HENRY
FORD BRIDGE
Mentor Huebner (c) 1963
Oil on Masonite 24" X 30"
HENRY
MORGAN BRIDGE
BY
The Henry
Ford Bridge, in Wilmington, California, is where the big ships
come in. The draw bridge is a formidable greeter. If it likes
the ships it lets them in. If not.......
As a Post Impressionist Painter, Mentor was into speed and light.
He preferred natural light and never painted landscapes indoors
and never took more than a day to do one. Not many artists could
produce a painting of equal value to his and in under one week.
One day wasn't 24 hours, it was more like 8.
Usually, Mentor painted is days off from Film Productions. He
didn't paint if he had the flu. But he never had the flu. He
didn't paint if someone died. Or if there was a huge storm.
One with lightening and thunder. Or if there was too much smog
and everything looked yellow.
Then he would curse. Of course he didn't paint when there were
earthquakes. But he did paint in blizzards. At least overseas.
He thought there was no time to fool around as we would be going
home soon. And time was passing.
If too much time passed between painting excursions, he became
restless. Drawing daily for movies, didn't satisfy his Fine
Art painting urges. He had to get out into the open air to be
challenged by the light and time. He was in a race. He had to
do a complete and what he considered to be a good painting ~
by dusk!
.
Mentor painted in many spectacular locations, but he was convinced
California's light was the best in the world. At times he drove
two hours to reach a spot that attracted him. If it was civilized,
I went along.
Carrying a mechanic's tool chest filled with paints, a French
Easel with a Masonic board strapped to it, was quite an ordeal.
With no parking close to his chosen spot ~ not ever, heed walk.
He was very tanned and fit. He worked out. Boxed. So it wasn't
as bad for him as I saw it to be.
Mentor would eat a candy bar while painting. He felt that a
sandwich would take the 'edge' off. I always made sure he had
a good breakfast before he left. On his way home heed grab a
coffee at a Jack-in-the-box, and drink it while driving.
He didn't paint for show, for gain nor for prestige, but because
he had to. He had no way out. Arriving home, splattered with
paint, smelling of turpentine, and smiling, heed kiss me and
say, “Here Honey, this is for you."
He needed only to paint. He wasn't a collector. He didn't care
if the paintings were exhibited or not. He didn't care if they
sold or not. If he didn't like a collector, much to everyone's
chagrin, nothing could force him to release his painting to
that person. He could not be cajoled. Not about paintings. other
stuff. But not paintings.
He gave me all his paintings. I guess he liked me. The Henry
Ford Bridge painting was no different. About any painting he
would ask, "You like it?"
He asked me about the Henry Ford Bridge. I like bold designs.
"Well, what do you think? You like it?"
I liked it.
In fact, I loved it.
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