Norman. Frickin. Rockwell.

By Jillian Owens

 

I’ve always had a strange dislike for Norman Rockwell’s work.  I think it all goes back to when I was a kid and a print of this painting was featured prominently in my orthodontist’s office:

 

If you tossed them an Ipad they’d probably fight to the death for it.

 

Since then, I’ve been incapable of separating his work from feelings of fear and dread.  I just can’t detach his syrupy/hokey whitewashed images of Americana from five years of dental torture not entirely unlike Marathon Man.

I’ve never cared for Mr. Rockwell’s work, as it has always seemed to represent everything I’m against.  It’s cutesy and unchallenging.  It’s too sweet.   It propagates nostalgia for a time that never really existed.  Oh wow, look at that family in a car!  Look at those silly mischievous kids!  Aren’t they whimsical and delightful? No.  They’re not.  Racial diversity?  Who needs it?  You were a sellout, Mr. Rockwell.   You were a Mid-Century Thomas Kinkade.  You were the type of artist I’d avoid at a cocktail party.

 

Catch:  It’s like Children of the Corn, but scarier.

 

When the Columbia Museum of Art announced its new featured exhibit, Norman Rockwell:  Behind the Camera, I groaned.  Seriously?  That’s the best they could do?  Should I up my donation next year for the hope of something better or decrease it to punish them for bringing in something so lame?

Norman.  Frickin. Rockwell.

I went to Arts & Draughts last week more out of the desire to drink with friends than out of a keen desire to see the new exhibit.  But since I was already there, I figured I might as well give it a look (between glasses of wine).

When I say it was better than I expected, that probably won’t mean much to you given my anti-Rockwell rant above.  The first part of the exhibit was interesting (really!).  It mostly featured his equally famous and hokey paintings from The Saturday Evening Post.  Alongside each cover are the original photographs of people and objects and the sketches that were drawn into a composite image in Rockwell’s (annoying) carcicaturesque style and then painted.  The subject matter didn’t interest me, but the process did.  I’m always fascinated by how artists work, and while I found the end result annoying, it doesn’t diminish the fact that this guy had talent.

I knew very little about Mr. Rockwell before entering this exhibit.  In the last room, my opinion of him as an artist totally changed.  It turns out Norman wasn’t thrilled with his gig at The Saturday Evening Post.  He wanted to promote civil rights by featuring people of color on his covers, but was told by his editor that he could only paint them in menial or service positions.  He left The Post and began illustrating for Look Magazine instead.

He made this:

 

The Problem We All Live With 1964

 

The Problem We All Live With features a 6-year-old African-American girl on her way to her first day at an all-white school in New Orleans in 1960.  Due to threats on her life, she has to be accompanied by four U.S. marshals.  Racist graffiti can be seen in the background.  It’s chilling.  It reminds us of a dark place in our country’s history, and as a white woman, it helps me to better understand how terrifying it had to have been to simply exist as a black person in the Old South during desegregation.

Mr. Rockwell also painted this:

 

Blood Brothers 1968

 

After the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Rockwell wanted to paint a scene of urban unrest that would show the superficiality of racial differences.  Notice how the blood of each man pools together?

Normal Rockwell did many paintings like this in his later years.  It’s not fluffy.  It’s not cute.  It’s not what most of us associate with his work.  Was this just a furious last-ditch grab at attempting to change the legacy he would leave behind?  I don’t know.  I don’t even know if that matters.

I do know that I entered the museum annoyed with tingling gums, but left a more empathetic and introspective person.

Norman Rockwell:  Behind the Camera runs from October 17, 2014 – January 18, 2015 at the Columbia Museum of Art.

 

 

 

Jillian Owens is a writer, designer, and eco-fashion revolutionary. A Columbia SC transplant, she graduated from the University of South Carolina with a BFA in Theatre and English. When she’s not gallivanting about, she’s busy refashioning ugly thrift store duds into fashionable frocks at ReFashionista.net or helping the underserved through her work in Community Impact at United Way of the Midlands. She also reviews local theater productions for Jasper Magazine and Onstage Columbia, and is an occasional contributor for The Free Times. Any comments, questions, or crude remarks can be directed to [email protected].

 

 

 

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