The Value of My First Dog Commission

Down to a half jar of bread & butter pickles and thinking I had better get ready to call home for food money… Decided to give it one more day before I would give in and make the request. I dressed and walked the eight miles to the gallery. I could have taken the subway but these walks were a way to see new parts of Manhattan . Sketchbook in hand, I set out to see what 9th Ave. had to show me. I picked up an apple on the way; there were lots of little grocery stores in New York. With quick sketches of the grocers, these little trips often took me all day to complete. I spent a day just drawing the shoe shine guy and a few of his customers once. Mr. Pop, my old scout leader, had prepared me for these long walks, he believed in hiking. in 95 degrees Mr. Pop had us boys hiking 10 miles to a campsite.

A couple sketches of homeless men in a small park below 14th Street, and some mothers with their kids, then I began working my way to East Village. More long haired hippies were signs of getting close to the gallery. Tourist was a sure sign of being close to it. With fingers crossed, I walked into the gallery hoping there was a check waiting for me. No check but there was a lady there interested in commissioning me to do a portrait of a dog.

Acting like I did portraits of dogs all the time, I nodded and smiled as she told me about her dad and this dog I was going to do a portrait of. My mind was actually picturing the slice of pizza I'd buy with the money this commission would get me. No more pickle sandwiches. I set up a time for her to come to the studio. The walk back was sketchless. I was walking with purpose and thinking about the commission. I had never done a painting of a dog before. How hard could it be? This portrait was really important to this lady. The dog was a stray that joined her dad every morning on his walk.

The next day I got the full story. Her dad had a very stressful job on Madison Ave. and suffered a heart attack. His doctor prescribed moving to the country and trying to relax. Bored with country life, he began to take walks and that's when this stray dog began accompanying him. After several walks the dog took to sleeping on the porch - and her dad began to relax and looking forward to these walks. Instead of returning to his stressful job, he retired to the country. He and his new friend explored the country and the nearby town where they’d split a sandwich. For 10 years, they were a team. They died within days of each other. Boy did that story put the pressure on me.

A small picture of a black Labrador lying on a blue pillow on their back porch was what I had to work from. My work was cut out for me. The money and the pizza was gone from my head. I wanted to do the best I could to please this lady. I set about sketching dogs in Central Park, no black Labs around but I was getting an idea of how dogs were built and looked laying down. When I found my model his owner wasn't sure about me sketching him. Finally, at the boat pond, he sat down and let me sketch his dog. With two detailed drawings and a small photo I set about painting my first dog commission.

I finished with the painting and nervously called the lady to come collect it. Not prepared for her reaction, I was speechless when she began to tear up. That was the first time I realized I was creating more than a painting. The following still-life that I did next I thought about differently. I thought about what this simple painting might mean to the person buying it. From then on I put my whole self into every painting and I also began looking at others' art a bit differently.

The Trip to Sheridan Street

Why I decided to weave my way up through the backyards to the end of our block I don't know. I think it was just something to do. It began with Major, our dog, barking at a large garden snake . At first I simply wanted to see where the snake went. Squeezing between Mrs. Mathew’s hedges and Mr. Serdus’s fence I followed it to Mr. Fromhart’s garden. Under Mr. Fromhart’s raspberries I crawled, careful to keep out of sight - Mr. Fromhart was not a friendly man…

The snake was gone. I thought of turning back. That's when the idea of crawling all the way to the end of our block to Sheridan St. came to me. I lived in a very old neighborhood, I mean the people were old, but to a six year old everyone was old. Our neighbors were all in their 70's . Mom was always sending one of us kids to do something for one of the neighbors. My oldest brother, who could cross the street on his own, was often sent to the store for a loaf of bread for a neighbor, or a small bag of coffee.

I was often left on my own to entertain myself. This venture of crawling up the middle of the block was one of those ideas I came up with. I'd forgotten about the snake and now I was interested in seeing the backyards of our neighbors. I found a fallen apple to munch on in Mrs. Mathew's yard, and sampled the raspberries in Mr. Fromhart's. I discovered my only friend, Donny, had a new sandbox to play in. His mom told me he was off with his dad on a fishing trip, and then she added that I could play in the new sandbox. I thanked her.

Mrs. Ruland, the next neighbor, was setting up for a picnic with nice, fine dishes being used. Mrs. Ruland's daughter offered me a piece of cake and a lemonade. I sat with her for a few minutes , explaining what I was doing.

Next was Mrs. Hauss's yard, who was resting in the shade. She asked if I was one of the Hettinger’s. I said I was and she returned to her napping.

Next was the Hauss's empty lot where mom and dad had our garden. Mr. Pailler was used to me being in the garden, touching up the back of his garage with a bit of paint. He paid no attention to me. Someone lived in his garage, which had been turned into a small apartment. Neither of us spoke as I continued on my trip.

I was now at the butcher knife lady's yard . Supposedly she had chased my brother Mike, and my sister Pat, with a butcher knife long before I was born. With no sign of the butcher knife lady I made a dash for the Raush's yard.

The Raush’s owned the corner store at the other end of the block. Mrs. Raush was hanging wash and told me I was a good ways from home. I stood up straight and nodded. She returned to her wash and I went on my way to the Jungle’s garden.

The Jungle’s had a huge flower garden. Mom would often take a walk up the street to the Jungle’s just to see their garden and maybe get a tip or two about different flowers. The two Jungle brothers lived by themselves; their family farm was just a block farther on. I couldn’t venture there without getting a real lecture from dad. Sometimes one of the cows from the farm would push open a gate and then the excitement of trying to get them back to the farm would begin. For some reason one or two of the cows liked coming to town. Once it happened on a Monday, wash day, and seeing all the ladies trying to keep the cows from going through their wash was the most fun. With the Jungle’s I had reached my goal, Sheridan Street.

40 years later I re-lived this venture as I painted a farmhouse with a line of wash drying in the breeze. Painting often brought on such memories especially when I was out painting by myself. I believe these memories add a bit to my paintings. Years after that little venture several of those neighbors' houses ended up on canvases or in sketchbooks. Even Major, who has been long gone, has been brought back to be in a painting or two.