Norman Rockwell
(1894-1978)
This Exit: When I arrived at Rhode Island School of Design in the fall of 1994 to study painting, I went so far as to proclaim to my color theory professor—the painter and writer David Hornung—that I believed Norman Rockwell to be among the greatest of 20th Century American artists. “I expect that you’ll outgrow this, Andy, when you’re older,” was his response. As it turned out, David was correct. I outgrew my addiction to Rockwell’s paintings like I outgrew Billy Joel’s music and Whatchamacallits, and fixed my attention toward more conceptually driven and intellectually significant visual artists and musicians. No self-respecting, serious fine artist working towards a painting degree at RISD (or at any dignified art institution, for that matter) was advised to admit an appreciation (let alone a fixation) for the works of Norman Rockwell, in those days. Hornung, upon a recent reunion and series of reminiscences over dinner and drinks, was both gracious and amused about the ironic fact that, since that time, Rockwell’s legacy and works have been seriously re-examined (rather, examined for the first time) and embraced by the art world at large. In 2001, Rockwell was exhibited en-masse at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York City, the end of a twelve city traveling exhibition. A few years later, one of Rockwell’s paintings sold at a Sotheby auction for $15.4 million. “Rockwell at the Guggenheim? Rockwell in sophisticated glory?” wrote Peter Schjeldahl in The New Yorker. “Professionally, I am happy to endorse the notion, which seems ever less absurd as time goes on.”
