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The
SAUL
ART
GALLERY
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Artwork of
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Welcome to the
Watercolors,
Sketches, Cartoons and Drawings
All images are copyright 2009, 2007,
2003 and previous years by Andrew W. Saul. Reproduction or reuse is
prohibited unless written permission is granted in advance.
At the bottom of this page you
will find biographical information about my father, American artist Warren E.
Saul (1921-1996).
Visitors say: "What an excellent tribute to your father, a person whose watercolors reveal an inner light of understanding of the human condition." "I've just spent a lovely 90 minutes looking at your father's wonderful sketches and paintings. Thank you for sharing them with us. I am in awe."
Links to view PERMANENT EXHIBITS, by
category: Railroading
Studies of Steam
Locomotives Some Quick Train
Cartoons Transcontinental
Railroad Locomotive Jupiter
(Ink, 1985)
Amtrak Passenger
Train #3 at La Junta, CO (Watercolor and ink, 1983)
The "Old Days"
Remembered CARPATHIA (the
ship that rescued TITANIC survivors) SS Liberte Leaving New York Harbor
(Watercolor, 1978)
WW I Spad Fighter Aircraft 1930s Military
Policeman (Ink, 1981)
Barbershop
Scene (Ink, 1977)
Ferry Majestic, 1925 (Ink, 1986)
SS United States and Lawncare (Ink,
1986)
The WW II Cartoons:
A visitor comments: "These watercolor sketches are the most beautiful I have ever seen. I like the vibrant colors and definitely the subject matter. Thanks for making the world a more beautiful place." From a Visit to Europe Clock Tower,
St. Mark’s Square, Venice, Italy (Watercolor and Ink, 1983)
Cathedral
Santa Maria del Fiore, Florence, Italy (Watercolor and ink, 1983)
Egyptian
Columns, St. Mark’s Square, Venice, Italy (Watercolor and ink, 1983)
The Chapel at Versailles,
and Views of Paris
Former
Monastery in Lisbon, Portugal (Ink, 1985)
Painter at
Santorini, Greece (Ink, 1985)
Burano
Island and San Giorgio Maggiore, Venice (Ink, 1986)
"After a year or so of using your website, I decided to check out your father's artwork. I was so moved by it. I got a little teary-eyed. I moved to Norway a year ago and I get homesick from time to time. The pictures of Rochester, my home town, were touching and made me miss it even more.
Well, anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate your website and the beautiful artwork. I imagine your father must have been a loving husband and father with a terrific sense of humor."
Plans for
Building a Writing Desk (Ink, 1985)
Church and
Doctor’s Office Lamp (Ink, 1985)
Dining Room
Light Fixture, and Salt and Pepper (Ink, 1984)
Breakfast,
Shoes, Golf, and Suit (Ink, 1985)
Police
Spot-Check on Driving park Ave, Rochester, NY (Watercolor and ink, 1983)
Elderly
Patient and Retirement Plans (Pencil, 1979)
Waiting and
Reading (Pencil, 1982)
Poinsettia
and Dumbcane (Ink, 1985)
Lettering
a Truck; Lunch and Supper (Ink, 1986)
Barbershop
Quartet (Ink and colored pencil, 1976)
Artist’s Son Andrew
W. Saul at College Graduation (Pencil, 1974)
Cottage in
Ludlow, VT (Pencil, 1981)
Horseshoe
Pit (Ink, 1978)
Measurement
in a Sports Event (Pencil, 1978)
Halloween
Cartoons (Ink, 1986)
Portrait and
Caricature Drawing Amish Barnraising A Small
Tribute to a Man’s Best Friend (Text, 1985)
Artist
Carrying His Easel (Pencil, 1978)
Post Office Jeep
My
Dad had an odd sense of humor. Here’s proof:
New Product Listing:
Andrew Saul’s Birth Notice (Ink, 1955)
He
also could get bored easily:
Mind-Wandering Doodles
During a Church Service (Ink, 1988)
More Cartoons During
Church (Ink, 1986-88)
An Attack of
Vertigo (Ink with annotations, 1978)
(How
my father got over his Meniere’s Disease is posted at http://www.doctoryourself.com/ears.html)
He
believed in the value of vitamins and juicing:
Making Fresh
Vegetable Juice (1993, Pencil)
Vegetable Juicing,
part 2 (1993, Pencil)
(The
above two items were his proposed illustrations for http://www.doctoryourself.com/juicefast.html)
Draft of Doctor Yourself Book Cover (Ink,
1994)
The Artist and His Juicer
(Photograph, c. 1994)
Studies of the Work of Great
Artists North
Greenland Fjord, after Kent (Watercolor, 1979)
Chez Mouquin,
after Glackeus (Watercolor, 1979)
Self-Portrait,
after Soyer (Pencil, 1977)
The
Burgomaster of Leyden, after Dubordieu (Watercolor, 1978)
Benjamin
Franklin, after Fragonard (Watercolor, 1978)
Benjamin
Franklin with Glasses, after Tobey (Watercolor, 1978)
Bridgman’s
Studies of Human Face (Ink, 1986)
Bridgman’s
Studies of Human Skull (Ink, 1986)
Woman
Holding a Collie, after Sargent (Watercolor, 1978)
The Jester,
after Leyster (Watercolor, 1979)
Vase of
Flowers, after Redon (Watercolor, 1979)
George
Washington, after Stuart (Watercolor, 1979)
La
Bohemienne, after Hals (Watercolor, 1979)
Children in an
Advertisement, after Douse (Ink, 1986)
The Beach at
Trouville, after Boudin
Holding a Baby, after Cassatt Portrait of A. Y.
Jackson, after Young Bellows:
Anne in Black
Velvet, after Bellows (Watercolor, 1981)
Portrait of Geraldine,
after Bellows
Cezanne:
Cardinal Richelieu, after Cezanne Chase:
Carmencita,
after Chase (Watercolor, 1980)
Meditation,
after Chase (Watercolor, 1980)
Mrs. Chase at the
Opera, after Chase (Watercolor, 1979)
Golden Lady,
after Chase (Watercolor, 1980)
Degas:
Singer with a Glove, after
Degas
Henri: Homer:
Inness:
Lautrec: The
Laundress, after Lautrec (Watercolor, 1980)
English Girl
of the “Star” in Havre, after Lautrec (Watercolor, 1980)
La Goulue,
after Lautrec (Watercolor, 1980)
Manet:
Monet: Self-Portrait,
after Monet (Watercolor, 1978)
Pellew: Pissarro: Portrait
of the Artist, after Pissarro (Watercolor, 1979)
Rembrandt: Renoir: Sisley: Wheatfields
Near Argenteuil, after Sisley (Watercolor, 1980)
Nut Trees at
Sunset, after Sisley (Watercolor, 1980)
Bridge at
Hampton Court (1874), after Sisley (Watercolor, 1980)
Barges at
Saint-Mammes, after Sisley (Watercolor, 1980)
Turner: VanGogh:
Painter with a
Pipe, after Van Gogh (Watercolor, 1981)
Old Peasant of Provence,
after Van Gogh
Whistler:
The Artist’s Mother, after Whistler
Wyeth:
From the Sketchbooks: Houses
of Parliament (Ink, 1979)
Cape
Elizabeth Lighthouse (Ink, 1986)
Clarence Gagnon
(Watercolor, 1980)
Untitled
Portrait (Colored pencil, 1978)
Character
Study from a 1927 Photo of the Sacco-Vanzetti Trial (Colored pencil,
1978)
Untitled
Portrait (Crayon, 1978)
Fishing
Boat, Rockport, MA (Watercolor and pencil, 1983)
Old Thompson
Bank, Sturbridge Village, MA (Watercolor and ink, 1983)
Warwick Castle
Tower, England (Watercolor and pencil, 1983)
Mountain
View to the East, Albuquerque, NM (Watercolor and pencil, 1983)
Federal
Reserve Bank, Boston, MA (Watercolor and ink, 1983)
South
Market, Boston, MA (Watercolor and ink, 1983)
Shoreline
of Nantucket, MA (Watercolor, 1984)
Native American
Character Studies (Pencil, undated)
Downtown
Wilmington, DE (Ink, 1985)
House and
Barn (Ink, 1986)
Portrait of Thomas P.
Anshutz My father admired artists
who drew what they saw, and drew it well. He was particularly interested in
this little-known and probably even less appreciated group of American
realists called, sometimes derisively, the "Ash Can School."
"THE ASHCAN SCHOOL AND
REALISM" is a term paper he wrote at the
Warren
E. Saul (1921-1996): An Appreciation
by
Andrew W. Saul
Copyright
© 2009 and previous years Andrew Saul
Some
people read while they wait. My father sketched. Constantly. For over 20 years, Warren Saul kept a daily
self-illustrated diary he called "Sketchnotes." It ran to some 55 volumes,
including many thousands of quick sketches, comments, and watercolors on all
conceivable topics. His notebooks at times are reminiscent of an almost
Leonardo DaVinci-like rambling, but entirely serious visual inquiry into the
world around us. Sometimes, the drawings are just stream-of-consciousness
cartoons done while my Dad sat at the kitchen table, at a meeting, or in a
waiting room. He sketched from his car in a parking lot, or at a stop light
or drive-up window. I like these the best. They are his take on his own life,
seen through his own eyes. My father also produced a considerable
number of more formal watercolor, acrylic, or oil paintings. I think his best
work may have been his quick watercolor sketches. These never took him longer
than about 20 minutes, usually much less. Most of his watercolors are copies
of, renditions of, or tributes to the work of his favorite masters.
Chief among these would be the French and American impressionists. He was
especially keen on the circa 1900 American "Ashcan School"
of artists who liked to draw just about anything, and did. Just like
Pa. He would sketch what he saw, sketch
what he thought, and sketch what he read. His work constitutes a slice of
American life, from the start of the second World War until 1996. Most of the
work published here is from the last twenty years of his life, a prolific
period indeed. A
Boy of Summer Like so many other boys, Warren E. Saul
wanted to be a big-league baseball pitcher, and he came half-way close to
making it. When still a teenager, he played semipro, pitching for a farm team
in the NY Yankees organization. He tried out for the Yankees, but his fast
ball wasn’t fast enough for the majors. But he did all right in the minors.
Dad’s greatest boys-of-summer moment was probably when he struck out Bobby
Brown, twice in one game. Bobby Brown went on to become the president of the
American League. Dad went on to become an artist. While baseball's loss may ultimately have
been our gain, my father had a pretty humble beginning to his art career: he
was a sign painter during the depression years of the late 1930's. He once
had a job lettering a set of display windows for a local merchant. After he’d
been outside on the job for a while, there was some kind of disagreement
about payment, and the store owner said he would not pay. My father finished
the job anyway. Now you are going to think this is a holier-then-thou story,
but it is not. My father intentionally had used water-soluble paint, and the
first time it rained, the lettering washed off in a blurry slurry of color. After enlisting for service in WW II, he
rose to the rank of sergeant. Twice. The first time he was promoted, he was
AWOL, on the train to
New Jersey
to see his first-born child without a pass. When he got back, they cancelled
his promotion. He made sergeant again before war’s end. After honorable
discharge, he became a draftsman. With variations on this theme, he would
continue so until his retirement in 1986. He called this "tight"
work, and though he was a fine illustrator, he did not especially enjoy
industrial drawing. He preferred to paint, fast and loose, often dispensing
with a brush altogether and using only a palette knife. Or, he would make a quick
line drawing somewhere, probably on his lunch hour, and later add watercolor
to it at home. His Spartan ground-floor studio at our home was also known as
"The Kennel," because the family dog slept there at night. You have
not lived until you’ve experienced the combined scents of turpentine and wet
dog. Life With Father Well
I remember our usual wretched snowy
Rochester
winters. At times, Pa took the bus to work, and had a short walk from
the bus stop to our house. Half way home from the bus stop, there was a
city sidewalk plow, really a tractor with an oversized snowblower in front,
that had been clearing the walk of at least two feet of new snow. The
operator was trying to clear a stick or ice chunk from the blades with his
heavily booted foot. The only problem was that the fellow had left the
machinery running, and it was stronger than he thought. It took the end
of his foot clean off, boot and all. There was blood gushing everywhere,
scarlet spatters all over the white snow. Pa never missed a step. Instantly,
he grabbed the man, pushed a big handful of snow onto the wound, and held it
there. He carried the fellow to the nearest house, a two-family orange
brick apartment. He pounded on the door, an old man opened it, and in
they went, blood and all, all over the man's carpet. An ambulance was
called. The man lived. I never found out what happened to the man’s toes. Dad
was great in a crisis. He was also frugal. Not as much so as my mother, but he certainly took runner-up honors. When I was a kid, my Dad used barn paint on
our house because it was a buck cheaper per gallon and, he believed, longer
lasting than regular house paints. We had the only barn-red house in the
neighborhood, and maybe even the city. Pop also made a large wood and
metal star to display on our white front door at Christmas time. He
painted it with the red barn paint, too. Imagine, if you will, the overall
patriotic effect of a bright-red house, with a bright red star on the door . .
. during the post-McCarthy era. Dad (who was
fortunately well-known as a solidly American WWII veteran) finally realized the
humor of the whole thing, and painted a one-inch green border around the
star. In addition to when he was 16 feet up on an extension ladder, I watched him paint a lot. It was not because
I was a dedicated, precocious observer. It was due to the fact that Pa
painted practically all the time. He sketched while in church. He drew after
(and during) meals. He painted signs and posters for charities and civic
organizations, always free of charge. He lettered trucks for friends and
neighbors. He also taught mechanical drawing for a time, briefly at the
college level and even more briefly in high school. As a father with a wife
and three sons, he went back to school and earned a master’s in art history. Middle-Aged College Man When my father was a
41-year old undergrad at the
University
of
Rochester, I went with him on a
geology class field trip to Jaycox Run in
Geneseo,
NY,
to dig fossils. I was 7. What a crushing bore that was, until one of his
classmates dug up a trilobite. Whoo hoo. I also went to his graduation. The
commencement speaker was a down-and-not-even-governor-of California Richard
Nixon. Pa worked hard at the U of
R, where he felt somewhat outclassed. He often was. I remember how hard he
worked. He illustrated his own classroom notes so he could understand things
visually. For his term papers, he worked even harder. His handwriting was
exemplary, and yet he typically paid a typist to ensure a proper final
version. At the “brain factory,” as he liked to call “The University,” Warren
Saul earned a lot of C-plusses and B-minuses. His exam books, all of which he
kept, show that he was no scholar. But he did surely become one. After earning, and I do
mean earning, his BA in Geography, he went on to complete a Masters in Art
History. My mother never wavered from maintaining her view that he did that
to one-up her. Mom had been a teacher, and had a BA in History from
Montclair
State in NJ. She taught us the
Montclair
State fight song when we were
toddlers. If
Montclair
is ever playing any other team on the planet, I will root for the other team.
Nothing personal, of course. For one shining moment, my
father rose spectacularly above academic mediocrity. He was writing a paper on
Rembrandt’s “Anatomy Lesson of Dr Tulp.” He would later cartoon-ize this
famous painting at my request, and make it into the comical cover
illustration for my second book, Paperback Clinic. It was a joke that almost
no one ever got . . .except Pa and me. But anyway, Pa had a flair for the
thorough, if not for the dramatic. He decided to check and see if Rembrandt
got it right. So, Pa arranged to attend a human cadaver dissection at U of
R’s medical school. He gowned up and watched closely. Rembrandt was right:
there are two sets of arm tendons, and the anatomy is accurate. However, he
wrote, Rembrandt was not accurate in his portrayal of the appearance of the
dead body. The color and, well, “lifelikeness” of the cadaver are artistic
license. My Dad was first to verify the one, and comment on the other. He
aced his paper. Then he had nightmares for
months. Maturity and Some Immaturity For a consummate artist who
could discern two dozen different shades of blue, Pa had incredibly bad taste
in wardrobe. Oh, he could put on a dark suit and do the Kodak thing OK; it’s
what he wore when he was not at work that was enough to give Calvin Klein a
coronary. He would wear plaids with checks, bright red pants with bright blue
jackets, and brazenly loud bow ties with anything. The most outrageous outfit
he ever wore, in my opinion, was his pajamas. My mother liked to sew. She was
not particularly good at sewing, but made up for it with sheer inventiveness.
Inventions are not always successful, my father the patent draftsman would
tell you, but that does not stop inventors. Neither did such constraints as
good taste stop my parents. When my mother made my Dad terry cloth pajamas,
she must have been low on material. The pajamas turned out Bermuda-shorts
length, with wild, patterned green pockets cut from an entirely a different
fabric. Perhaps those pockets were not quite big enough to hold volume one of
Encyclopedia Britannica, but it would have been a near thing. The worst part
of it was that Pa absolutely loved them, and to prove it, wore the pajama
pants in public. No, that was not quite the worst part; this was: he took me
with him. When I was in 9th grade. To the neighborhood public
library. Where my friends were. I knew what was coming but was
powerless to prevent it. The man whose best-known family phrase was, “Don’t
talk while I’m interrupting” was not to be dissuaded by the likes of me. Off
we went to the Charlotte Branch of the Rochester Public Library, me hunching
way, way down into the foam front seat of our sea-green 1960 Chevy. When we got to the library
parking lot, I deliberately dragged behind, as far as humanly possible. It
was looking good: I was 30 feet back now as we approached the front double
doors. Up the steps he strode; back on the sidewalk I slowly slunk. He opened
the door, and in full view of the world, called back to me in his never-soft
voice, “C’mon, Andrew!” Oh good grief. I followed
him in and yes, right at the first lobby table were several of my friends. My
memory blanks after that. I understand that is what post-traumatic stress can
do. When I was
a boy I was infamous for waking up as early as 2:30 AM on Christmas morning, and
almost never later than 4 AM. As my Dad would be up past midnight decorating,
he was for some reason not fully appreciative of my enthusiasm. As the decades and I had a family of my own, Pa started waking up earlier and earlier on Christmas morning, just as
I had in my youth. It got so that he and my mother would open their presents
Christmas eve. They simply could not wait. There is something rather charming
about that. Pa loved the music and
clowning of Spike Jones. He did a remarkably good impression of Peter Lorre
(“My Old Flame”). A natural born master of ceremonies, Pa could tell a good joke,
or a bad one, and get good audience response. Once in a while he took center
stage at home, although it was crowded under that spotlight with my brothers
and me. The best mealtimes were when he told stories about being in the Army. And yet this is the man who studied
portraiture with Stanley Gordon, renowned painter of Popes and
presidents. The
Measure of a Man Most of Warren Saul's professional life was
spent behind a drawing board at Eastman Kodak Company. He executed many, many
patent drawings during this time. Although patent illustrators are not
allowed to sign their work, Pa did so anyway. He used Morse code, and
concealed a "W E Saul" into each drawing's broken shading lines.
So, if you really want to, you can go to
Washington and find just which ones he
did. Before and especially after his retirement
in the mid 1980s, Dad did many art lectures, free of charge, for churches and
clubs. He usually talked about the architecture of the building the group was
gathered in. Pa could tell you the construction date of any private or public
building to within five years either way. He was never wrong. Over time, these lectures turned into live
how-to demonstrations. Pa insisted that to know how to paint, you first have
to know how to draw. All the while explaining what he was doing and why, Pa
would paint a picture in less than half an hour. His favorite subject? The TITANIC leaving on its maiden voyage
from
Southampton. He was very interested in
ocean liners. This is likely not only because he was a boy during their
heyday, but also because the burning wreck of the
MORROW
CASTLE
was beached within an easy walk of his
New
Jersey home when he was only 13. I always knew my Dad was a great artist,
but I did not know why until I took art history at
Brockport
State.
One day the instructor was showing the quick sketches of Rembrandt. I stared
up at the lecture-hall screen, and then I saw it. By golly! My Dad had the
same economy of line, the same lightning drawing speed as did the great master. I told Pa this, and he of course dismissed
it. But after that, when we visited, he brought me photocopies of all his new
sketches. And what’s more, the man who so liked to quip “If I want your
opinion, I’ll give it to you” actually did ask for my opinion on them. That
is a moment we had for the ages. For years, I remember Pa saying that when
he retired, he was going to play golf every morning, and do paintings every
afternoon. His surviving sketchbooks confirm that he kept at least the second
part of that pledge to the letter. In later years, his hands and fingers were
a never-ending sore spot for him, and after nine operations, he sold his golf
clubs. However, he never got rid of his pencils,
brushes or pens. He kept right on drawing. Of
his thousands of surviving paintings and sketches, the online archive at www.doctoryourself.com consists
mostly of my favorites that were small enough to scan into a webpage. For
every item there, a hundred more are waiting to be seen.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: I would like to express my special appreciation to my cousin Earle Seely for kindly donating a number of my father's watercolors.
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For your comments, or for more information on the life and artwork of Warren E. Saul (1921-1996), you may use the email link to your left. | |
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