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03/31/2008: "Murray Miller: Portrait Painter and Teacher"
I have always been drawn to the figurative paintings. As a child, I remember being fascinated by the paintings of "Pinky," (as we called the portrait) by Sir Henry Raeburn, and "Blue Boy," by Whistler that flanked the stage in the auditorium of my elementary school. I tried to imagine the lives of the children in the portraits and of the creative impulse by which the paintings were executed. This fascination stayed with me and evolved to include numerous artists who did portraiture and their subjects. In high school, I began to realize how difficult capturing and painting a portrait is when I was assigned to do a self-portrait in one of my art classes. Since that time, I have flirted with portraiture, and in some cases, created a successful work.
In my early 30's I chanced to get an introduction to a portrait painter who, then, was in his 70's. I called him, and was invited to his home/studio in Queens, NY. As soon as I entered the house, I saw magnificent paintings-mostly portraits---lining the walls. I thought I had stumbled into a museum or, for that matter, paradise. And there was Mr. Miller (as I called him): a short, well-built man, who said nothing as I tried to take it all in. Finally, we talked for a while and I showed him some pencil work I had been doing. My detailed drawings were from photographs: mostly heads. He remarked that I had "something" and told me to do still-life to get a feeling of composition and space. I rushed home to paint two still-lifes in oils. Six months later I called Mr. Miller, who was mildly surprised that I was still around. On the other hand, I had thought of little else while painting away my days and nights.
After critiquing my still-life efforts, Mr. Miller suggested that we go to a life drawing class at the Salmagundi Club on 5th Avenue and 10th Street in Greenwich Village so that he could instruct me in the art of figure drawing. Every Saturday night for five years, I drove Mr. Miller to the Salmagundi that offered a three hour single nude pose. On any given evening eight to ten artists showed up, mostly the same people. The monitor, Bob Robinson was an expert in pencil and conte drawing. Mr. Miller and I usually did studies in oils. Later, a good friend, Dan Slapo a superb pastel artist joined us and I drove both Dan and Mr. Miller into the city from Queens. These were magical nights. The models were usually good; one, Rebecca, with long auburn hair, very white complexion and a graceful body was marvelous. There was little talking, even during the breaks: just drawing/painting the human form. JUST!
Mr. Miller was a harsh teacher. He criticized my work unmercifully, rarely complimenting it. That was fine with me because while he criticized, he taught me: VAST amounts of representational painting information, of which I, a student during the age of abstract art, was unaware. I learned and learned and learned. After driving Mr. Miller back to Queens, Dan and I would have coffee in Mr. Miller's home were he would continue to instruct me on the finer points of representational art. We looked at slides of primarily portraiture from museums all over the world that Mr. Miller had taken (his daughter worked for the airlines). This education was priceless for me.
During the weekly car rides into the city, I learned about Murray Miller's journey as an artist. He was born in Russia in the early 1900's. The family was very poor, but when the Communists came in, the Miller family did not welcome them as many impoverished people did. Murray drew from an early age, using any scraps of paper he found in the streets. When the Communists dispersed propaganda flyers proclaiming the value of the regime, Murray was delighted to have the paper, which he used for drawing and which he hid under his mattress because he would have been killed (he told me) for defacing political materials. Eventually, the family escaped to the US and settled in New York. Murray joined the US Army during WW II. While stationed in Europe, he had an opportunity to see a great deal of art in museums in France and Italy and he decided to spend his life as an artist. This was a tremendous step because he had a wife and parents to look after: art is rarely lucrative. However, while in the army, Murray drew portraits of his fellow soldiers, charging $7 per portrait. In 1943 this was a considerable sum!
After being honorably discharged with medals for bravery, Murray attended the National Academy of Art on 5th Avenue and 89th Street, where he garnered numerous medals for excellence in drawing and painting. He painted portraits for many wealthy and high profile patrons in the New York area, during his career as a portrait artist. His media were pastel and oils. Murray continued to learn about art and study the masters all his life. Throughout the years, he also ran workshops; however, when I met him, he had stopped teaching to devote his energies exclusively to painting. Luckily, we met and he saw in me an apt student and a friend. No teacher could have given me more. He introduced me to painters , such as Raeburn, Ogden Pleisner, Emil Carlson, Frank Duveneck and many others of whom I had never heard. He dissected Sargent's (his idol) work for me to better understand. He taught me about color, form, light, planes, composition: everything. He taught me to paint backgrounds, heads, figures, and a gold ring (This last is not easy!). We also went to museums together on two occasions and there he taught me a little bit about SEEING. He gave me the education of a lifetime.
One day I got a call from Mr. Miller's wife: he was in a coma. After a week, he died, taking all his priceless knowledge with him. For his wife and three children, Murray death was a terrible loss. For me, a friend, a teacher and a keeper of a bottomless vault of information had left me. I realized later that Mr. Miller must have wanted to pass along his insights on art that he had carefully gathered all his life. So fortunately, I was there. He is, of course still with me, judging my work mercilessly. I would not have it any other way. He gave me one of the greatest gifts one human can receive from another: himself as a teacher.
