What About Bob?*

Photo by Tony Cenicola/The New York Times

Every art lover has their own Robert Rauschenberg story; after all, in so many ways we are living in the Age of Rauschenberg. From my own humble perspective, it's simply a feeling of gratitude to the man who really opened my eyes to the connections between the Abstract Expressionist era (think Jackson Pollock) to the Pop era (think Andy Warhol).



Rauschenberg was truly amazing. I guess I identify with his habit of collecting castoff urban junk and capturing its essential beauty. Maybe the most dramatic example of this for me was his passion for old straight-backed wooden chairs. I've heard about times he tried to buy some old Southern restaurant's entire inventory. Sometimes, he would attach one of these beloved chairs to one of his oversized prints.



Last night, as I was absorbing news of his death on Monday, we were experiencing a rare tropical sunset here in the scorched Bay Area. It was so beautiful that I snapped photo after photo, much as I did down on Bob's beloved Captiva Island on the nights just before my own father died, also at age 82, just like Bob.

I also thought back to 1987, when my oldest daughter asked to be able to quit school on the mainland, across from Sanibel, because who would want to go to a school where kids had to be warned to not bring their guns to class?

So, her mother and I agreed she would "home-school." She soon met the one other child on the island homeschooling, a delightful girl around her age named Jessie.

Jessie's parents, Gus and Sue, were building contractors. They ran their business out of their home. Our families became good friends.

A few years later, when one of the many hurricanes that churn their way through the Gulf of Mexico each year inflicted a glancing but destructive blow to Sanibel and Captiva, Gus did what islanders always do in a time of trouble. He took his truck out on the road to help neighbors clear fallen trees, repair damage to their houses, and get back to normal.

One of the people he ran into was Bob. Gus had absolutely no idea who Bob was, but true to his spirit, he helped this stranger clear his lot and repair his damage. Gus never asked for a fee; that's not what this kind of thing is about, as anyone surviving a natural disaster easily understands.

When it turned out that Bob was a world famous artist, Gus was pleased to accept Bob's request that he build his (now legendary) studio on Captiva. If you read the Times' lovely obit (which you can access by clicking on the title of this post), you'll get some idea of the unprecedented scale of this building project for a guy like Gus.

I remember touring the half-finished studio with Gus and our kids one night. It was mind-boggling.

Suffice it to say Gus did a great job, and Bob paid him with a combination of cash and paintings. As to what to do with the latter, Gus turned to me. Thus, for a short time, I became an art dealer. Eventually, I was able to place three of the paintings for aound $400,000, if memory serves (always a question around here.)

Gus himself wrapped and accompanied the first two paintings out here to the Bay Area in order to deliver them to our buyer, who was a friend of mine. (The other sale I made was in Paris.)

My friend later told me that the value of the paintings was nowhere near the price she paid, and I felt sad for her. She told me this as I toured her house and admired others in her collection, including early Jackson Pollocks.

She dumped them for about a third of what she paid, and who knows where those pieces are tonight. But now Bob is dead, I suspect whoever owns them will be able to claim a nice return on the investment. Hell, if I had the cash, I'd buy them myself, just for the memory.

Rest in peace, Bob Rauschenberg!

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*Apologies to whoever wrote the title to director Frank Oz's excellent Bill Murray/Richard Dreyfuss comedy.