The Electric Pencil: Part II

[ This is Part 2. If you are just starting here to read the story of The Electric Pencil, scroll down and start at Part 1 first. However, if you read books back to front, please ignore this message. ]

I FOUND MYSELF AT A LOCAL RESTAURANT IN TOWN, was given a table and took a seat. I called two people—a close friend and trusted NY art dealer; and another friend that I like to bounce ideas off of. Before I called my wife, I needed some reassurances, I had to have my act together... I wanted someone to just say: "DO IT! YOU’LL NEVER REGRET IT.” The first person I called was my friend, who said I should do it. Wow! Okay, that’s good, I thought. Then I called my NY art dealer friend who cautiously said: “I haven't seen these drawings John, so this is a tough call. Be careful, things do not always work out like one hopes. You could be paying too much to ever recoup what you paid.”  Oh great. But the last thing he said was: “On the other hand John, you know as much as I do. If you trust your own eye, if you believe in what you see—then do it.”

I called my wife, told her that I was in a position to own a great collection of drawings but that to get them was going to cost us a bit more than we had in our checking account. Her reaction? “If you think this is a good deal John, then do it.”

“Whaaaaat?” I thought? This is too easy. Why didn’t she just say: “Hell-l NO-O!! Are YOU nuts?” The fact that she didn’t say that was just another reason I married this woman 26 years ago. 

OK, I'm in! My mind was made up.

I am sure the cheeseburger and fries that I ordered were very good, but at this point they had no taste. I was chewing cardboard, simply going through the motions. I finished and headed out of there.

Before I left for the dinner from hell, I had divided the drawings into three piles, an “A” pile of what I considered to be the best drawings; a “B” pile of good ones, and a “C” pile of what I considered average. This was not an uncommon thing to do when it comes to a large body of work. All artists have their great days and good days. The task was not easy. The “A’s” and “B’s” were very close together in terms of content and quality. In a way, I considered those 2 piles as one. Fortunately, the “C” pile was thin.

After another final look at the drawings, I said “I’ll take them.” It felt good.

We worked out the financial details, and I was to pick up the drawings two days later. I was to arrive with the check, and he would give me the work. It was to be a simple exchange. I counted them one last time, twice, no three times—before I left. He was nice enough to agree to meet me half-way this time, a nice gesture. I headed home. It was 2:30 in the morning when I pulled into the driveway. The house was obviously quiet, everyone was asleep. I crawled into bed. I felt sort of like I was sneaking into the house after a crime. OMG. I have to be at work in 5 hours. Out.

TO BE CONTINUED: 

Just kidding! I had to say that. As agreed, we met two days later in a crowded Cracker Barrel restaurant half way between our respective homes. Both of us were on time. He came over and sat in my car, and I handed him a check. He handed me the portfolio. I joked out loud that this “looked like a drug deal,” and thought to say “let me count these first,” but I didn’t. We had come too far not to trust each other.

I LOVED THEM. I looked at them every day. I studied them. They were rare, beautiful, and special. That they had survived at all was a story in itself. But... two months later I came to the conclusion that I had no business tying up a good chunk of our money in a portfolio of drawings. I acquire art to hang on my walls. I wanted to enjoy them, but there were too many and they belonged together. So, on a whim, and to test the waters, I placed a call to the only name I had that was a “runner-up” for the drawings, a name I had been given by the original seller. 

“Yes. He was still very interested.” I can release the name of the buyer now since the story of The Electric Pencil has gone public and the new owner allowed himself to be identified. If this hadn’t happened, no way would I have used a name. If you look at the January/February 2008 issue, Volume 12, Issue 3 of Art on Paper, in a story called “Phantasmagoria Americana: Introducing the Art of The Electric Pencil,” art critic Lyle Rexer called the discovery on par with the “recent discovery of the cache of drawings by Martin Rameriz or the discovery over ten years ago of work by James Castle.” Wow! 

The new owner is New York artist Harris Diamant. Only time will tell where The Electric Pencil will end up in art history. I can say that Harris Diamant loved them enough for me to name my price, which I did and I wish him well. Mr. Diamant is not only an exceptional artist, but a gentleman and known for his great, discerning eye. Check out his work.

For me, I was happy to have just been a part of it all. Absolutely no regrets. I was lucky. It was just another adventure.

[ If you enjoyed this story—I'd really like to have you sign up to “follow” my blog, download a little photo of yourself or anything, really. That part is located in the column on the right. I work hard at this journal—so it gives me incentive to know people are reading it. I post something every day, rain or shine. And, a side benefit about signing on—people can link back to your website or whatever. Of course, if you are in the Witness Protection Program, you may not want to. ]

The Electric Pencil, Part I

HERE’S A STORY I HAVE TOLD TO ONLY A HANDFUL OF PEOPLE. It’s a good one, I have to say. One day, a couple of years ago, I came home from lunch and decided to check eBay (a bad habit) and spotted 3 very unusual portraits on paper said to be from the State Lunatic Asylum, Nevada, Missouri, and done around 1895 - 1900. I thought the three pieces I looked at were pretty astounding. I put a relatively high bid on the items and sent the owner an email to find out if he had more. Within 20 minutes, the man called me. 

He explained that he had already pulled the three drawings from eBay, and had paid the fee to withdraw them from the auction. And yes, he had more. A lot more. Two-hundred and eighty some more, bound together in a hand-made book of rawhide and paper board of some kind. Ooo-kay, I am starting to get really interested now. Then he mentions that the reason he pulled the items from eBay was that he was getting calls from NYC and elsewhere, all desperate to see them, so “he figured they were worth quite a bit more.” He went on to say that one NY art dealer offered to buy the entire portfolio “sight unseen.” A price was given to me over the phone (for all of them), ending with a firm “and NOT A PENNY less!” My initial thought was “this is crazy.” Nevertheless, I told him that I could get in my car and be there in 5 hours if he would hold them for me. He agreed. I called in sick to the office as I was wheeling my car onto the interstate. It was a migraine, I think. In fact, my head was pounding from the stress. But my headache was mild, compared to what was to come.

Five hours later, it was dark, about 6 pm. I found the man’s house, walked to the door. He was very cordial. As I looked around, I saw that it was a simply furnished apartment, with lot’s of books, knick-knacks and “stuff.” This guy went to a lot of flea markets, I assumed. After a few pleasantries, we got right to to it. He showed me the portfolio, and started to go through each drawing with me, one at a time. I was in no mood to follow his pace. After looking at 4 or 5 drawings with him, I politely asked if I might go through them on my own. Thank goodness he agreed. I was so relieved to be on my own pace, alone with my thoughts. He retired to his computer, in another room.

Overall, the drawings were pretty incredible—some better than others, as one could expect from a large collection like this. Indeed, they were all on what appeared to be “day paper” or ledger sheets from the now defunct state mental asylum in Nevada, MO. Some of the lightly ruled paper actually had “STATE LUNATIC ASYLUM” printed on the top. 

Here I was, looking at an intact portfolio of an anonymous artist’s work from over a century ago. Was the artist a patient? Was the artist a man—or woman? Was the artist a friend of someone at the asylum— or perhaps even an employee? There was no way to tell. My host explained that he bought the set of drawings from a man who had them sitting on a shelf for the last 30-40 years, and that he had gotten them from a 14-year old boy who found them “in a trash pile” in Springfield, MO in 1970.

IT WAS THE BIG EYES that got me. The fine detail. The mixture of fantasy, documentation, narrative, history— all of it! All the right bells were going off. The present owner had given the artist a name: “The Electric Pencil,” based on one drawing labeled with a misspelled set of words “Etclectric Pencil.” Personally, I was never (and am still not) convinced this was the true name of the artist, but whatever. Electricity was new, in its infancy, and this artist had something special. 

Suddenly I realized I had a huge decision to make. I was exhausted from the drive, visually spent, mentally and physically excited but beaten down nonetheless. I was hungry and needed to get out of there—take a break, get a drink.

[ TO BE CONTINUED... ]   Check back tomorrow for 5 more drawings and the conclusion to the story.