BOURBON STREET
Mentor Huebner (c) 1953
Oil on Masonite 22" X 26"
BOURBON
STREET
BY
If Bourbon
Street was in Los Angeles instead of New Orleans I wouldn't
have been with Mentor when he painted it.
I would usually accompany Mentor if he painted landscapes and
seascapes, but not cityscapes. Out of town it was easier to
hang out with him. As it had always been ~
pre-kids. We could go anywhere. We were like turtles and carried
and carried everything we needed in the car. It was our home
away from home ~ and very cozy.
But in LA Mentor liked to paint docks and construction sites.
There weren't too many
conveniences. And it seemed the best views were always found
around the base of bridges in ‘bad’ neighborhoods.
Gangland. Mentor always drew crowds. “Hey Man! You an
artist or something? How much you want for that?”
Mentor, boxed for fun and was confident. “You can’t
afford the brush.” I’d warn him later about his
being so flip and he’d say, “I can take care of
myself”. And he could. By why trigger the experience?
The art loving gang member, after standing around quietly for
a few minutes, looking serious, had called out to the others,
“Let’s go, the guy’s busy“. Then as
they walked away, the leader, in a moment of relating, turned
to give Mentor a last good-bye, and with a touching cultural
rapport, added, “Looks good Man. Just like a photo”
Mentor grunted and give a non committal nod, as painting "Just
like a photo", wasn't where it was at for him. But he understood
the compliment. .
In LA it was always tricky... painting in the streets. Not everyone
like art. And then there's the traffic. LA’s traffic is
heavy during the day. Even the foot traffic. But in New Orleans
the night explodes. The streets fill up. It looks pretty much
like 42nd Street in New York City on New Year's Eve.
This painting depicts a peaceful moment of time. Although it
was quiet at the start, and the street was practically empty
Mentor knew he had to race and work very fast to finish the
painting and get it off the street before any happy mob showed
up.
This day, this painting attracted no gang critique. Instead,
a lonely Saxophone, wailed for hours, from a balcony above.
Each, equal in charm.
<<<PREVIOUS
NEXT >>>
