Checking Out The Studio...

We found ourselves at the edge of the Berkshires, in Stockbridge MA at 11:30 AM.

I have been dying to see the inside of Norman Rockwell's studio for years now, but since it is only open to the public seasonally, I haven't had the opportunity. I could have spent a good hour in there, looking at the books he had in the bookshelf, the little mementos he collected on his world travels. He had an engraving press shipped over from London (Apparently his attempts at etching did not result in delight.) The design of the studio was very comfortable, with a great abundance of room to move a large canvas around. In the early 60s, he had altered the roof, and built in an extension to allow for another level of windows for more northern exposure. Paul the guard had the blinds drawn significantly and there was still a great amount of light in the room.

The studio itself was a small carriage barn that used to reside at the back of his 18th century house on Main Street. When Spielberg and Co built the museum in 1983, they moved the barn on site and arranged things to duplicate Norman's working environment as much as they could. Paul said that some of the notes tacked on the wall were fading quickly, so a forger duplicated them, and the originals were archived. It was a wonderful place to look around, I only wish we could have gotten a little closer to his inside desk area and examine all the little scratches and details that were scattered everywhere. For all of the great many things that were on display, in no way did any of it appear cluttered. It was very much like Norman's paintings. Organized and composed.

It's amusing how I've gained a fondness for his work, now in my thirties. I have to say it was the retrospective exhibit at the Guggenheim that really opened my eyes to his work. His ability to express a singular and often extremely simplistic idea, in a manner that balanced between cartoon and mundane, and emotional as well.... I respect it very much now. The art world has looked down upon his paintings as saccharine products of a sentimental age. But with time it becomes plain that his work was not about reality, but about a reality that people wished for. Dreams. If lucky, your life would have a Rockwell moment or two. My life has certainly had several.