Journey of a Blue-Collar Collector – Part Two

From Sarasota to Palm Beach

In Part One of Journey of a Blue-Collar Collector, we left Phil Materio in search of new indigenous artists. He had collected hundreds of pieces of Highwaymen works and was ready for fresh discoveries. With Maybelle Mann’s book, Art in Florida leading the way, Materio’s sights turned to Sarasota, one of three art centers in the state.

There he found artists and subjects focused on the Ringling Brothers’ Circus culture. Sarasota had long been the show’s winter home, which featured colorful performers and animals from all over the world.  At the same time, painters from the northeast and the Hudson River seeking warmer climes and fresh inspiration migrated south.  

 William Hartman (1906-1990) Circus Wagon/Landscape Watercolor

Fine Arts Society of Sarasota

       In Sarasota, Ringling established an Art school where several of these painters attended and taught, including Helen Sawyer, Hilton and Dorothy Leech and Jerry Farnsworth. These developments started in the late 1800s and grew into a thriving creative community that boasted over 3000 members in the mid-century. Most artists were realists and impressionists, but a few abstract artists joined them such as Syd Solomon.

Helen Sawyer - Dolores - oil on canvas

 What route did Phil follow in his expanded search? While physical trips to auctions, exhibits and museums sent him throughout the state, Materio found himself spending about an hour each morning navigating eBay before work at his art glass studio. Filtering his search to little-known and affordable painters, he continued to add to his blue-collar collection.  Books like Kevin Dean’s A History of Visual Art in Sarasota and Robert Wilson Torchia’s St. Augustine: The Lost Colony helped map his journey and led him to the second art hub in St. Augustine.

That Henry Flagler built his luxury Ponce de Leon Hotel—known now as Flagler College—is no secret. But many are unaware that Flagler also founded an art colony behind his hotel. By creating a community of culture, he hoped to attract people of means and education. He invited artists from Rhode Island and New York and other northern areas to join his Society of Painters as chronicled in Sandra Barghini’s book, A Society of Painters: Flagler’s St. Augustine Art Colony. Among those artists were Martin Johnson Heade, George Seavy and William Staples Drown.  They immortalized the quaint street corners and surrounding areas of this oldest city in America.

Felix de Crano “Treasury Street” St Augustine, 8x10 watercolor, 1907

Laura Woodward “Afterglow” watercolor 

Felix de Crano and Laura Woodward were also among the prominent painters. But perhaps Laura Woodward made the biggest statewide impact. She primarily painted landscapes and pastoral scenes.  Then she took a steamer south to the next major port and landed in Palm Beach. There for several months, she stayed at a rooming house and set on canvas even brighter bougainvillea and hibiscus. When she sent her works back up to St. Augustine, Flagler was impressed by the truly tropical vegetation. The paintings were actually quite instrumental in the extension of his railway system southward. How remarkable that art led the way for this entrepreneur. A full story of the phenomenon can be found in Deborah Pollack’s The Artist Behind the Innovator.

William Staples Drown “Castille de San Marcos” St. Augustine watercolor

As other artists joined Woodward in Palm Beach, area landmarks and landscapes became their subjects. Soon an art school and, eventually, the Norton Art Museum came to life. Many Palm Beach estates and hotels these early painters painted have since been torn down or burned. If it wasn’t for the artwork, and a few photographs, their memory would be lost. Also of note, are the federally funded murals that these artists created in public spaces.

“Island Life” – Elizabeth Warren, 50s

Besides authoring his book, St. Augustine’s Lost Colony, Robert Wilson Torchia served as director of the Lightner Museum. His book features the work of Emmett Fritz, William Kronberg, Harold Maddox, Heinrich Pfeiffer and Celia Gregory Reid and others. Elizabeth Boardman Warren’s etchings and watercolors of African American life in St. Augustine were of particular interest to Materio as they recorded early Florida folk life.

“Marine Street after a Shower” Emmett Fritz, oil on board

Along the way, Phil Materio discovered Frank Beatty, who eventually became his personal favorite. Out of Chicago, Beatty served as Art Director for Popular Mechanics magazine. A world-traveler, he spent a lengthy time in the Caribbean and ended up in West Palm Beach. Beatty’s subjects include the Jupiter inlet and lighthouse, Christian Science Reading Room and Bethesda by the Sea church, painted in oils, acrylic and gouache-watercolor.

“Palm Beach Residence” 1969, Frank Beatty, pastel on paper

Now Materio studies Key West artists. I asked him what he will do next with his extensive collection and impressive knowledge. Mr. Materio says a possible south Florida exhibit is underway in Lake Worth, but details have yet to be solidified. I’ll be the first to be there.

How about you? What smoldering passion do you have that has yet to be pursued? What curiosity could you investigate that might enrich your life and the lives of others? Phil followed his interest and on a blue-collar budget, built a collection enviable my many, soon to be enjoyed by all.

Sarasota art class - 1950

All artwork (except first and final photo) are from Phil Materio's private blue-collar collection.

Wellington's Greatest Show

      Every winter Wellington’s greatest show comes to town and stays till spring—a lot longer visit than Barnum’s used to last.  Yet, many residents fail to drive the few extra miles to see this equestrian extravaganza. And before we know it, May is here, the arenas are empty, and we’ve missed the magic of this unique equine experience. 

         The show these days is not your father’s horse show. 

         At first, the lineup was simply horse and rider running the course in record time and tripping the fewest rails. Nowadays, actual circus-like side shows keep the little ones (and the adults with ADD) entertained while the horses move in and out of position—which for some is enough entertainment. Honestly, spectators like me can’t get enough of the form and beauty of a well groomed thoroughbred’s glossy coat, braided mane and rippling muscles. But, for the aforementioned crowd with short attention spans, there is a veritable fair to be had. 

     On Saturday nights starting at 6 pm families can enjoy fire jugglers, face painting, petting zoos, carousels, bounce houses, live bands and casual bites like tacos and wood-fired pizza. A three-ring event, indeed. 

     Wellington’s worldwide equestrian festival began to ­­­­­­gain popularity in the early 70s. It is now the longest running and largest equestrian festival in the country. Over 42 countries bring riders of all ages and ranks with their 6000 ponies to compete for more than a half a billion dollars in prizes. 

       

     Sure, you could stay home and watch a few races on your hand-held device, or view it streamed on the web, but you would miss the energy that shared events bring; the sense of community and belonging that corporate enjoyment fosters.

     During any live event, the unexpected is bound to happen. Once we saw a horse approach a 7-foot faux wall, dig in his hooves and clearly shake his head “No!” causing his rider to fly off and dangle saddle-side a few seconds before straightening and turning his horse around to jumpy the wall again. Here’s how it went:

 The height of wall reached  7'2".

There went the horse. His rider urged him to the wall and the horse slammed his front legs ahead of him to a dead stop in front of the wall. His master visibly displeased, swung the animal around to make a second attempt.

Galloping fiercely toward the wall, the horse again dug his hoof heels firmly into the turf and to the crowd's great astonishment

distinctly

shook

his 

head 

from side-to-side as if to say

  "NO!

 I AM NOT GOING OVER THAT WALL!"

The horse then veered sharply to the right avoiding the 'brick' barricade, flinging the horseman off the saddle. As the rider dangled on the side of his mount, audible gasps from the stands expressed fright that he might lose grip, fall and be trampled. 

To our great relief (no doubt to his, too) the horseman recovered with no injury to his body. I can't say the same for his psyche from the dramatic and disappointing defeat. But, hey, he came in second,  and lived to tell it.

It was another Saturday night at the horse show with a surprising moment of drama we will never forget! Besides keeping an eye out for unusual turns like that story, here are a few riders to watch this 2018 season:

Here’s what horseman Todd Minikus said of the season’s opening show:

Photo credit toddminikusshowjumping.com

“Despite being the first week of circuit, Minikus said that the class ‘looked big.’ However, he stated, “The fact of the matter is, I think this is some of the hardest jumping in the world really. We start right off here. You’ve got to have quality horses. They’ve got to be on the top of their game, and you’ve got to be on the top of your game no matter what class it is here. That’s just life in South Florida.” (Palm Beach International Equestrian Center Staff writer, http://pbiec.coth.com, Jan 13, 2018)

Visit the Polo Museum.

Here is some recommended reading for the season as well:

Tommy Hitchcock

HWS hound contest

Tally ho and all that. See you at the show or polo grounds!

Wildfires to Wildflowers

        The flames charged down Lady Face Mountain to the edge of the road that curled through the military compound-turned-church grounds. In between Quonset huts, bunkhouses, as well as a creek and a pool, the maniacal wildfire air brushed the landscape black and hazy. Fortunately, no structures lit. Leafless trees stood like ghoulish skeletons poised to pounce amongst charred brush and smoldering soil. This eerie graveyard greeted my friends, who lived at the church, from Thanksgiving to Christmas and all the way to the New Year.

         Then it rained

                                                                    and rained

                                                                           
                                                                                                                                and rained.

     By Valentine's Day everything had changed. Record inches fell on the blackened chaparral. While it's not unusual to see California's brown hills transform to verdant green during the winter, this year was different. The combination of consuming fire and abundant precipitation produced a rare natural phenomenon. A Super Bloom!

     I messaged my friend, "Send pictures of the flowers. I hear my home state is covered in yellow, blue, orange and purple." Spring has not just sprung, but exploded on the Santa Monica Mountains and beyond. Malibu Creek rushes again. Swaths of orange poppies and blue lupine streak the slopes and cliffs. Tall emerald grasses and bright blossoms flash in the coastal sun. The land is transformed from scorched to scattered rainbow hues. From wildfires to wildflowers.

Photo credit - Facebook

     But why the colorful blaze this time? Other years have had equally wet winters, but yielded much fewer flowers.

     As destructive as they are, fires help the environment. Harmful insects, mold and diseases burn away. The ashes return vital nutrients to the soil creating ideal conditions for vegetation to flourish. One local biology instructor explained, "Plants are made to rebound after a fire. Some flowers don't even bloom unless the ground is scorched. Deer and rabbits thrive again on the profuse grasses and grow in population." He went on to say, "We don't like to see fires, but they're necessary. After the fire, there's a rebirth."*

Photo credit -Facebook

     Last fall brought a personal onslaught of relational wildfires. We all felt the heat of conflict. Words singed. Emotions flared and nothing was seen clearly. We lost sleep and weight and almost hope. We fought flames of fear and confusion, often consumed by sorrow. The inferno of violation left the once serene clearing nearly barren.

     But in the winter, Grace fell. Mercy poured. The rain of God's comfort and instruction soaked our parched souls.  Now, like the poppies and lupine and Indian Paintbrush and mustard bursting, hearts are blooming forgiveness in bright colors, love is covering a multitude of sin. Flaws and failures seared by the Refiner are sprouting shoots of tenderness.

    Wildfires to wildflowers. Beauty for ashes.

    Because after the fire there's a rebirth

                                  and some flowers don't even bloom unless there's a burning.

Photo credit -Facebook

He gives beauty for ashes

Strength for fear

Gladness for mourning

Peace for despair

                                                                                                - Crystal Lewis, 

                                                                                                - Isaiah 61

* NPR news story, Mar. 27, 2019

Journey of a Blue-Collar Collector - Part One

  

Motel Art to Masterpiece

It all started over breakfast one morning when Phil Materio and his daughter were reading the Sunday paper.  The 1996 article was about a group of mid-century African American painters who made a side living by peddling their landscape oils. Jim Crow laws still reigned in South Florida and forced people of color to take low paying jobs. The enterprising men—later dubbed “The Highwaymen”— would pitch their paintings to tourists, residents and shop owners. Originally selling from 17 to 75 dollars each, the painters knew they weren’t creating great art; they were just trying to make ends meet. Soon the artwork decorated the walls of banks, motels, attorney and dental offices. The news column went on to say that although the value of these landscapes was on the rise, they could still be found for a steal at garage sales, thrift shops and flea markets.

As a stained glass artist and craftsman, Mr. Materio’s interest was immediately piqued and he and his daughter went right out to Lake Worth’s antique row to see what they could find. The first store they walked into surprisingly revealed three Highwaymen paintings. Phil scooped them up for $17 to $26 a piece. His interest quickly turned into a veritable obsession and propelled him into a statewide search for Highwaymen art. With a self-imposed limit of $100 per painting, he scoured the state for these new found treasures. 

Who’d have thought a mere news article could launch a lifelong quest?

Materio didn’t always have to travel far in order to build his collection. One of his neighbors was a doctor. When Phil asked him if he happened to have any of these paintings in his office, surprisingly, he said that he owned three. Phil was happy his neighbor agreed to sell two for $100.

Through his search, Materio acquired a deep knowledge of Florida’s social, political and cultural history. The Highwaymen community was centered in the Fort Pierce area, spearheaded by American Impressionist Albert Backus. Considered the “Dean of Florida Landscape painting,” Backus’ bohemian air fostered inclusion of all races and classes. He would invite people of every stratum to his house for art-centered gatherings.

One such guest was Alfred Hair who became one of Backus’ most enthusiastic students and a Highwaymen leader. Like other African Americans who worked in packing houses, factories and farms, he was a laborer. Ambitious and hard-working, Alfred set his sights on two things: (1) a Cadillac and, (2) a house in Miami. Under the tutelage of Albert Backus, Hair began painting scenes of Florida’s terrain and skies in exaggerated colors; palms, Poinciana, grasses, rivers and lakes, mountainous clouds and flaming sunsets. Costs were minimized by using crown molding for frames and painting on Upson board (compressed fibers) instead of canvas. After Alfred sold enough artwork he bought his prized Cadillac. When envious friends asked where he got the money, Alfred invited them to join him in his painting venture. Alfred trained them in the Backus style, but no one could paint as fast as Hair. It was said he could finish one painting in an hour. Unfazed by potential competition, Backus had told his art students, “I don’t care if you paint like me as long as you sell them for cheap.”

The artists sold their works door-to-door, along roadsides and out of their trunks, sometimes with the paint still wet. The 26 “official” Highwaymen included Alfred Hair, Harold Newton, Roy McClendon, Livingston Roberts, Al Black, Hezekiah Baker, James Gibson and Mary Ann Carroll—the sole female—to name a few.

Alfred Hair never got his home in Miami, as his life was cut short in 1970, but he endowed Floridians with a unique genre of far more worth than a house. It took a while, however, for the art form to rise from mediocrity to fine art. Well into the 80s the Florida landscape paintings were still relegated to motel walls and dentists offices.

It wasn’t until the early 2000s that the works started to appreciate. A few books and movies documented the Highwaymen’s story of struggle and success and generated a new public interest. The popularity prompted dealers to raise prices. Materio says it’s remarkable that in two decades, while many collectibles have dropped in price, these paintings have suffered no decline. They now command sales in the 3 and 4-digit range. 

While Phil had amassed hundreds of Highwaymen pieces, he wondered if this was the only art of note in the Sunshine State. Were there other Florida-based painters to be discovered? After reading Mabel Mann’s Art in Florida, he learned that there were three main creative hubs: Saint Augustine, Sarasota and Palm Beach.  Materio threw himself into gathering the artwork of these communities. His blue-collar philosophy (much like a good stock investor’s) was to buy undervalued pieces and watch them appreciate. After twenty years of collecting, 500 paintings and two storage units, his McMow Art Glass studio walls are a testament to his passion.

In Part Two of Journey of a Blue-Collar Collector, share in Phil Materio’s discoveries of images of Sarasota’s circus oddities, Palm Beach’s mansions that no longer exist and St. Augustine’s charming street scenes that have survived the centuries.

Phil in his MCMOW Glass Art Studio

Prayer Blogs and Racist Dogs

     We meet weekly, sometimes biweekly to pray. The three of us neighbors petition for wisdom for our disorderly national leaders, for peace in our country’s social unrest, for godly spouses for our grown children, and that one child in particular would lose weight before it was too late. We also pray that our adult offspring would take themselves to church. 

     Bonnie, the one who hosts us in her cozy, inviting study where her greatest-generation father used to live, had opened her home to a family of 5 and a dog—a miniature Snauser dog. Although they took the opposite side of the house, it was so quiet you could hardly tell they were there. Apparently, the noisy ones, the parents, were out. An untidy mound of shoes in the entryway was the only evidence that a teenage girl, two middle school boys and their parents lived with Bonnie.

“Yeah,” Bonnie grimaced, “We’ll have to include that pile of shoes when we go over house rules.” “Maybe a nice basket under your entry table would make an attractive solution,” I suggested.

     All three of us have long-term house guests, not just Bonnie.  Marie and I host Chinese high school students—two each—who present their own unique set of domestic challenges. Spending far too much time socializing and complaining about our Chinese students’ strange habits and outrageous spending, we finally got to our prayer requests. Marie’s son in D.C. wants to quit his job at Fair Trade America. Despite the job’s positive social contribution and attractive compensation, millennial son says it’s not fulfilling. He would rather make less money doing something about which he’s passionate.

 “That’s commendable. Now’s the time to have the luxury of changing jobs and making less before he has a family,” I comment.

     And then there’s her other son who works for Olin Musk. His problem is he just needs to get to church, and they both need to find a wife, Marie says. I jot down the requests in my beige moleskin.

     Mid conversation, Bonnie’s younger house guests, Tim and Ted emerge—one wrapped in a Christmas blanket—from their side of the house with their dog at the end of a leash. Marie exclaims, “Oh you have a dog just like mine, a miniature Snauser. Can I see him?” With one brother restraining the grey scruffy dog in the entryway, the other stammers, “Oh, well…he is kind of old and blind…and he’s racist, so I don’t think we should bring him any closer.” They turn and take the dog out to do his business.

“Did you hear what I just heard,” the three of us ask each other? “Did he say, ‘racist dog?’”

“I’m so sorry,” cringed a mortified Bonnie to Marie. “I apologize for my guest’s bad behavior and will talk to the boys.”

“It’s OK,” said Marie. I was not sure if she was offended—as she should've been—by the archaic and childish remark. “Kids don’t know what they’re saying half the time.”

“But really! Racist dog. I’ve never heard anything like that in my life,” I interjected.

“I’m so sorry, Marie.” Bonnie again winced.

The boys came back and the first thing out of their mouth was and apology. Their consciences must have gotten the best of them, thank God, as they realized their rude blunder.

They started for their rooms and I pressed in, “How can a dog be racist, really?” 

“Well, he once attacked some black boys, so we didn’t want him to do the same to you.”  The older brother explained.

“Well,” attempting to reason with the middle schoolers, “Obviously, the  dog doesn’t understand bigotry based on color of skin. Nor does it grasp our country’s terrible history with African Americans. So, don’t say the dog is racist. Poor pup most likely was scared of the boys for some other reason. Racist Dog!!”

We prayed and went home. I tell my husband the dog story and he guesses that the parents must've put the idea into the kids' head. I suggest it was the cultural hot topic and swirling buzz words from news or their peers.

Three weeks pass before our schedules allow another prayer meeting. Bonnie's son is losing weight and eating healthily. Marie's son is more settled in his cushy job. The situation with my kids has improved greatly also. We share more requests, read a Psalm and before we pray Bonnie says,

"By the way, the guest dog died last Sunday. Marie is crushed. Bonnie and I not so much.  The mom put him down due to the dog's ailments from old age and the kids stayed home on President's Day to recover emotionally."

It was hard for us not to think that the racist dog got what was coming to him. But of course, we were joking. He was just old and absolutely never racist.