
As for my own student experience it was this:
First year: Many pencil copies from the flat of the Bargue-Gerome plates, weekly anatomy lessons and three colour still lifes under natural light.
Second year: More copies from the flat now of figure drawings, also here we have the beginning of pencil drawing and charcoal drawing from the live model in the mornings. Pencil drawing was two mornings a week and charcoal drawing the other three mornings a week. I also did one more colour still life and a cast drawing. Landscape painting took place in the summer.
Third year: My third year was again a mixture, I did a cast painting then moved ahead with a large self-portrait. Figure drawing in charcoal and pencil in the mornings as well as memory drawing from the live model. This consisted of looking at the model and making mental notes for ten minutes, then the model would take a ten minute break while students drew until memory failure. The cycle repeated for the three-hour session. It was very difficult. I also began figure painting in black and white oil. Pencil drawing copies continued. Landscape painting continued in the summer.
Fourth year: Portraits. I did several portrait heads from the live model. Pencil figure drawing, as well as figure painting now in colour. Landscape painting in the summer.
Fifth year: Two small interior paintings, also a large ¾ portrait. Pencil figure drawing, colour oil figure painting. Landscape painting in the summer. I began teaching my own group of students during this year.
Throughout my studies there were interspersed discussions and copies of illustrators like Howard Pyle, N.C. Wyeth and Arthur Rackham. There were classes going on of part-time students who were doing copies of these and many other illustrators. The full-time students were encouraged to do various kinds of copying, in pencil or oil of the masters or of the Golden Age illustrators (Annette had an extensive collection of reproductions for both), even simple tracings of their compositions could be a method of study.
My Sixth year was spent along with two other students in the imaginative painting course overseen by Richard Lack, which was held in one of the classrooms at Atelier LeSueur.
In 1991, you painted “Portrait of Annette LeSueur,” which depicts the head and shoulders of Ms. LeSueur in a three-quarter pose, wearing a blue woollen jumper. From the delicate brushwork in the jumper to the subtle rendering of light on the face, this is indeed a fine portrait. Can you provide the backstory of how this portrait came to be, as well as an overview of the process you underwent in painting it?
I had been doing a few portrait commissions for some students between around 1988 and 1991. I had finished my studies at this point and was renting a studio at Atelier LeSueur and teaching there. Annette approached me one day and asked if I would paint her portrait. Richard Lack had done a beautifully finished portrait head of her about 15 years earlier when she was a student and now she wanted a second one from me. We agreed on the size and price and she bought the pale blue sweater specifically for the portrait on advice from a friend.
At this time, I was beginning to dispense with a preliminary drawing for my paintings feeling that I could draw well enough directly on the canvas in charcoal. I did a very small colour sketch on board first from life. This is a practice I had begun using for commissions as it makes for a good visual contract between the artist and the sitter. I did not use photographs for this work but painted the entire thing directly from life. I think we had around 20 sittings over a period of many months. I painted this in a direct method with no underpainting technique. I deliberately posed her turning away and looking off to the side for two reasons. First, Lack’s portrait of Annette depicted her straight on from the front looking directly at you and I wanted mine to be different. But secondly because I wanted to convey one of her traits which is that she is always looking off to the future and making plans, and I wanted to show that in the painting. I captured a sadness in her as well which was partly because it was really there, and partly because of my inexperience in being able to coax the right expression from a sitter.
Portrait of Annette LeSueur, 1991. Oil on canvas, 23" x 19". Collection of Annette LeSueur, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
In the fall of 1988, during your sixth year at Atelier LeSueur, you were the first of three students to undertake the yearlong imaginative painting course that was developed by Mr. Lack for students who had already completed the four-year basic atelier course. Can you provide a detailed description of the course’s curriculum and your experiences during this year of intensive training?
A notice was put out sometime in 1987 that there would indeed be an “imaginative painting” program held at Atelier LeSueur and taught by Richard Lack. The students selected were expected to complete two imaginative works of their own design; one in the bister method and the other in the Venetian method. Lack would come to give regular critiques. There were just three slots for this course. Eligible students had to have gone through 4 years at one of the ateliers (there were three or four ateliers at this time in Minneapolis). You had to work up drawings or sketches out of your head for your two designs and schedule an interview with Lack to show your designs and discuss. I do not remember how many potential students were interviewed, it was likely less than a dozen I would say. I was one of three chosen. Rick Kochenash was another and the third was a student who came from Indiana named Chris Kholi.
The term “imaginative painting” is the one used by Richard Lack to define any of a broad range of paintings that included religious subjects, mythological, poetical or personal. These are distinct from other types such as landscape painting, portraits or still life. Imaginative paintings generally use the human figure to convey a larger story or idea.
The vast majority of the time in the class we were working on our own. Lack came when he could which was about twice a month. He had begun working on his largest canvas, the centre panel for his triptych titled, Day of Wrath, which he executed entirely in the large room along with us. Our progress was slow. We were in charge of hiring our own models for our work, coordinating with each other as to schedules since there were three of us in the same large room doing two paintings each. We all had a general work area set aside for each of us. The model area was shared. I remember after the selection of the three participants was made, we all met at Lack’s studio one afternoon and he discussed his goals for the program and his general thoughts on imaginative painting while we all took notes. It was really thrilling to be undertaking something so lofty. Lack had spent the last 30 years developing his thoughts and approach to this type of painting and had completed many beautiful works up to that point with great skill and understanding.
Once Lack laid out the approach we should follow in this meeting, our course was entirely self-directed with regular critiques. We were expected to be working daily on our projects for the year. You begin with drawings and sketches entirely from imagination, then you produce a rough colour sketch in oil. This is the imagination phase. Once you have gone as far as you can go there, you begin to bring in nature. This means gathering studies done from life of the separate parts of your composition. Generally, these are done in a mass drawing medium such as chalk or conte crayon. Studies of bits of nature for the background, drapery studies, figures, heads, hands, animals if it is part of your design, basically as many studies as you can for all the different elements in your composition. Many of these would also be done in oil as well for more information and for colour.
Next is what is called the cartoon which is a large drawing of your entire composition in charcoal the actual size your painting is to be. You may need to tape together several pieces of paper onto one large drawing board if your painting is to be large. A final colour sketch which utilises all this new information is probably a good idea. The last step is the final work on canvas. This is done with continued reference to the myriad of studies already done and may include changes and further use of figure models to finish.
Lack outlined the general goal as being one which had enough of the imagination to be pictorially interesting and beautiful, yet retained enough of the natural world to be convincing in effect without looking silly or staged. This is actually a difficult task especially in the absence of any coherent modern tradition. There are a great number of talented painters today attempting this type of work, but I think most of the results so far, though often dazzling, are missing something.
I think I was well enough prepared for this class in terms of basic skills needed but in terms of artistic maturity, I still had a distance to go. I finished both pictures but it took me an extra year to do it. Neither was entirely successful, but the course was of huge value to me in terms of understanding the process by doing.
My design for the bister painting was a very academic nude bather picture with a pair of swans. My choice for the Venetian method was an illustration of T. S. Eliot’s poem, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. It depicted an old man by the seashore with mermaids singing, a reference to the last verses of the poem.
A notice was put out sometime in 1987 that there would indeed be an “imaginative painting” program held at Atelier LeSueur and taught by Richard Lack. The students selected were expected to complete two imaginative works of their own design; one in the bister method and the other in the Venetian method. Lack would come to give regular critiques. There were just three slots for this course. Eligible students had to have gone through 4 years at one of the ateliers (there were three or four ateliers at this time in Minneapolis). You had to work up drawings or sketches out of your head for your two designs and schedule an interview with Lack to show your designs and discuss. I do not remember how many potential students were interviewed, it was likely less than a dozen I would say. I was one of three chosen. Rick Kochenash was another and the third was a student who came from Indiana named Chris Kholi.
The term “imaginative painting” is the one used by Richard Lack to define any of a broad range of paintings that included religious subjects, mythological, poetical or personal. These are distinct from other types such as landscape painting, portraits or still life. Imaginative paintings generally use the human figure to convey a larger story or idea.
The vast majority of the time in the class we were working on our own. Lack came when he could which was about twice a month. He had begun working on his largest canvas, the centre panel for his triptych titled, Day of Wrath, which he executed entirely in the large room along with us. Our progress was slow. We were in charge of hiring our own models for our work, coordinating with each other as to schedules since there were three of us in the same large room doing two paintings each. We all had a general work area set aside for each of us. The model area was shared. I remember after the selection of the three participants was made, we all met at Lack’s studio one afternoon and he discussed his goals for the program and his general thoughts on imaginative painting while we all took notes. It was really thrilling to be undertaking something so lofty. Lack had spent the last 30 years developing his thoughts and approach to this type of painting and had completed many beautiful works up to that point with great skill and understanding.
Once Lack laid out the approach we should follow in this meeting, our course was entirely self-directed with regular critiques. We were expected to be working daily on our projects for the year. You begin with drawings and sketches entirely from imagination, then you produce a rough colour sketch in oil. This is the imagination phase. Once you have gone as far as you can go there, you begin to bring in nature. This means gathering studies done from life of the separate parts of your composition. Generally, these are done in a mass drawing medium such as chalk or conte crayon. Studies of bits of nature for the background, drapery studies, figures, heads, hands, animals if it is part of your design, basically as many studies as you can for all the different elements in your composition. Many of these would also be done in oil as well for more information and for colour.
Next is what is called the cartoon which is a large drawing of your entire composition in charcoal the actual size your painting is to be. You may need to tape together several pieces of paper onto one large drawing board if your painting is to be large. A final colour sketch which utilises all this new information is probably a good idea. The last step is the final work on canvas. This is done with continued reference to the myriad of studies already done and may include changes and further use of figure models to finish.
Lack outlined the general goal as being one which had enough of the imagination to be pictorially interesting and beautiful, yet retained enough of the natural world to be convincing in effect without looking silly or staged. This is actually a difficult task especially in the absence of any coherent modern tradition. There are a great number of talented painters today attempting this type of work, but I think most of the results so far, though often dazzling, are missing something.
I think I was well enough prepared for this class in terms of basic skills needed but in terms of artistic maturity, I still had a distance to go. I finished both pictures but it took me an extra year to do it. Neither was entirely successful, but the course was of huge value to me in terms of understanding the process by doing.
My design for the bister painting was a very academic nude bather picture with a pair of swans. My choice for the Venetian method was an illustration of T. S. Eliot’s poem, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. It depicted an old man by the seashore with mermaids singing, a reference to the last verses of the poem.
We Have Lingered in the Chambers of the Sea (colour sketch), 1988. Oil on canvas, 12" x 10". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
We Have Lingered in the Chambers of the Sea, 1991. Oil on canvas, 50" x 40". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
We Have Lingered in the Chambers of the Sea, 1991. Oil on canvas, 50" x 40". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
In 1993 you painted “Portrait of Richard Lack,” which represents Mr. Lack sitting before a blank canvas, holding his palette and brushes, wearing a red woollen jumper and a white shawl. Mr. Lack’s dog is sitting beside him in the foreground and in the background, there is a cropping of one of Mr. Lack’s paintings. Few portraits were painted of Mr. Lack by his students in his lifetime. However, your portrait captures his humility with the utmost sensitivity of drawing and design. I imagine you must have had plenty of quiet time with Mr. Lack during the portrait sittings. Can you elaborate on the premise of this portrait and your process for creating it, as well as explain the nature of the conversations you had with Mr. Lack during the sittings?
I had tried in vain to get Lack to paint a portrait of me, but he was not taking commissions any longer. I offered to let him have full control and paint my portrait however he liked, in costume even or whatever he liked to try to make it interesting for him but all to no avail. I had always thought that he would make a great subject for a portrait and wondered why he had only done one self-portrait to my knowledge. I, by this time, had already done several of myself. I asked him if he would be willing to let me paint his portrait and to my surprise he said yes. This was in the fall of 1992. We agreed that the portrait would become his property and in return I would get a small painting or two of his and a few etchings. He agreed to sit for me one morning a week, for around twenty weeks. Every Monday I showed up at his studio at 9:30 am, which is where we did the portrait. I began with a few quick pencil sketches to search out the pose. He needed to be sitting down for the portrait just for his own comfort so that part of the pose was decided from the beginning. I knew I wanted a strong light on his face, similar to a Rembrandt style lighting. Since painting was Lack’s life, I chose to depict him as an artist with palette, brushes, his usual painting smock and one of his paintings visible in the background. I used his grey studio backdrop behind him to simplify the design and focus the attention on his head. I altered the colour of his smock, however, as his usual pale blue smock did not suit my taste for the overall design. The painting in the background is one of Lack’s imaginative works called, Shadowdance, which I have always thought was one of his best. Thus, I have depicted him very much in the same fashion as many of the American Impressionist painters depicted themselves in their self-portraits, but have included this other aspect of Lack, his imaginative works. I made two small colour sketches on board and being satisfied with one of them, I stretched a canvas that I thought was the right size and began painting. As before, I drew directly on the canvas in charcoal from life, then began applying paint. No underpainting technique was used.
After the third or fourth session, once I had all the colour pretty well laid in, I had to face the fact that I had made a novice’s mistake, my canvas was simply too small for my design. Richard was a big man and my painting made him look cramped and squeezed in, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had to begin again. Embarrassed, I showed up at the studio for the next session and had to admit my error and ask if we could start over. Lack was very gracious, he agreed with my assessment that the canvas was indeed too small and that he would be willing to let me start again. He teased me a little for my mistake and that was that. The following week I arrived with a fresh canvas, several inches larger and I started again.
Adding the dog, Jason, was my suggestion. He loved that old dog and Jason was a constant companion for Richard in the studio. I utilised a few photos and a study done partially from life in order to include the dog and Lack was pleased with the result. The figure of Lack was painted entirely from life, the painting in the background was done in my studio from a photograph I took.
Painting Lack’s portrait was a real honour and I loved the whole experience. I would often try to think of questions to ask him in advance to keep the conversation going. There was a good deal of silence as well, it is quite difficult to paint from life and carry on a conversation at the same time and of course Lack knew that very well. He often struggled to stay awake during the sittings and so I would try to keep him engaged in conversation as best I could. I wish now that I had quizzed him more for his opinions of various painters as his knowledge was very wide on past artists. I know he loved Rubens and Veronese. Veronese he said, had this unique colour sense which Lack, being a colourist, very much admired. He said that Veronese would often throw in an odd note in a painting like a great chef might toss in an unexpected spice that makes the dish stand out.
I would love to ask him now, what he thought of George Bellows? Of Edward Hopper? Did he share Gammell’s opinion that they were simply bad painters who were not quite bad enough and so they were taken seriously? Or is there something of value in their work? And so many others I wish I had asked him about. I remember too that he said if he were an ambitious young portrait painter today, he would spend a lot of time at the Loring Bar (a fashionable hangout in downtown Minneapolis at the time) and talk to people, and be seen doing sketches and paintings. Or go and talk to Dolly Fitterman, a well-known art dealer and make sure she knew who you were.
We talked a lot about teaching, about how you have to be partly a psychologist in order to understand how each student thinks, what their difficulties are and how best to connect with them in order to explain the concepts you are trying to get across. Each student is different and you have to tailor your critique to them. He was often questioning me about Annette’s school and trying to help me be a better teacher.
I think we had around 25 sittings in total and I completed the work in the spring of 1993. All together it was a great experience for me and I know Lack enjoyed it as well. The painting originally was given a prominent place in the Lack’s home where it hung for many years. Now it hangs in the office of The Atelier (the continuation of Atelier Lack) in Minneapolis. Lack was pleased with how it turned out and we both considered it a success.
I had tried in vain to get Lack to paint a portrait of me, but he was not taking commissions any longer. I offered to let him have full control and paint my portrait however he liked, in costume even or whatever he liked to try to make it interesting for him but all to no avail. I had always thought that he would make a great subject for a portrait and wondered why he had only done one self-portrait to my knowledge. I, by this time, had already done several of myself. I asked him if he would be willing to let me paint his portrait and to my surprise he said yes. This was in the fall of 1992. We agreed that the portrait would become his property and in return I would get a small painting or two of his and a few etchings. He agreed to sit for me one morning a week, for around twenty weeks. Every Monday I showed up at his studio at 9:30 am, which is where we did the portrait. I began with a few quick pencil sketches to search out the pose. He needed to be sitting down for the portrait just for his own comfort so that part of the pose was decided from the beginning. I knew I wanted a strong light on his face, similar to a Rembrandt style lighting. Since painting was Lack’s life, I chose to depict him as an artist with palette, brushes, his usual painting smock and one of his paintings visible in the background. I used his grey studio backdrop behind him to simplify the design and focus the attention on his head. I altered the colour of his smock, however, as his usual pale blue smock did not suit my taste for the overall design. The painting in the background is one of Lack’s imaginative works called, Shadowdance, which I have always thought was one of his best. Thus, I have depicted him very much in the same fashion as many of the American Impressionist painters depicted themselves in their self-portraits, but have included this other aspect of Lack, his imaginative works. I made two small colour sketches on board and being satisfied with one of them, I stretched a canvas that I thought was the right size and began painting. As before, I drew directly on the canvas in charcoal from life, then began applying paint. No underpainting technique was used.
After the third or fourth session, once I had all the colour pretty well laid in, I had to face the fact that I had made a novice’s mistake, my canvas was simply too small for my design. Richard was a big man and my painting made him look cramped and squeezed in, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had to begin again. Embarrassed, I showed up at the studio for the next session and had to admit my error and ask if we could start over. Lack was very gracious, he agreed with my assessment that the canvas was indeed too small and that he would be willing to let me start again. He teased me a little for my mistake and that was that. The following week I arrived with a fresh canvas, several inches larger and I started again.
Adding the dog, Jason, was my suggestion. He loved that old dog and Jason was a constant companion for Richard in the studio. I utilised a few photos and a study done partially from life in order to include the dog and Lack was pleased with the result. The figure of Lack was painted entirely from life, the painting in the background was done in my studio from a photograph I took.
Painting Lack’s portrait was a real honour and I loved the whole experience. I would often try to think of questions to ask him in advance to keep the conversation going. There was a good deal of silence as well, it is quite difficult to paint from life and carry on a conversation at the same time and of course Lack knew that very well. He often struggled to stay awake during the sittings and so I would try to keep him engaged in conversation as best I could. I wish now that I had quizzed him more for his opinions of various painters as his knowledge was very wide on past artists. I know he loved Rubens and Veronese. Veronese he said, had this unique colour sense which Lack, being a colourist, very much admired. He said that Veronese would often throw in an odd note in a painting like a great chef might toss in an unexpected spice that makes the dish stand out.
I would love to ask him now, what he thought of George Bellows? Of Edward Hopper? Did he share Gammell’s opinion that they were simply bad painters who were not quite bad enough and so they were taken seriously? Or is there something of value in their work? And so many others I wish I had asked him about. I remember too that he said if he were an ambitious young portrait painter today, he would spend a lot of time at the Loring Bar (a fashionable hangout in downtown Minneapolis at the time) and talk to people, and be seen doing sketches and paintings. Or go and talk to Dolly Fitterman, a well-known art dealer and make sure she knew who you were.
We talked a lot about teaching, about how you have to be partly a psychologist in order to understand how each student thinks, what their difficulties are and how best to connect with them in order to explain the concepts you are trying to get across. Each student is different and you have to tailor your critique to them. He was often questioning me about Annette’s school and trying to help me be a better teacher.
I think we had around 25 sittings in total and I completed the work in the spring of 1993. All together it was a great experience for me and I know Lack enjoyed it as well. The painting originally was given a prominent place in the Lack’s home where it hung for many years. Now it hangs in the office of The Atelier (the continuation of Atelier Lack) in Minneapolis. Lack was pleased with how it turned out and we both considered it a success.
Portrait of Richard Lack, 1993. Oil on canvas, 48" x 38". Collection of The Atelier, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Throughout your association with Mr. Lack, I understand you had the privilege of executing several underpaintings for him including one for his large imaginative painting titled, Golden Apples of the Sun, and two more for posthumous portrait commissions he had. Can you explain how you came to be chosen to create the underpaintings and your experience in painting them?
Richard asked me on two different occasions to paint the lay-in and beyond for two posthumous portrait commissions in about 1990 and 1991. The photos we had to work from were pretty good, but they had a light effect that made it tricky to translate into paint. Richard gave me direction as to the placement of the head on the canvas, I did the drawing, lay-in and building up of colour and form to about ¾ finished. I did the best I could with the lay-in and Richard finished it up beautifully.
Regarding the underpainting for Golden Apples of the Sun, it was always Richard's vision to establish an imaginative painting workshop where more advanced students would begin to learn the process by doing things like transferring drawings for him onto canvas and doing lay-ins and underpaintings according to his designs and under his supervision. I do not recall exactly how this one came about but I suppose I was asked in this particular case because I was available and had enough skill at that point that he trusted me to do it. He was not pressed for time, he did these imaginative works at his own pace and they were never for a commission or slotted for any particular show deadline.
Photo of Richard’s portrait commissions for which I did the underpainting:
Richard asked me on two different occasions to paint the lay-in and beyond for two posthumous portrait commissions in about 1990 and 1991. The photos we had to work from were pretty good, but they had a light effect that made it tricky to translate into paint. Richard gave me direction as to the placement of the head on the canvas, I did the drawing, lay-in and building up of colour and form to about ¾ finished. I did the best I could with the lay-in and Richard finished it up beautifully.
Regarding the underpainting for Golden Apples of the Sun, it was always Richard's vision to establish an imaginative painting workshop where more advanced students would begin to learn the process by doing things like transferring drawings for him onto canvas and doing lay-ins and underpaintings according to his designs and under his supervision. I do not recall exactly how this one came about but I suppose I was asked in this particular case because I was available and had enough skill at that point that he trusted me to do it. He was not pressed for time, he did these imaginative works at his own pace and they were never for a commission or slotted for any particular show deadline.
Photo of Richard’s portrait commissions for which I did the underpainting:
Richard Lack, John Oppenheimer Sr., 1988. Oil on canvas, 36" x 30". Collection of the Charles K. Blandin Foundation. Image courtesy of: The Estate of Richard Lack, Minnetonka, Minnesota.
Richard Lack, Wayne Jimmerson, 1988. Oil on canvas, 24" x 18". Collection of Dr. Joseph Kaiser. Image courtesy of: The Estate of Richard Lack, Minnetonka, Minnesota.
Richard Lack, Wayne Jimmerson, 1988. Oil on canvas, 24" x 18". Collection of Dr. Joseph Kaiser. Image courtesy of: The Estate of Richard Lack, Minnetonka, Minnesota.
In 1994, I understand you travelled to Europe with fellow painter, Carl Samson. How was this trip planned and can you describe the experiences you had?
This was a long-term painting trip, about 10 weeks in all. It was Carl’s idea to go to France and Italy together and seek out two or three locations in which to rent accommodations and paint the surrounding area. We sketched out the basic idea of the trip together at the outset and made a few changes as we went. We rented a car which gave us quite a bit more freedom. It was a fantastic trip, far too many experiences to relate, but here’s a brief list of locations we saw: In France, Paris, Vethuiel, Giverny, and the Normandy region, in Italy, Florence, Rome, Siena, Venice and the Chianti region.
This was a long-term painting trip, about 10 weeks in all. It was Carl’s idea to go to France and Italy together and seek out two or three locations in which to rent accommodations and paint the surrounding area. We sketched out the basic idea of the trip together at the outset and made a few changes as we went. We rented a car which gave us quite a bit more freedom. It was a fantastic trip, far too many experiences to relate, but here’s a brief list of locations we saw: In France, Paris, Vethuiel, Giverny, and the Normandy region, in Italy, Florence, Rome, Siena, Venice and the Chianti region.
Steven Levin (left) and Carl Samson (right) in front of the Louvre in Paris. Summer of 1994. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
During your fifth year at Atelier LeSueur, you began teaching. In fact, after graduating, you taught there for seven years. Can you explain how you initially obtained your teaching position?
Annette offered me the teaching position before I started my fifth year. This was around the time when Atelier LeSueur had its largest number of students. Initially I was given around ten students to critique for the year. These were selected by Annette who chose the ones she thought were the best suited for me mostly in terms of personality and compatibility. I was still just 24 and thus younger than almost all the students we had at the time. I pretty much followed the basic curriculum already established. It was my decision as to when they were ready to move on to the next level of exercises. In the years that followed I was given charge of the best 8 or ten students which I would select and these would form the core group.
We had many different teachers at Atelier LeSueur over the 12 years that I was a part of it. Including Annette, who gave critiques from time-to-time, we had James Coston, Jeff Larson, David Erickson, Lisa Bormann, Kurt Anderson, Michael Coyle, Mark Balma (briefly) and Mark Johnson.
Teaching was only a small-time commitment, just 1 ½ days a week and a week of landscape painting in the summer. I found it to be an excellent way to transition from student to full-time professional. Teaching forces you to verbalise your thinking process and field questions as to why a thing is done in a certain way. It helps further cement the lessons you learned yourself and thus carry them forward into your professional life. I did on occasion find the time away from my own work a bit frustrating, but despite how tiring teaching could be, there was also an energy I could pick up on just being around other art students.
One of the most difficult things I found was to teach students to see in terms of flat, simple value shapes. Most students look way into the objects they are painting trying to capture every little nuance of form and colour. This way of looking always results in a complete distortion of the appearance of things and all the beauty is missed. Teaching that largeness of vision, what Lack called “the big look” is as much a process of unlearning as of learning.
By my seventh year of teaching, I felt I had put in my time to help the school and that to stay would not be a benefit for me any longer. Annette very much wanted me to keep my studio at the school, however, even though I was not teaching and this I did for one year more. All in all, my association with Atelier LeSueur, first as a student, then as a teacher lasted from the fall of 1983 to the summer of 1996. That summer I moved to San Francisco and used an art studio above the John Pence Gallery. I had a couple years earlier been taken on by the gallery as one of their exhibiting artists and had begun sending them work.
After you concluded your training at Atelier LeSueur in 1996, you began dedicating yourself to your own work without the added distraction of teaching. Many artists comment on the sacrifices one needs to make in life in order to continue painting. In fact, it was the twentieth century luminary of realism, Pietro Annigoni, who used to sign his paintings using the cipher “C” followed by three crucifixes which represented the Via Crucis; “the hard road to the cross which the artist must travel.” Can you elaborate on your experiences of committing to your work full-time and deciding to rely on the sales of your paintings to earn a living?
After my studies were finished, Annette offered one of the rooms at the school as a studio for me for a monthly fee and I decided it would make for a smoother transition to stay where other artist/students were working. This turned out to be a good choice. I was able to get a few portrait commissions from students and Annette would on occasion make small purchases of sketches or drawings I did. I remember being very excited to set up my own studio just the way I wanted it, to have my own place of work to come to work every day.
There were many stretches where inspiration was difficult and sometimes I felt a real lack of focus, or did not feel like working. I plugged along slowly at first. Finding one’s voice as an artist can take a lot of time and struggle. I think the two things that helped me out the most in this period is that Annette would regularly purchase various studies I did in order to use them as teaching tools for her school, and the other was my good fortune in having two galleries that I was sending work to and so from time-to-time, I received income from sales there as well, which was a boost to my confidence. I was also still teaching but wanted very much to devote the rest of my time and attention to painting, so I took the chance and left my other part-time job right around this time.
In the summers the studio was very hot, as we were on the third floor and there was no air conditioning, so I painted landscapes all summer outdoors for the first several years. I decided early on to treat my artistic pursuit as a regular job, meaning I would go to work in the mornings like everyone else and work until around 4:00 or 5:00 pm. In the summers I would often go back out in the evenings after dinner to paint an evening landscape. These works were small and easier to sell than larger works which was helpful.
Despite the fact that I never had much money during this period, I enjoyed this time of my life tremendously. I was free, able to do what I wanted and pursue what I loved. The lack of money never bothered me much. I had a small apartment at first, then lived in a house with roommates after that. It took about ten years before I began to have some real success. I am not sure why, but it never really occurred to me that I might not be able to make it. I do not remember any specific point where I felt like things had changed and I had achieved success, it was a very gradual progression year-by-year.
Annette offered me the teaching position before I started my fifth year. This was around the time when Atelier LeSueur had its largest number of students. Initially I was given around ten students to critique for the year. These were selected by Annette who chose the ones she thought were the best suited for me mostly in terms of personality and compatibility. I was still just 24 and thus younger than almost all the students we had at the time. I pretty much followed the basic curriculum already established. It was my decision as to when they were ready to move on to the next level of exercises. In the years that followed I was given charge of the best 8 or ten students which I would select and these would form the core group.
We had many different teachers at Atelier LeSueur over the 12 years that I was a part of it. Including Annette, who gave critiques from time-to-time, we had James Coston, Jeff Larson, David Erickson, Lisa Bormann, Kurt Anderson, Michael Coyle, Mark Balma (briefly) and Mark Johnson.
Teaching was only a small-time commitment, just 1 ½ days a week and a week of landscape painting in the summer. I found it to be an excellent way to transition from student to full-time professional. Teaching forces you to verbalise your thinking process and field questions as to why a thing is done in a certain way. It helps further cement the lessons you learned yourself and thus carry them forward into your professional life. I did on occasion find the time away from my own work a bit frustrating, but despite how tiring teaching could be, there was also an energy I could pick up on just being around other art students.
One of the most difficult things I found was to teach students to see in terms of flat, simple value shapes. Most students look way into the objects they are painting trying to capture every little nuance of form and colour. This way of looking always results in a complete distortion of the appearance of things and all the beauty is missed. Teaching that largeness of vision, what Lack called “the big look” is as much a process of unlearning as of learning.
By my seventh year of teaching, I felt I had put in my time to help the school and that to stay would not be a benefit for me any longer. Annette very much wanted me to keep my studio at the school, however, even though I was not teaching and this I did for one year more. All in all, my association with Atelier LeSueur, first as a student, then as a teacher lasted from the fall of 1983 to the summer of 1996. That summer I moved to San Francisco and used an art studio above the John Pence Gallery. I had a couple years earlier been taken on by the gallery as one of their exhibiting artists and had begun sending them work.
After you concluded your training at Atelier LeSueur in 1996, you began dedicating yourself to your own work without the added distraction of teaching. Many artists comment on the sacrifices one needs to make in life in order to continue painting. In fact, it was the twentieth century luminary of realism, Pietro Annigoni, who used to sign his paintings using the cipher “C” followed by three crucifixes which represented the Via Crucis; “the hard road to the cross which the artist must travel.” Can you elaborate on your experiences of committing to your work full-time and deciding to rely on the sales of your paintings to earn a living?
After my studies were finished, Annette offered one of the rooms at the school as a studio for me for a monthly fee and I decided it would make for a smoother transition to stay where other artist/students were working. This turned out to be a good choice. I was able to get a few portrait commissions from students and Annette would on occasion make small purchases of sketches or drawings I did. I remember being very excited to set up my own studio just the way I wanted it, to have my own place of work to come to work every day.
There were many stretches where inspiration was difficult and sometimes I felt a real lack of focus, or did not feel like working. I plugged along slowly at first. Finding one’s voice as an artist can take a lot of time and struggle. I think the two things that helped me out the most in this period is that Annette would regularly purchase various studies I did in order to use them as teaching tools for her school, and the other was my good fortune in having two galleries that I was sending work to and so from time-to-time, I received income from sales there as well, which was a boost to my confidence. I was also still teaching but wanted very much to devote the rest of my time and attention to painting, so I took the chance and left my other part-time job right around this time.
In the summers the studio was very hot, as we were on the third floor and there was no air conditioning, so I painted landscapes all summer outdoors for the first several years. I decided early on to treat my artistic pursuit as a regular job, meaning I would go to work in the mornings like everyone else and work until around 4:00 or 5:00 pm. In the summers I would often go back out in the evenings after dinner to paint an evening landscape. These works were small and easier to sell than larger works which was helpful.
Despite the fact that I never had much money during this period, I enjoyed this time of my life tremendously. I was free, able to do what I wanted and pursue what I loved. The lack of money never bothered me much. I had a small apartment at first, then lived in a house with roommates after that. It took about ten years before I began to have some real success. I am not sure why, but it never really occurred to me that I might not be able to make it. I do not remember any specific point where I felt like things had changed and I had achieved success, it was a very gradual progression year-by-year.
Portrait of Laurie, 1990. Oil on canvas, 32" x 42". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Portrait of Kim, 1990. Oil on canvas, 15" x 17". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Portrait of Ceile, 1989. Oil on canvas, 36" x 39". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Portrait of Kim, 1990. Oil on canvas, 15" x 17". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Portrait of Ceile, 1989. Oil on canvas, 36" x 39". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
I understand the culmination of your training involved a “grand tour” to England where you copied works in the National Gallery of London. What prompted this trip and what would you say are the advantages of copying past master’s work?
I had done many, many copies from the flat in the course of my studies, in several mediums and I always found it very beneficial, but I had never as yet tried a copy of an entire painting from life. Most of the painters I admired had done this and so I thought I should best do it as well. So, how to choose? I decided I might as well choose something in another city in order to have the experience of travel. I was very much into Velasquez at the time, so I started checking to see which paintings of his were in which collections. Madrid was out I thought because the language barrier would make it too difficult to arrange. I decided upon London which had two excellent Velazquez portraits and wrote to the National Gallery to inquire about copying. As it turned out, I had an Irish student at the time who traveled back to London every summer and had friends there. She was able to put me in touch with someone who could rent me a room in his house in Battersea.
I arranged to copy Velasquez’s late portrait titled, King Philip IV, a masterpiece, as well as his portrait titled, Unknown Gentleman. To save time I decided to begin the copies at home from reproductions, then un-stretch the canvases and pack them and the stretcher bars in my suitcase.
Copying is allowed two days a week, Thursday and Friday in the National Gallery. Every Thursday and Friday I arrived at 10:00 am when the museum opened, and painted until about 4:00 pm, taking a break for lunch. I was in one of the large rooms there so throughout the day I would have many people taking a look at my work from time-to-time. There were a few other artists there scattered about the museum doing copies as well, but I do not recall meeting any of them. It took me about 6 weeks to finish both of my copies. I did not do any other kinds of sketching or drawing from any other works while there. In the days I was not painting my copies, I explored the other many museums available, spending time at the Victoria and Albert Museum which has a wonderful print and drawing collection. Also, of course the National Portrait Gallery right next door to the National Gallery is a who’s who of British artists and notables. I was mostly on my own during this trip but had some social outings with the friends that my Irish student was able to introduce me to.
You mentioned that in the summer of 1996, you moved to San Francisco and maintained a studio above the John Pence Gallery. Can you describe what San Francisco’s traditional realist world was like at the time and how it differed to what you had become accustomed to through the training and artists you had befriended in Minneapolis?
I had the good fortune to have exhibited at galleries from the time I was a student. The Heritage Art Gallery in Alexandria, Virginia that I mentioned earlier was one and there was also a local gallery in Minneapolis called Meadow Creek Gallery with whom I had a couple of small shows.
In the Spring of 1993, I went out to California to teach a weeklong workshop. I had arranged ahead of time an interview at the John Pence Gallery in San Francisco. John Pence had already seen my work through a mailing that he had received from Annette and he was interested. After the conclusion of my workshop which was in northern California, I went to San Francisco for my interview. That interview became another turning point of my life.
I had never been to the John Pence Gallery before and it was an imposing place. It was a street level space with two large display windows for paintings and you had to ring the bell to be buzzed in the front door. Then when you entered, it was a large space, dimly lit but for the spotlights on the work and completely empty save for the large desk at the front and an oriental rug on the floor. The space consisted of three rooms extending straight back from the door. On the walls were some of the best living realist artists in the country, almost none of them were familiar to me, all were outside the atelier tradition. Up until that day, I hardly knew these other artists existed, but much of the work was quite impressive. After enjoying the spotlight at the atelier for so many years, I felt very humbled which was in fact exactly what I needed. I wish I had gone there 5 years earlier.
John went through my portfolio page by page and gave me his opinion of each painting, much of it critical, some bordering on harsh. It was an eye opener. Before this, I had only ever received compliments. He talked quite a bit about the gallery as well, about the collectors and his other artists. For the first time I was getting real insight from a man whose gallery was at the forefront of the realist movement, someone who knew serious collectors and their interests. This was something quite different from any gallery I had worked with before and it was a perspective that was entirely apart from the kinds of things atelier artists and teachers discussed. In short, it was a view into the other side of the art world, I knew a good deal about the practice of painting, but very little about the patrons of the Arts, the people I was ostensibly painting for.
I remember Richard Lack warning me once about galleries and how if you are not careful “they’ll have you painting in the back room churning out flower paintings or whatever they think they can sell.” This was sound advice I think, but I am not sure if he fully acknowledged that the gallery and the art collector have a vital role to play in how the artist and his work fits into the world.
The difficult interview notwithstanding, my visit to San Francisco was a success and John agreed to take me on as part of his stable of artists and I began sending him some paintings. Not many at first, and I didn’t get my first sale until a year or more later. It would be four more years before he would give me a one man show. He knew I was not ready yet to mount a show befitting his gallery.
Before my first solo show there, in the early spring of 1996 I called the gallery and said I was thinking of coming to San Francisco for the summer and was there any way they could help me find a place to rent? John had said before that there was studio space above the gallery that was available for artists to use, so that part was taken care of. I knew that John would like the idea of me spending time there as he had expressed a dislike of having to deal with the long-distance part of representing someone. He immediately put one of his employees on the task of finding a place for me and within the week they had found a small studio apartment less than a block down from the gallery.
At the end of May I mailed a couple of boxes of things to the gallery, clothes, a few dishes, a couple of books and my paints, then I packed up the rest of my belongings into a rented storage space in Minneapolis. I took a plane to San Francisco and spent the next three months there painting. The studio above the gallery was mostly a very large open area with a skylight at one end. Part of this space was used for miscellaneous storage but there was plenty of room for me to set up work under the skylight.
I would arrive at the studio every day about 9:00 am, work until noon, then walk a block back to my apartment for lunch (very convenient!) After lunch, I returned to the studio to work until about 4:30 or 5:00 pm. I did several paintings there that summer; still lifes, a few small interiors and landscape sketches. I met several of the gallery artists who were local, Randall Sexton, Dean Larson, Jacob Pfeiffer and Will Wilson. I was able to study at length the many excellent paintings in the gallery which was an education in itself. I also got some insight into the day-to-day workings of the gallery and how they interacted with clients and other artists. What was most valuable, however, were my many conversations with John Pence during this time. He had a great deal of experience and knowledge of the art world and knew many, many artists, collectors and other gallery owners as well. He made for a wonderful counterpart to Richard Lack in my understanding of the world of art outside the studio.
I understand your painting titled, Stairwell Meeting, was purchased by filmmaker M. Night Shyamalan. How did he come to acquire it?
The painting Stairwell Meeting sold through Arcadia gallery when it was located in Soho, NY (it is now in Culver City California). The Soho gallery had many famous people among its clientele, M. Night Shyamalan was one of them.
Were you represented by Arcadia Gallery at one point?
I had several conversations with Steve Diamant of Arcadia Gallery in 2007 which led to us scheduling a one-man show at the gallery in New York, in 2008. That is when my painting, Stairwell Meeting sold. Though the show sold well, the gallery did not choose to continue our association.
I had done many, many copies from the flat in the course of my studies, in several mediums and I always found it very beneficial, but I had never as yet tried a copy of an entire painting from life. Most of the painters I admired had done this and so I thought I should best do it as well. So, how to choose? I decided I might as well choose something in another city in order to have the experience of travel. I was very much into Velasquez at the time, so I started checking to see which paintings of his were in which collections. Madrid was out I thought because the language barrier would make it too difficult to arrange. I decided upon London which had two excellent Velazquez portraits and wrote to the National Gallery to inquire about copying. As it turned out, I had an Irish student at the time who traveled back to London every summer and had friends there. She was able to put me in touch with someone who could rent me a room in his house in Battersea.
I arranged to copy Velasquez’s late portrait titled, King Philip IV, a masterpiece, as well as his portrait titled, Unknown Gentleman. To save time I decided to begin the copies at home from reproductions, then un-stretch the canvases and pack them and the stretcher bars in my suitcase.
Copying is allowed two days a week, Thursday and Friday in the National Gallery. Every Thursday and Friday I arrived at 10:00 am when the museum opened, and painted until about 4:00 pm, taking a break for lunch. I was in one of the large rooms there so throughout the day I would have many people taking a look at my work from time-to-time. There were a few other artists there scattered about the museum doing copies as well, but I do not recall meeting any of them. It took me about 6 weeks to finish both of my copies. I did not do any other kinds of sketching or drawing from any other works while there. In the days I was not painting my copies, I explored the other many museums available, spending time at the Victoria and Albert Museum which has a wonderful print and drawing collection. Also, of course the National Portrait Gallery right next door to the National Gallery is a who’s who of British artists and notables. I was mostly on my own during this trip but had some social outings with the friends that my Irish student was able to introduce me to.
You mentioned that in the summer of 1996, you moved to San Francisco and maintained a studio above the John Pence Gallery. Can you describe what San Francisco’s traditional realist world was like at the time and how it differed to what you had become accustomed to through the training and artists you had befriended in Minneapolis?
I had the good fortune to have exhibited at galleries from the time I was a student. The Heritage Art Gallery in Alexandria, Virginia that I mentioned earlier was one and there was also a local gallery in Minneapolis called Meadow Creek Gallery with whom I had a couple of small shows.
In the Spring of 1993, I went out to California to teach a weeklong workshop. I had arranged ahead of time an interview at the John Pence Gallery in San Francisco. John Pence had already seen my work through a mailing that he had received from Annette and he was interested. After the conclusion of my workshop which was in northern California, I went to San Francisco for my interview. That interview became another turning point of my life.
I had never been to the John Pence Gallery before and it was an imposing place. It was a street level space with two large display windows for paintings and you had to ring the bell to be buzzed in the front door. Then when you entered, it was a large space, dimly lit but for the spotlights on the work and completely empty save for the large desk at the front and an oriental rug on the floor. The space consisted of three rooms extending straight back from the door. On the walls were some of the best living realist artists in the country, almost none of them were familiar to me, all were outside the atelier tradition. Up until that day, I hardly knew these other artists existed, but much of the work was quite impressive. After enjoying the spotlight at the atelier for so many years, I felt very humbled which was in fact exactly what I needed. I wish I had gone there 5 years earlier.
John went through my portfolio page by page and gave me his opinion of each painting, much of it critical, some bordering on harsh. It was an eye opener. Before this, I had only ever received compliments. He talked quite a bit about the gallery as well, about the collectors and his other artists. For the first time I was getting real insight from a man whose gallery was at the forefront of the realist movement, someone who knew serious collectors and their interests. This was something quite different from any gallery I had worked with before and it was a perspective that was entirely apart from the kinds of things atelier artists and teachers discussed. In short, it was a view into the other side of the art world, I knew a good deal about the practice of painting, but very little about the patrons of the Arts, the people I was ostensibly painting for.
I remember Richard Lack warning me once about galleries and how if you are not careful “they’ll have you painting in the back room churning out flower paintings or whatever they think they can sell.” This was sound advice I think, but I am not sure if he fully acknowledged that the gallery and the art collector have a vital role to play in how the artist and his work fits into the world.
The difficult interview notwithstanding, my visit to San Francisco was a success and John agreed to take me on as part of his stable of artists and I began sending him some paintings. Not many at first, and I didn’t get my first sale until a year or more later. It would be four more years before he would give me a one man show. He knew I was not ready yet to mount a show befitting his gallery.
Before my first solo show there, in the early spring of 1996 I called the gallery and said I was thinking of coming to San Francisco for the summer and was there any way they could help me find a place to rent? John had said before that there was studio space above the gallery that was available for artists to use, so that part was taken care of. I knew that John would like the idea of me spending time there as he had expressed a dislike of having to deal with the long-distance part of representing someone. He immediately put one of his employees on the task of finding a place for me and within the week they had found a small studio apartment less than a block down from the gallery.
At the end of May I mailed a couple of boxes of things to the gallery, clothes, a few dishes, a couple of books and my paints, then I packed up the rest of my belongings into a rented storage space in Minneapolis. I took a plane to San Francisco and spent the next three months there painting. The studio above the gallery was mostly a very large open area with a skylight at one end. Part of this space was used for miscellaneous storage but there was plenty of room for me to set up work under the skylight.
I would arrive at the studio every day about 9:00 am, work until noon, then walk a block back to my apartment for lunch (very convenient!) After lunch, I returned to the studio to work until about 4:30 or 5:00 pm. I did several paintings there that summer; still lifes, a few small interiors and landscape sketches. I met several of the gallery artists who were local, Randall Sexton, Dean Larson, Jacob Pfeiffer and Will Wilson. I was able to study at length the many excellent paintings in the gallery which was an education in itself. I also got some insight into the day-to-day workings of the gallery and how they interacted with clients and other artists. What was most valuable, however, were my many conversations with John Pence during this time. He had a great deal of experience and knowledge of the art world and knew many, many artists, collectors and other gallery owners as well. He made for a wonderful counterpart to Richard Lack in my understanding of the world of art outside the studio.
I understand your painting titled, Stairwell Meeting, was purchased by filmmaker M. Night Shyamalan. How did he come to acquire it?
The painting Stairwell Meeting sold through Arcadia gallery when it was located in Soho, NY (it is now in Culver City California). The Soho gallery had many famous people among its clientele, M. Night Shyamalan was one of them.
Were you represented by Arcadia Gallery at one point?
I had several conversations with Steve Diamant of Arcadia Gallery in 2007 which led to us scheduling a one-man show at the gallery in New York, in 2008. That is when my painting, Stairwell Meeting sold. Though the show sold well, the gallery did not choose to continue our association.
Stairwell Meeting, 2008. Oil on canvas, 16" x 13". Collection of M. Night Shyamalan, NY. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Steven Levin’s solo exhibition at John Pence Gallery in San Francisco during November, 2010. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Steven Levin’s solo exhibition at John Pence Gallery in San Francisco during November, 2010. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
In 1997, you had the opportunity to exhibit your work with the Royal Portrait Society (RPS) in London. Through this experience, you received three portrait commissions for the family of Lord and Lady Brockett. How did you come to have the opportunity to exhibit with the Royal Portrait Society and subsequently, receive the commissions?
While I was in San Francisco I began to think about going back to London and spending more time there once my San Francisco stay was over. All my things were in storage so now would be a good time to just continue my extended travels. The house I had rented before was not available, so I would have to find something on my own. The thought was that I would have a flat and a separate studio space. How I was going to pay for it was another matter. When I was still in the planning stage back in Minneapolis, a good friend of mine, (not an artist) whom I had been discussing my idea with called and said he would like to go with me to London, so we decided to go and rent a flat together.
I applied for and received a 6-month travel Visa and on January 2nd, 1997, my friend and I, carrying as much as we could fit into our luggage, arrived at Heathrow airport. First, we rented a hotel room for a few days while we went looking for a flat. Before the week was out, we found one in Maida Vale and signed a lease. After a bit of looking at ads for studio space, I realised that it just was not feasible, so I convinced my friend to let me use part of our 2-bedroom flat as my studio. I would set up in the morning, then take most of it down every evening. Knowing that the RPS held an open exhibition every spring, I had brought a small portrait with me to enter into that competition. This was my painting titled, The Russian Girl.
The painting was accepted and the exhibition opening was in April. As a courtesy for the artists, the RPS has a staff person there throughout the exhibition who is able to provide information should any portrait inquiries arise from the show. Every time someone inquired after my work and showed interest in a possible commission, I was sent a letter by this staff person informing me. Over the month long run of the exhibition, I received four such letters. One of these materialised into a double portrait commission after I met with the client and we talked through some of the particulars. This was David Nall-Cain and his wife, Katherine, formally Lord and Lady Brockett.
It was agreed that I would return to England in the fall of that year, specifically to the Isle of Man where they lived. I stayed with them at their home in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs. I brought all my panting supplies with me and over the course of 6 weeks, I painted two separate portraits, one of David and one of Katherine to be displayed as a pair. I painted them both in a direct manner entirely from life, working around 5 hours every day. There was a lunch break at 1:00 pm after which we would work again until about 3:00 or 3:30 pm, when the light started to get too low. I probably had around 12 to 15 sittings for each portrait.
David loved art and was very knowledgeable. He had a beautiful collection of paintings including a large still life by the 17th century Dutch painter, Jan Weenix. When David was a small boy, he and his brother were actually painted by the celebrated portrait painter, Philip DeLazlo, who became the society painter after John Singer Sargent was no longer doing portraits. This painting by DeLazlo I never saw as it hung elsewhere but I did see a photo, which showed David aged 3 or 4, sitting on a pony with his older brother standing beside him.
The following year I was invited back, this time to Northumberland (where they had moved) to paint David and Katherine’s two grandchildren. Again, I stayed with the family, this time for about 4 weeks and did the painting on location. I had to use photography for much of it as the two boys were only about ages 4 and 9 and could not really pose very well. As before, I worked most of the day while there was light in a direct manner.
I received a third invitation from David, this time to join them at a hunting lodge in northern Scotland to paint landscapes of the surrounding area. I was there for two weeks along with several other friends of theirs. The general agreement was that I would paint landscape sketches of whatever I liked of the area and David would purchase some of them at the end of my stay.
The area was very beautiful, with scrub brush and rocks, rolling hills and a small river running through the bottom of the valley. Every morning there was breakfast laid out for us to serve ourselves whenever we came downstairs. Afterwards, there would be sandwiches set out by the cook and we were encouraged to take one or two and stuff them in our pocket, this would be for lunch later in the day. The other guests then would gather up all their kit and go out stag hunting in the surrounding hills and I would pack up my paints and take the little dirt road that led down into the valley (I had use of a golf cart for this) where I painted landscape sketches. We were out all day, me painting alone in the valley and the rest of them up on the hillsides somewhere hunting. Every once in a while, a shot or two would echo down from the hills while I was working. As the light began to get low, we all met back at the house around 4:00 pm for tea and biscuits. Later, a glass of sherry and talking until dinner was served at 8:00 pm.
At the end of the two weeks, I set out all my little paintings, they were 8 x 10 or 9 x 12 and David selected about half of them to purchase. The rest I gave him as a gift, keeping one for myself.
While I was in San Francisco I began to think about going back to London and spending more time there once my San Francisco stay was over. All my things were in storage so now would be a good time to just continue my extended travels. The house I had rented before was not available, so I would have to find something on my own. The thought was that I would have a flat and a separate studio space. How I was going to pay for it was another matter. When I was still in the planning stage back in Minneapolis, a good friend of mine, (not an artist) whom I had been discussing my idea with called and said he would like to go with me to London, so we decided to go and rent a flat together.
I applied for and received a 6-month travel Visa and on January 2nd, 1997, my friend and I, carrying as much as we could fit into our luggage, arrived at Heathrow airport. First, we rented a hotel room for a few days while we went looking for a flat. Before the week was out, we found one in Maida Vale and signed a lease. After a bit of looking at ads for studio space, I realised that it just was not feasible, so I convinced my friend to let me use part of our 2-bedroom flat as my studio. I would set up in the morning, then take most of it down every evening. Knowing that the RPS held an open exhibition every spring, I had brought a small portrait with me to enter into that competition. This was my painting titled, The Russian Girl.
The painting was accepted and the exhibition opening was in April. As a courtesy for the artists, the RPS has a staff person there throughout the exhibition who is able to provide information should any portrait inquiries arise from the show. Every time someone inquired after my work and showed interest in a possible commission, I was sent a letter by this staff person informing me. Over the month long run of the exhibition, I received four such letters. One of these materialised into a double portrait commission after I met with the client and we talked through some of the particulars. This was David Nall-Cain and his wife, Katherine, formally Lord and Lady Brockett.
It was agreed that I would return to England in the fall of that year, specifically to the Isle of Man where they lived. I stayed with them at their home in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs. I brought all my panting supplies with me and over the course of 6 weeks, I painted two separate portraits, one of David and one of Katherine to be displayed as a pair. I painted them both in a direct manner entirely from life, working around 5 hours every day. There was a lunch break at 1:00 pm after which we would work again until about 3:00 or 3:30 pm, when the light started to get too low. I probably had around 12 to 15 sittings for each portrait.
David loved art and was very knowledgeable. He had a beautiful collection of paintings including a large still life by the 17th century Dutch painter, Jan Weenix. When David was a small boy, he and his brother were actually painted by the celebrated portrait painter, Philip DeLazlo, who became the society painter after John Singer Sargent was no longer doing portraits. This painting by DeLazlo I never saw as it hung elsewhere but I did see a photo, which showed David aged 3 or 4, sitting on a pony with his older brother standing beside him.
The following year I was invited back, this time to Northumberland (where they had moved) to paint David and Katherine’s two grandchildren. Again, I stayed with the family, this time for about 4 weeks and did the painting on location. I had to use photography for much of it as the two boys were only about ages 4 and 9 and could not really pose very well. As before, I worked most of the day while there was light in a direct manner.
I received a third invitation from David, this time to join them at a hunting lodge in northern Scotland to paint landscapes of the surrounding area. I was there for two weeks along with several other friends of theirs. The general agreement was that I would paint landscape sketches of whatever I liked of the area and David would purchase some of them at the end of my stay.
The area was very beautiful, with scrub brush and rocks, rolling hills and a small river running through the bottom of the valley. Every morning there was breakfast laid out for us to serve ourselves whenever we came downstairs. Afterwards, there would be sandwiches set out by the cook and we were encouraged to take one or two and stuff them in our pocket, this would be for lunch later in the day. The other guests then would gather up all their kit and go out stag hunting in the surrounding hills and I would pack up my paints and take the little dirt road that led down into the valley (I had use of a golf cart for this) where I painted landscape sketches. We were out all day, me painting alone in the valley and the rest of them up on the hillsides somewhere hunting. Every once in a while, a shot or two would echo down from the hills while I was working. As the light began to get low, we all met back at the house around 4:00 pm for tea and biscuits. Later, a glass of sherry and talking until dinner was served at 8:00 pm.
At the end of the two weeks, I set out all my little paintings, they were 8 x 10 or 9 x 12 and David selected about half of them to purchase. The rest I gave him as a gift, keeping one for myself.
Portrait of David Nall-Cain, Lord Brockett, 1997. Oil on canvas, 30" x 24". Collection of the Nall-Cain family, England. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
The Russian Girl, 1996. Oil on canvas, 15" x 13". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Portrait of Katherine Nall-Cain, Lady Brockett, 1997. Oil on canvas, 30" x 24". Collection of the Nall-Cain family, England. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
The Russian Girl, 1996. Oil on canvas, 15" x 13". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Portrait of Katherine Nall-Cain, Lady Brockett, 1997. Oil on canvas, 30" x 24". Collection of the Nall-Cain family, England. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Since this period, you have been prolifically exhibiting your work in group and solo exhibitions in the United States and abroad including; The World Art Museum in Beijing and the European Museum of Modern Art in Barcelona. Nowadays, do you still feel a need to exhibit since you already have a healthy following of collectors and patrons?
I think artists always want their work to be seen by a wider audience, so exhibition opportunities are always going to be welcome. I recently spent a number of years just doing painting commissions for a client which kept my other studio work to a minimum, so I have been a bit out of gallery circulation. In order to continue to be part of this great resurgence of realism it is important to keep your hand in to some degree, which means taking part in regular exhibitions. I have done gallery exhibitions and juried shows as well as arranging my own exhibitions. The Art Renewal Center (ARC) competition is one of the juried shows that I always make a point of entering. Winning the ARC Still Life category in 2016 with my painting Books and Butterflies was a real honour as the competition there has gotten steeper and steeper with every year.
There are some benefits to a group exhibition as opposed to a solo show which include, access to new clients and having your work shown and considered alongside artists you admire. Also, the opportunity to make a new gallery connection without the stress of putting on a solo exhibition and having to complete a huge number of works by a deadline.
Solo shows on the other hand present a unique challenge, one that I really love. It gives me an opportunity to conceive of and execute a consistent group of works that relate to each other. I often conceive of my ideas in a kind of cluster, not just single images. Often there are many ways I want to explore the same theme and so putting them together in a solo show helps people to better understand the concept.
When preparing for a solo show I usually take a stab at writing a basic concept for every painting in the show right from the beginning. This gives me a starting point at least which is then always modified going forward. Sizes change or paintings are swapped out as better ideas come along. The end result is always different, but I still feel it is important to begin by putting a mark on the page and then improving it going forward. The difficulty is always in keeping the quality high while still making the deadline and providing enough works to fill the space.
I have always worked on several paintings at once and sometimes as many as 8 or 10. I usually have so many ideas for things I want to do and I find that I am excited to at least begin and get the canvas stretched and started. I often have things in the studio now that go back several years that are still in progress. This is a change from how I used to paint when I was younger where I would generally finish a work within a few weeks of starting.
I made a point when I set up my first studio to treat my art like any other job and show up for work in the morning whether I felt like painting or not, and to try to keep regular hours. So generally, I work from roughly 8:30 am to 4:30 pm. Even when I am not working, I am always thinking about paintings, analysing and making conscious decisions about the direction of my work. It is a continual process.
Sales are always going to be a concern when you do not have a regular paycheque. I have been fortunate, however, in my career and been able to pay the bills and continue to do what I love.
I think artists always want their work to be seen by a wider audience, so exhibition opportunities are always going to be welcome. I recently spent a number of years just doing painting commissions for a client which kept my other studio work to a minimum, so I have been a bit out of gallery circulation. In order to continue to be part of this great resurgence of realism it is important to keep your hand in to some degree, which means taking part in regular exhibitions. I have done gallery exhibitions and juried shows as well as arranging my own exhibitions. The Art Renewal Center (ARC) competition is one of the juried shows that I always make a point of entering. Winning the ARC Still Life category in 2016 with my painting Books and Butterflies was a real honour as the competition there has gotten steeper and steeper with every year.
There are some benefits to a group exhibition as opposed to a solo show which include, access to new clients and having your work shown and considered alongside artists you admire. Also, the opportunity to make a new gallery connection without the stress of putting on a solo exhibition and having to complete a huge number of works by a deadline.
Solo shows on the other hand present a unique challenge, one that I really love. It gives me an opportunity to conceive of and execute a consistent group of works that relate to each other. I often conceive of my ideas in a kind of cluster, not just single images. Often there are many ways I want to explore the same theme and so putting them together in a solo show helps people to better understand the concept.
When preparing for a solo show I usually take a stab at writing a basic concept for every painting in the show right from the beginning. This gives me a starting point at least which is then always modified going forward. Sizes change or paintings are swapped out as better ideas come along. The end result is always different, but I still feel it is important to begin by putting a mark on the page and then improving it going forward. The difficulty is always in keeping the quality high while still making the deadline and providing enough works to fill the space.
I have always worked on several paintings at once and sometimes as many as 8 or 10. I usually have so many ideas for things I want to do and I find that I am excited to at least begin and get the canvas stretched and started. I often have things in the studio now that go back several years that are still in progress. This is a change from how I used to paint when I was younger where I would generally finish a work within a few weeks of starting.
I made a point when I set up my first studio to treat my art like any other job and show up for work in the morning whether I felt like painting or not, and to try to keep regular hours. So generally, I work from roughly 8:30 am to 4:30 pm. Even when I am not working, I am always thinking about paintings, analysing and making conscious decisions about the direction of my work. It is a continual process.
Sales are always going to be a concern when you do not have a regular paycheque. I have been fortunate, however, in my career and been able to pay the bills and continue to do what I love.
Books and Butterflies, 2015. Oil on canvas, 28" x 22". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Today, you are represented by multiple galleries including; Grenning Gallery in Sag Harbour, Flanders Art Gallery in Minneapolis, Tree’s Place Gallery on Cape Cod and Cavalier Gallery in New York. Your work has been featured on the cover of both, American Artist Magazine and The Artist’s Magazine. You have also received multiple awards and prizes from various national competitions including; the Oil Painters of America, the American Artists Professional League, the American Society of Portrait Artists, the Allied Artists of America and the Portrait Institute. You surely have come a long way from your student days at Atelier LeSueur working in earnest to learn your craft. For some artists, having made it can work to their detriment, that is to say, they become too comfortable and feel as though they do not need to prove themselves anymore. Perhaps, they feel as though their best work has already been created and consequently, they no longer have anything left to conquer, that is to say, they are no longer “hungry.” In saying this, do you ever reminisce your earlier years and miss the yearning to succeed that fuelled you back then?
As an artist I think of success in three ways, monetary reward, notoriety or respect and the satisfaction of having done good work. Gallery representation can be a good way to get all three and that is the route I chose. The challenges to earning those things are all still there, I do not really feel that any different about them from when I was young. I still feel as if there is much more to do.
I am fortunate in that I still feel very inspired to paint and have far more ideas for new works now than I could possibly do. I am always working to become a better painter and feel sure that my best work is still in the future. I still struggle with the same things, keeping true to my original vision for a piece and wondering if the design is right or the feeling is right. I am still always concerned with drawing, values and colour, all the same problems of making a good painting that have always been there. Maintaining good drawing skills is like any skill, use it or lose it. I do become lax sometimes and have to stay on it to remain disciplined.
Only rarely do I feel unmotivated to paint and when I have days like that, I still try to get something productive done, knowing that it will probably pass in a day or so. Inspiration is easily found in any of a hundred art books that I own or from just going online. When I see a beautiful painting, I want to make one of my own. When I see something beautiful in nature, I want to paint it. I do not think that will ever go away.
Painting is a lifelong pursuit and it is how I relate to the world. It is my response to what I see and think and feel, and if I could not do it, I would be less happy. It is a necessary habit.
As an artist I think of success in three ways, monetary reward, notoriety or respect and the satisfaction of having done good work. Gallery representation can be a good way to get all three and that is the route I chose. The challenges to earning those things are all still there, I do not really feel that any different about them from when I was young. I still feel as if there is much more to do.
I am fortunate in that I still feel very inspired to paint and have far more ideas for new works now than I could possibly do. I am always working to become a better painter and feel sure that my best work is still in the future. I still struggle with the same things, keeping true to my original vision for a piece and wondering if the design is right or the feeling is right. I am still always concerned with drawing, values and colour, all the same problems of making a good painting that have always been there. Maintaining good drawing skills is like any skill, use it or lose it. I do become lax sometimes and have to stay on it to remain disciplined.
Only rarely do I feel unmotivated to paint and when I have days like that, I still try to get something productive done, knowing that it will probably pass in a day or so. Inspiration is easily found in any of a hundred art books that I own or from just going online. When I see a beautiful painting, I want to make one of my own. When I see something beautiful in nature, I want to paint it. I do not think that will ever go away.
Painting is a lifelong pursuit and it is how I relate to the world. It is my response to what I see and think and feel, and if I could not do it, I would be less happy. It is a necessary habit.
Books and Butterflies 3, 2016. Oil on canvas, 22" x 34". Collection of Graydon Parrish Fine Arts. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Last Light in the Studio, 2014. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Looking at Rembrandt, 2021. Oil on canvas, 21" x 30". Grenning Gallery, NY. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Last Light in the Studio, 2014. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Looking at Rembrandt, 2021. Oil on canvas, 21" x 30". Grenning Gallery, NY. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Your sense of aesthetics is somewhat different to the majority of Classical Realists working today. For instance, many painters are creating paintings that look as though they belong to an earlier period of time. However, your choice of still life objects, figures in interiors and play on composition sets your work apart and gives it a distinctive contemporary feel, which is quite different to that of your colleagues. You single out the work of Edward Hopper and Jan Vermeer as having influenced you. One can definitely get a sense of the spirit of these artists in your work. Can you elaborate on the genesis and development of your vision over the years and the messages that you are ultimately trying to convey through your work?
I say on my website that I am influenced by the works of Hopper and Vermeer which I realise is a curious pair of painters. I love Vermeer for his beautiful way of seeing and rendering nature. He is a superb designer, all the elements in his pictures seem carefully considered for the shapes and patterns they create in the work. Hopper’s work on the other hand can appear awkward and strange, and he was always a rather crude painter. Why do I like him? Beyond those shortcomings he has a way of building up his pictures often with large simple colour planes which creates a wonderful stark, modern effect. This aspect of his work seems to emphasise the sense of disconnectedness that his figures have in their settings, the result is a kind of haunted, lonely quality that I have always found very compelling.
My early works were much looser than my work now. I tightened up after exhibiting for a few years with John Pence Gallery due to the influence of other painters’ works there. Also, my palette became much darker as I gravitated away from landscape painting in the summers to concentrate entirely on indoor work. I was trained primarily as an impressionist, that is, someone who works directly from life and seeks to represent the true colours and values observed. As my subject matter has grown and changed, I have moved away from impressionism to some degree into more of a generalised realism. I have never been completely comfortable with the term “Classical Realist” and usually just call myself either a classical painter or a realist. None of these terms are exactly right, but I use them for simplicity’s sake.
My imagery has been slowly developing over the years. I do a lot of small thumbnail drawings as well as small oil sketches to work out new ideas. Much of the development of my work takes place there which has helped me tremendously to think through what I want to say pictorially.
When I begin a still life, I usually gather the objects I intend to use then just start arranging them and snapping photos. I rearrange them, looking for arabesques, patterns of line, value and colour, and I keep taking photos. Gradually I get closer and closer to what I am after. When I think I have it, I usually do a small oil study on a scrap piece of canvas no bigger than 8 x 10 inches. If I think it works, I am ready to begin the final painting, if not, I keep trying.
The self-portraits I have done began from my love of Rembrandt’s self-portraits. I was fascinated by this record he left us in paint of himself throughout his life starting from as young as 22. You see his style change, as his face matures and gradually grows old. In my own work I have found it a wonderful way to explore different lighting and designs to create more interest.
My interest in painting figures in interiors comes from my love of the works of Vermeer as well as the Boston School, including the works of Edmund Tarbell, William Paxton and William Merritt Chase. I decided while still a student that I wanted to make interiors a significant part of my work. A good interior can convey an emotion through the attitudes of the people in it as well as the lighting and the setting itself. Who can look at Hopper’s, Nighthawks, or Vermeer’s, Woman with a Lute, without feeling a palpable sense of those places and even the air and the mood of the room? In a way, being able to make that kind of emotional connection with the viewer is why artists paint.
I say on my website that I am influenced by the works of Hopper and Vermeer which I realise is a curious pair of painters. I love Vermeer for his beautiful way of seeing and rendering nature. He is a superb designer, all the elements in his pictures seem carefully considered for the shapes and patterns they create in the work. Hopper’s work on the other hand can appear awkward and strange, and he was always a rather crude painter. Why do I like him? Beyond those shortcomings he has a way of building up his pictures often with large simple colour planes which creates a wonderful stark, modern effect. This aspect of his work seems to emphasise the sense of disconnectedness that his figures have in their settings, the result is a kind of haunted, lonely quality that I have always found very compelling.
My early works were much looser than my work now. I tightened up after exhibiting for a few years with John Pence Gallery due to the influence of other painters’ works there. Also, my palette became much darker as I gravitated away from landscape painting in the summers to concentrate entirely on indoor work. I was trained primarily as an impressionist, that is, someone who works directly from life and seeks to represent the true colours and values observed. As my subject matter has grown and changed, I have moved away from impressionism to some degree into more of a generalised realism. I have never been completely comfortable with the term “Classical Realist” and usually just call myself either a classical painter or a realist. None of these terms are exactly right, but I use them for simplicity’s sake.
My imagery has been slowly developing over the years. I do a lot of small thumbnail drawings as well as small oil sketches to work out new ideas. Much of the development of my work takes place there which has helped me tremendously to think through what I want to say pictorially.
When I begin a still life, I usually gather the objects I intend to use then just start arranging them and snapping photos. I rearrange them, looking for arabesques, patterns of line, value and colour, and I keep taking photos. Gradually I get closer and closer to what I am after. When I think I have it, I usually do a small oil study on a scrap piece of canvas no bigger than 8 x 10 inches. If I think it works, I am ready to begin the final painting, if not, I keep trying.
The self-portraits I have done began from my love of Rembrandt’s self-portraits. I was fascinated by this record he left us in paint of himself throughout his life starting from as young as 22. You see his style change, as his face matures and gradually grows old. In my own work I have found it a wonderful way to explore different lighting and designs to create more interest.
My interest in painting figures in interiors comes from my love of the works of Vermeer as well as the Boston School, including the works of Edmund Tarbell, William Paxton and William Merritt Chase. I decided while still a student that I wanted to make interiors a significant part of my work. A good interior can convey an emotion through the attitudes of the people in it as well as the lighting and the setting itself. Who can look at Hopper’s, Nighthawks, or Vermeer’s, Woman with a Lute, without feeling a palpable sense of those places and even the air and the mood of the room? In a way, being able to make that kind of emotional connection with the viewer is why artists paint.
Self Portrait, 2010. Oil on panel, 9" x 12". Collection of Steven J. Levin, MN. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Quiet Restaurant, 2003. Oil on canvas, 14" x 16". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Wooden Figures, 2021. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20". Collection of Galen Erickson. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Quiet Restaurant, 2003. Oil on canvas, 14" x 16". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Wooden Figures, 2021. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20". Collection of Galen Erickson. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
You refer to yourself as a “modern classicist.” This title seems to be an oxymoron as the modernists and classicists have been divided throughout history. The term “modern classicists” seems to contradict itself, would you agree?
Yes, the term "modern classicist" is probably a contradiction. I've described myself at times as simply a classical painter but it is important to convey the idea that most of us classical painters are making a deliberate effort to be of our time, to be modern and react to the world around us now rather than a world gone by. Perhaps “Contemporary Classicist” would be more accurate, but for now I’ll stick with Modern classicist, odd though it may be, it gets the idea across I think.
I understand you were a member of the American Society of Classical Realism (ASCR) between 1991-2005. During this time, you wrote several articles for the Classical Realism Journal (CRJ) and Classical Realism Quarterly (CRQ). Can you explain what lead you to join the ASCR and what your duties were during your fourteen years in the society?
I wrote for both publications, it was only a few articles over the years and I also participated in reviewing applications for our student scholarship program. We had regular meetings, a few times a year at someone’s home or sometimes in a restaurant. The purpose of the journal was to connect with people and let them know about Classical Realism, who we were and what our movement was all about. We had very little voice in the culture and we were trying to change that. The art establishment was dismissive of us and even outright hostile to what we were doing. They are not much different today but the realist movement since then has changed dramatically. Then it was early days, but over time there came a huge resurgence in classically based realist art. We were definitely a part of helping that come about.
The CRQ and later the CRJ was very successful in its efforts to reach out to like-minded people and give them something to connect to and support. It was, however, a constant challenge to maintain and grow our readership, and the journal eventually ran its course. As the journal matured, it grew in size and complexity and eventually became quite an undertaking to produce. We found that despite our best efforts, there seemed to be an upper limit on the number of new subscribers we could attract and thus inevitably it had to come to an end. But it had a good run and I think it played an important part in the realist art scene.
Yes, the term "modern classicist" is probably a contradiction. I've described myself at times as simply a classical painter but it is important to convey the idea that most of us classical painters are making a deliberate effort to be of our time, to be modern and react to the world around us now rather than a world gone by. Perhaps “Contemporary Classicist” would be more accurate, but for now I’ll stick with Modern classicist, odd though it may be, it gets the idea across I think.
I understand you were a member of the American Society of Classical Realism (ASCR) between 1991-2005. During this time, you wrote several articles for the Classical Realism Journal (CRJ) and Classical Realism Quarterly (CRQ). Can you explain what lead you to join the ASCR and what your duties were during your fourteen years in the society?
I wrote for both publications, it was only a few articles over the years and I also participated in reviewing applications for our student scholarship program. We had regular meetings, a few times a year at someone’s home or sometimes in a restaurant. The purpose of the journal was to connect with people and let them know about Classical Realism, who we were and what our movement was all about. We had very little voice in the culture and we were trying to change that. The art establishment was dismissive of us and even outright hostile to what we were doing. They are not much different today but the realist movement since then has changed dramatically. Then it was early days, but over time there came a huge resurgence in classically based realist art. We were definitely a part of helping that come about.
The CRQ and later the CRJ was very successful in its efforts to reach out to like-minded people and give them something to connect to and support. It was, however, a constant challenge to maintain and grow our readership, and the journal eventually ran its course. As the journal matured, it grew in size and complexity and eventually became quite an undertaking to produce. We found that despite our best efforts, there seemed to be an upper limit on the number of new subscribers we could attract and thus inevitably it had to come to an end. But it had a good run and I think it played an important part in the realist art scene.
Book signing for Richard F. Lack: An American Master, University of Minnesota Technology Center (location of The ASCR office), October 6, 2001. Front row, L-R: Gary Christensen, Katherine Lack, Richard Lack. Back row, L-R: Rebecca Swanson, Stephen Gjertson, Brian Lewis, Steven Levin, Michael Coyle, Cyd Wicker. Image courtesy of: www.stephengjertsongalleries.com
The general ideas that the majority of traditional realism nowadays is based on seems to revolve around a search and yearning for a deeper meaning of existence, that is, a search for truth, beauty and goodness. As such, this questioning of the essence of being has led some realists to find God, or to renew their faith in Him. Is there a sense of religion or spirituality that governs your life and work?
The conservative thinker, Russell Kirk, identified among his principles of conservatism, the idea that permanence and change must be reconciled in any society. But also, that continuity and tradition were of great importance. Revolutionaries often destroy more than they know and once these things are lost, they cannot be recovered. This was the sense I had very early on regarding realist painting and the traditions which nurtured it. Though I did not realise it initially, I was always by temperament, a conservative. When I learned about the atelier and the realist tradition, it was that connection to history which resonated with me in a very profound way. Years later I found this same impulse, the desire to carry forward foundational principles as the thing that led me politically to become a conservative.
I was raised in a Catholic home, but I did not continue to practice as an adult. Recently, however, I have found that same conservative impulse to be the thing leading me back to the Catholic church. To reconnect with the most vital things and find meaning and understanding. Why do we have the urge to create? Why, when we are so like other animals, can we speak and reason when the other animals cannot? Why do we need meaning at all? The view that I have come to embrace is that these things and so many others point to a creator, that we are made in His image, and we are thus impelled to seek beauty and truth.
In seeing how wide-spread traditional realism has today become, what is your opinion on the revival and renewed respect for academic, skill-based training, the multitude of schools that seem to be growing each year and the demand from galleries to exhibit and sell works that are based on fine workmanship which celebrate the beauty of the world?
The realist tradition has grown considerably and is much broader nowadays. I am amazed at how many really fine painters have come up in the art world and it is great to see. They mostly seem to be following along traditional lines in their training, each one bringing something a bit different to the scene, not unlike it was in the 19th century.
Compared to earlier realism, photography plays a much bigger role in the realist art aesthetic than it used to, and a hyper realistic quality is present in much of the work. This is not my taste and I think it interferes with the emotional connection that a picture can make as it speaks more to the eye than to the mind or the heart.
As we have come to learn throughout this interview, opportunities to seek sound academic training were scarce in your younger days. Considering how many opportunities there now are for art students today to access this training, be it in person at an atelier or academy, or taking advantage of the vast range of online courses and videos that are now available, what advice would you give to a young painter who is just starting out with their training?
There are definitely many more opportunities for art students today to access sound training. It’s become my opinion now that there is not any one ideal way to train a painter because each person learns a bit differently. Broadly speaking however, I still believe that drawing and painting from life every day under a skilled artist capable of imparting what they know, must form the core of the training. Teaching the student a guide to self-criticism is very important. Regarding duration of training, at minimum three years, but five is more realistic. Study from the Masters and familiarity with other schools can spur questions, thinking and growth. Students should do many copies to learn technique. They should also study anatomy and composition. Finally, artists should try to cultivate a small group of other like-minded artists to meet with and critique each other throughout their careers.
The conservative thinker, Russell Kirk, identified among his principles of conservatism, the idea that permanence and change must be reconciled in any society. But also, that continuity and tradition were of great importance. Revolutionaries often destroy more than they know and once these things are lost, they cannot be recovered. This was the sense I had very early on regarding realist painting and the traditions which nurtured it. Though I did not realise it initially, I was always by temperament, a conservative. When I learned about the atelier and the realist tradition, it was that connection to history which resonated with me in a very profound way. Years later I found this same impulse, the desire to carry forward foundational principles as the thing that led me politically to become a conservative.
I was raised in a Catholic home, but I did not continue to practice as an adult. Recently, however, I have found that same conservative impulse to be the thing leading me back to the Catholic church. To reconnect with the most vital things and find meaning and understanding. Why do we have the urge to create? Why, when we are so like other animals, can we speak and reason when the other animals cannot? Why do we need meaning at all? The view that I have come to embrace is that these things and so many others point to a creator, that we are made in His image, and we are thus impelled to seek beauty and truth.
In seeing how wide-spread traditional realism has today become, what is your opinion on the revival and renewed respect for academic, skill-based training, the multitude of schools that seem to be growing each year and the demand from galleries to exhibit and sell works that are based on fine workmanship which celebrate the beauty of the world?
The realist tradition has grown considerably and is much broader nowadays. I am amazed at how many really fine painters have come up in the art world and it is great to see. They mostly seem to be following along traditional lines in their training, each one bringing something a bit different to the scene, not unlike it was in the 19th century.
Compared to earlier realism, photography plays a much bigger role in the realist art aesthetic than it used to, and a hyper realistic quality is present in much of the work. This is not my taste and I think it interferes with the emotional connection that a picture can make as it speaks more to the eye than to the mind or the heart.
As we have come to learn throughout this interview, opportunities to seek sound academic training were scarce in your younger days. Considering how many opportunities there now are for art students today to access this training, be it in person at an atelier or academy, or taking advantage of the vast range of online courses and videos that are now available, what advice would you give to a young painter who is just starting out with their training?
There are definitely many more opportunities for art students today to access sound training. It’s become my opinion now that there is not any one ideal way to train a painter because each person learns a bit differently. Broadly speaking however, I still believe that drawing and painting from life every day under a skilled artist capable of imparting what they know, must form the core of the training. Teaching the student a guide to self-criticism is very important. Regarding duration of training, at minimum three years, but five is more realistic. Study from the Masters and familiarity with other schools can spur questions, thinking and growth. Students should do many copies to learn technique. They should also study anatomy and composition. Finally, artists should try to cultivate a small group of other like-minded artists to meet with and critique each other throughout their careers.
After the Party, 2014. Oil on canvas, 26" x 40". Collection of Fred and Sherry Ross, NJ. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
6am News, 2018. Oil on canvas, 12" x 14". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
6am News, 2018. Oil on canvas, 12" x 14". Private collection. Image courtesy of: www.stevenjlevin.com
Do you think it is easier nowadays to “get good” as opposed to when you were younger?
I have never thought about that. Yes, it is probably easier today than it was before, but still difficult. Having so many different approaches means it is more likely you can find a method that resonates with you.
Do you think the work that is being created by today’s Classical Realists is true to the vision Mr. Lack had?
I think Lack was pleased mostly with his accomplishments as a teacher. The one area of disappointment was perhaps in the area of imaginative painting. He had envisioned another “school” or training program which would be devoted to passing on these skills. His illness prevented him from really getting the program off the ground and he had to abandon it after just two years. I think on the whole the students of Richard’s who have made a life of painting have done pretty well to carry forward the tradition that he taught.
Do you feel as though your colleagues from The American Society of Classical Realism are today receiving the recognition they deserve in being the first generation of atelier trained artists to disseminate traditional drawing and painting knowledge to the world, or do you feel they have been forgotten due to the influx of schools that have now developed around the world which advertise heavily on social media?
I don't think there is much awareness of the contributions of Lack’s students in the realm of teaching. I don't know if this is all that important either, they taught out of a dedication to the craft and not for any notoriety. The fact that their efforts helped to jump start this great resurgence is exactly the thing they (we) had hoped for and worked for. Recognition would be nice of course, but oh well.
If you could go back in time to your training days, is there anything you would have liked to spend more or less time on?
Drawing and anatomy, I wish I had done more. More copies, more studying, more drawing and sketching from life. It takes a great deal of time to reach a high level of draftsmanship.
What books would you recommend for an art student’s self-education?
You cannot really learn to paint from books, but you can use them to enhance your training. Richard Lack had a fairly extensive reading list that he laid out in, On the Training of Painters, which is hard to improve upon. Nearly all of those books would have to be found through used bookstores, however. Reading what accomplished painters had to say about painting and art in general is a valuable part of an art education. I would also recommend the books by Juliette Aristides on the atelier method.
In conclusion, what do you have planned for the future and where do you see the contemporary realist tradition going?
I would like to continue my figure paintings, interiors, exteriors and imaginative compositions. There are so many more paintings I have ideas for and I hope to be able to paint them all. I may try writing an article or two on painting again and teach workshops on occasion. I hope that there continues to be an enduring interest in terms of collectors of realist art, but I think it is unlikely there will be real acceptance in the art establishment of the realist tradition, save a few pockets here and there. Nevertheless, artists should still work towards that goal.
I have never thought about that. Yes, it is probably easier today than it was before, but still difficult. Having so many different approaches means it is more likely you can find a method that resonates with you.
Do you think the work that is being created by today’s Classical Realists is true to the vision Mr. Lack had?
I think Lack was pleased mostly with his accomplishments as a teacher. The one area of disappointment was perhaps in the area of imaginative painting. He had envisioned another “school” or training program which would be devoted to passing on these skills. His illness prevented him from really getting the program off the ground and he had to abandon it after just two years. I think on the whole the students of Richard’s who have made a life of painting have done pretty well to carry forward the tradition that he taught.
Do you feel as though your colleagues from The American Society of Classical Realism are today receiving the recognition they deserve in being the first generation of atelier trained artists to disseminate traditional drawing and painting knowledge to the world, or do you feel they have been forgotten due to the influx of schools that have now developed around the world which advertise heavily on social media?
I don't think there is much awareness of the contributions of Lack’s students in the realm of teaching. I don't know if this is all that important either, they taught out of a dedication to the craft and not for any notoriety. The fact that their efforts helped to jump start this great resurgence is exactly the thing they (we) had hoped for and worked for. Recognition would be nice of course, but oh well.
If you could go back in time to your training days, is there anything you would have liked to spend more or less time on?
Drawing and anatomy, I wish I had done more. More copies, more studying, more drawing and sketching from life. It takes a great deal of time to reach a high level of draftsmanship.
What books would you recommend for an art student’s self-education?
You cannot really learn to paint from books, but you can use them to enhance your training. Richard Lack had a fairly extensive reading list that he laid out in, On the Training of Painters, which is hard to improve upon. Nearly all of those books would have to be found through used bookstores, however. Reading what accomplished painters had to say about painting and art in general is a valuable part of an art education. I would also recommend the books by Juliette Aristides on the atelier method.
In conclusion, what do you have planned for the future and where do you see the contemporary realist tradition going?
I would like to continue my figure paintings, interiors, exteriors and imaginative compositions. There are so many more paintings I have ideas for and I hope to be able to paint them all. I may try writing an article or two on painting again and teach workshops on occasion. I hope that there continues to be an enduring interest in terms of collectors of realist art, but I think it is unlikely there will be real acceptance in the art establishment of the realist tradition, save a few pockets here and there. Nevertheless, artists should still work towards that goal.
It is with great pleasure that this interview has been conducted with Steven Levin and we thank him for his dedication to the craft of fine picturemaking over the years. Indeed, his efforts have raised the standards of the Classical Realist tradition through proving that contemporary subject matter can be imbued with a classical sensibility to create work which is relevant to our contemporary age. We wish Mr. Levin every success as he progresses with his work into the future.
Mr. Levin's website:
www.stevenjlevin.com
Mr. Levin's website:
www.stevenjlevin.com