Postscript: Ode to the Art Supply Store

A few comments from readers.

Artist Dannielle Tegeder holding a relic

Every week after posting the latest column I am grateful to hear privately from readers who share their thoughts with me. This week, the subject of art supply stores generated an unusual outpouring of commentary, both private and in social media, some of which I am sharing here.

Curator and artist Robert Storr wrote:

“When I was ten I lived for half a year in Rockport MA where my father plunked us down while he did his research in university libraries in the Boston/Cambridge region.  As you may know Rockport had been an "artists' colony" since the days of Joan Sloan and Stuart Davis. […] In winter the town thinned out dramatically and was pretty desolate, except for bars, churches, lobster shacks and Motif #1, a glorified red sail loft that stood on the breakwater facing the headlands closing in the harbor […] the town's only "gas station" for these wannabe Bobby Unsers of American art was a  low-slung shed facing Motif #1 across the harbor quaintly called Hatfield's Color Shop. […] In the afternoons I took refuge at Hatfield's from my family and from the rough sons of fishermen at school and learned about materials: their textures, smells, and other alluring qualities which meant that I learned about all of that before I learned about art. Maybe that is what prepared me for Robert Ryman fifteen or so years later.”

Artist Buzz Spector shared:

“Once I moved to L.A., in 1988, I became a frequent customer at McManus & Morgan, Inc., nearby Otis-Parsons in McArthur Park. One day I was there, shopping for large sheets of rag paper for drawings I was making at the time. The other customer at the paper counter that day was David Hockney who, overhearing my conversation with the counter person, recommended I try using the handmade Spanish paper he was there to pick up. Thrilled by this momentary exchange with an artist I greatly esteemed, I asked for four sheets. In the meantime, Hockney departed and the counter person began writing up the invoice. I had not actually seen the paper I was buying and was greatly surprised when he asked if I'd brought a truck for loading my order. "A truck?" I responded, "Can't you just roll the sheets?" The counter person explained that the sheets were nearly 8 x 8 feet in size and too thick and textured to be rolled up without damage. A feeling, as of being caught in a rip tide, arose in me as I asked how much these four sheets cost. "They're $400 each." I could have declined to buy them, but I felt that Hockney's recommendation was an augury and I should heed it, at least partially. I bought two sheets, went to a nearby U-Haul dealership and rented a truck large enough to hold them flat.”

Pearl Paint clearly looms large in New York artists’ memories, and it prompted most of the comments. They included this from Nina Katchadourian:

“For me too, it was a place where a certain authentic, real artists of New York existed. As a newbie, you had to go through the ritual of NOT knowing to pay on each separate floor, and the inconvenience and mild humiliation of having to undo the mistake. But after that, YOU KNEW, and then you were an insider. I can still hear the creak of the big stairs. Waaah now it’s making me sad!!!!”

And this, from Katharine Kuharic:

“I worked in the brush room ( because I was meticulous). Martin Wong worked in paint until he was fired for stealing ( he used to hand bags of Bloccx out the door on Lispenard ).”

Doug Sheer wrote (referring to Pearl Paint’s owner):

“Bob may have been dodging his taxes, but he was kind to many artists. When we started Artists Talk on Art in 1974 he gave us $200 to pay for our first postcard mailing using the SoHo Artists Association's list.”

And Lynn del Sol:

“COUNTLESS memories. Who knew we’d be so thankful for the 90s.”