“Paint as You Like and Die Happy” is the name of a book written by Henry Miller. This is one of my favorite lines because while most of the artists here in New Mexico that I know paint in a representational way, my techniques tend to be a little more abstract or contemporary than most. Sometimes this leads me to feel a little isolated…so Henry Miller’s quote is often an encouragement to me as an artist!
“Henry V. Miller was born December 26, 1891 in Yorkville, NYC. His parents were from Germany, his mother from the north, his father from Bavaria. He lived in Brooklyn during his school years. Tried working in his father’s tailor shop, here he developed his love of fine clothes. He was always a dapper dresser. His life is chronicled both by himself through his books & by his fellow authors. I think his life was remarkable in so many ways. He had to fight mediocrity and poverty, working at many mundane jobs. He started to write in his 30’s, late for a writer. When he discovered Europe, particularly Paris, he became friends with writers like Anais Nin, Alfred Perles, Lawrence Durrell. In the 1930’s he wrote & published “Tropic of Cancer”, “Black Spring”, “Aller Retour New York”, & “Tropic of Capricorn”. The floodgates were open, he was a WRITER…
Dad lived in France, Greece, NYC, Beverly Glen, Big Sur & Pacific Palisades. He was a prolific writer, disciplined & driven to create. Painting watercolors was his way to relax, he didn’t consider himself an ‘artist’ but loved to paint. He made thousands of paintings, gave most of them away. He also learned how to etch & make silk screens. Nuns from The Immaculate Heart School came to the house in LA & taught him how to make the silk screens.
Dad balanced the cerebral with the physical. He loved riding bicycles, he would ride out to Coney Island and he raced in the Velodrome. He was still riding in his 70’s in the Palisades. He was a great walker, walking all over New York and the wonderful arrondisements of Paris. In Big Sur he would trek down the road to get the mail & groceries, hauling it back up the hill. My brother & I would run to his studio in the afternoons, Dad was always happy to take us up in the hills for long walks. Sometimes he told us stories, one I recall about a little rich girl who lived in the city, a fantasy which fascinated us, being country kids.
from a biography written by Henry Miller’s daughter, Valentine. http://www.henrymiller.info/bio/bio.html
