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Sunday, April 5, 2020

My Story: The Importance of Mentors

Ann Templeton


In my last post, I didn't mention one of the biggest boosts to my success:  my mentors.  A mentor can show you shortcuts on your journey to becoming a better artist.

How is a mentor different from a teacher?  Not all teachers are mentors, but all mentors are teachers.  Yet they're more than that.  A mentor will guide you when you have lost your way; offer help in clearing the path before you; and, through the example of his own success, serve as an inspiration to keep going when the next seemingly insurmountable mountain rises before you.

I never sought out a mentor.  Instead, I was lucky in stumbling across my first one.  Trina and I had just moved to the Sacramento Mountains of New Mexico, about an hour from the resort towns of Cloudcroft and Ruidoso.  Looking to hook up with some other painters, one day I reached out to the Cloudcroft Art Society,   At the time, oil and pastel artist Ann Templeton was teaching a painting workshop for the group, and the director invited me up to visit.  Ann, with a soft Texas accent, welcomed me with generous hospitality.  Invited to join her and the director for lunch at Cloudcroft's historic Lodge, I felt a tickle of specialness.  (Ann always made me feel special.)   During lunch, learning that I wrote for Pastel Journal, Ann asked, “Would you like to write an article about me?”

For a moment, I was taken aback by her forwardness, but I soon realized that this was not so much a request as an offer to help.  It also turned out to be the start of a mentoring relationship that would last many years.  It wasn't long before I was helping her at workshops, painting with her artist friends at the studio, and spending nights at what she called her “apple house.” There I worked with her on The Art of Ann Templeton: A Step Beyond, a book that offered readers a 30-year retrospective of her work.  Ann was a night owl, and she would stay up until the wee hours, pulling 35mm slides for the book; and I, the early bird, would rise just after she went to bed to organize the slides and write captions.  Sometimes, while she was on the road, Trina and I would house-sit for her and take care of her pug, Cassie, and her African grey parrot, Lacey.

Sadly, Ann passed away in 2011 from cancer.

Albert Handell

I also stumbled upon my second and current mentor.  I first met Albert Handell at one of his workshops in Sedona, Arizona, nearly 20 years ago now. Albert's reputation as a living master always precedes him, and I admit I was intimidated.  After that, our paths crossed occasionally at the biennial International Association of Pastel Societies convention.  Then one day, I received a call from Albert.  A mutual friend, Doug Dawson, recommended me to him as someone who might organize a workshop in Maine.   (I had just finished helping Doug with one.)  I said yes, even though I felt some trepidation, not knowing him well.  But Albert came to Maine, and we had a convivial time scouting out painting locations and running the workshop.  One night, when he came to a meal at my in-laws'  house on Campobello Island, I was impressed to learn that he wasn't all about art.  With a fondness for TV documentaries, he proved himself ready for a discussion on just about any topic.

After that, we began to see more of each other.  Although the Maine workshop was for any level of student, he also taught mentoring workshops for advanced students.  He asked me to put one together for him in Sedona.  I did, and we then followed with at least a couple more.  Watching him paint, learning how he handled critiques of student work, talking about his business—all of this was eye-opening.   Then I began visiting him at his Santa Fe studio whenever I was in town.  “At the Art Students League in New York,” he once said to me, “I studied under Frank Mason.  Mason never wanted anybody in his studio.  I vowed I'd never be that way, and so my studio is always open.”

I'm still in awe of Albert, but we've become good friends.  Yet friendship doesn't get in the way of mentoring.  Recently, he said he was disappointed in a painting I'd made.  “From a distance, it has carrying power,” he said, “but when I get up close, there's nothing to enjoy.”

 I thank him for that, and for his continued mentorship.