Monthly Archives: October 2019

SEDALIA/PARIS CULTURAL EXCHANGE: Wilson and Picasso/Joplin and Stravinsky

Some might think David Wilson a folk or outsider artist because he was isolated and self-taught. His work however shows a debt to French Modernism of the 1920s and 1930s era. As the Bizarro cartoon shows outsider artists usually use found materials instead of professional paints like Wilson.

Both Doug Freed and John Hawkins thought /David Wilson had been influenced by Picasso. Neither had any knowledge of Wilson’s exposure to modern art or even if he had any training. Painting by a self-taught itinerant from a middling Midwestern town would normally fall into the Outsider Art category. Indeed, Wilson’s socio-economic status is well outside middle class perimeters. He was an unemployed, poor, alcoholic with a penchant for challenging authority and landing in jail. Without clawing through the history of outsider art definitions (like any esthetic marker it shifts over time, especially when it becomes a marketing term), there are some shifts in its meaning but also commonalities, none of which characterize Wilson’s work. Outsider Art is quite often crude and that naïveté constitutes its charm. Wilson’s paintings do not have this slapdash look. Placing them alongside a Pablo Picasso canvas tends to confirm Freed’s and Hawkins’ linkage. Wilson adheres to a flat picture plane and his fractured Cubist and biomorphic shapes and use of a kind of pointillist brushwork are characteristics of School of Paris works, not folk or outsider efforts.

Yet Wilson’s paintings are not in the Museum of Modern Art of New York City, or any other prestigious urban temple of high art. Sedalia’s Daum Museum of Contemporary Art, which opened in 2002, has nine galleries of “thoughtful grouping of paintings by renowned artists such as Robert Motherwell, Helen Frankenthaler, Larry Poons, and Gene Davis, and abstract sculptural ceramics by the likes of Peter Voulkos, Jim Leedy, Jun Kaneko, and Ken Ferguson,” it has no David Wilsons. Doug Freed, former director, pointed out the reasons for this oversight, confirming also his affinity with Modern Art: “I think you are correct in connecting it with the 1920 school of Paris.  His work has not been available. He didn’t have a dealer. Maybe with the attention he is getting a painting may be acquired by the Daum eventually.”

Occasionally a frame shop in Sedalia would accept consignment paintings, but efforts at marketing wall art have floundered. In the May 29, 1974 The Sedalia Democrat was a display ad for “Sedalia’s New Crimson Gallery, Home of Fine Arts” at 507 W. 16th St. David Wilson is listed as one of the six “fine artists.” The August 2nd newspaper ran another, smaller display ad announcing the gallery’s closing. Modern Art might have been an especially hard sell. Images that depart from sentimental realism rarely graced the walls of mid-Missouri domiciles. Critic Leo Steinberg said modern art “is always born in anxiety” and its purpose is to “translate this anxiety to the spectator.” That’s not an emotion middle class Americans wanted from the pictures above their sofa.

If Picasso somehow inspired David Wilson Scott Joplin influenced a modernist luminary, reversing the transatlantic flow of culture. Russian composer, Igor Stravinsky, around the first world war, heard ragtime piano music and got his hands on ragtime sheet music, some of it likely by Scott Joplin, its most prominent composer. Stravinsky wrote nine pieces incorporating elements of ragtime.

Picasso did the sketch for the sheet music of one of Stravinsky’s ragtime influenced compositions. Modernism was a global phenomena that involved a middling town in central Missouri. David Wilson was influenced by it and Scott Joplin’s music had an effect of one of Modernism’s giants.

In 1919, the year David Wilson was born, Stravinsky published a piano version of his Ragtime for Eleven Instruments. His friend Pablo Picasso supplied a sketch for the cover of the sheet music. Just as Wilson’s work isn’t a clone of Picasso’s style, the famous modernist composer didn’t write a rag, but used elements of the American popular music. Alexy Viegas, in his 2018 PhD thesis, Stravinsky’s Ragtime for Eleven Instruments, believed Joplin indeed was Stravinsky’s source:

Stravinsky uses the American genre in Ragtime for Eleven Instruments as a basis for creating unique and quirky music. According to Taruskin (1996: 1307), Stravinsky borrows Joplinesque clichés in this piece to create a unique musical text. Through the study of this work, we notice clichéd adaptations not only of Scott Joplin’s compositions, but also of stylistic features of traditional ragtime.

In Stravinsky and Jazz (2017), Andy Jarema states this incorporation of the “freshness and novel rhythm” of music of “Negro origin” is indicative of modernism’s appetite for arts of non-Western origin:

Stravinsky’s interest in jazz is also representative of a fundamental core belief held by not just other composers in the 20th century, but artists flying under the banner of the modernist movement as a whole. The modernist movement emerged out of the need to find the reconciliation of two dichotomous worldviews: One which attempted to capture the nearly infinite pluralism of local cultures in the world, the other that saw the industrial age paving the way towards a futuristic, machine driven society. Artists were seeking out the myths and legends of cultures as faraway from their own as possible, sources capable of, “transcending contemporary local traditions, of speaking of the very source of culture.” However, by pulling this culture from its source and appropriating it in a different context, authenticity was almost guaranteed to be lost. In place of the lost authenticity, though, he gained a new perspective by bringing it into tension with the vision of modern day society. … In the vein of many other modernist artists, he was a pluralistic connoisseur who attempted to encapsulate and internalize authentic looks at cultures outside of his own into his own style as an artist.

David Wilson’s work (left) has an inexplicable similarity to Picasso’s painting (right). We haven’t a clue why or how.

David Henry Wilson (1919-1989) Biographical Fragments

David Henry Wilson’s obituary is not online. His father’s is and was published in The Sedalia Democrat June 8, 1973. This lists David Henry’s immediate family.

The family home at 1403 E. Third is now a grassy vacant lot. Google Earth shows it’s only about a hundred feet from railroad tracks. Trains still rumble through Sedalia, but many fewer than in the past. The quality of sleep so near to the tracks must not have been good. All that clanking, banging and whistling may have been music to Missouri Pacific engineer, David Senior, but it may not have been a lullaby for the rest of the clan.

The lot of the Wilson family home as seen on Google Earth.

David H. Wilson’s art is indeed “a feast for the eyes.” It’s rhythmic, clean colored, harmonious, cheerful and upbeat. The artist’s life was anything but. A search of the archives of The Sedalia Democrat reveals minor run-ins with the law, but nothing dramatic and nothing social or positive. Except for the photo of Wilson standing by his Ragtime picture in 1974, there are only bare bones public records, which reveal nothing of his personality and nothing of his artistic motivations. He passed through seven decades of life in Sedalia, Missouri, unnoticed, unheralded and unrewarded.

The following is a scant chronology from the Democrat:

July 12, 1942, “Local Board Names Thirty for Induction”: “Leave July 23 For Jefferson Barracks St. Louis.” Along with twelve other inductees is “David Henry Wilson, 3027, 1403 East Third.”

August 18, 1947. “Fine Arts Awards”

Under “Oil Paintings by Amateurs: 3. David H. Wilson, Sedalia.”

September 11, 1964. “David Wilson, 1403 East Third, charged with being intoxicated and disturbing the peace on complaint of D. E. Wilson, pleaded guilty and was given a suspended 30-day jail sentence.”

November 10, 1972. “The following persons were charged with disorderly conduct: … David H. Wilson, 1403 E. Third, fined $10.”

August 10, 1973. “Cash, paintings taken from home. David Wilson, 1403 East Third, reported $60 in cash and two paintings of undetermined value were stolen from his home early Friday morning. Wilson told police that a woman was visiting his home and after she left the items were missing.”

July 30, 1975. “Disorderly conduct: David Wilson, 1403 East Third, fined $50.”

Today there are few remnants of the Wilson home place by the tracks.

Doug Freed, an educator and artist whose work is well-represented in public and private collections, gave us his impressions of David Wilson:

I met David Wilson when I first arrived in Sedalia in late 1968. I really didn’t know him very well but respected his paintings. The work’ s content was often religious but not entirely. He was definitely influenced by Picasso and Leger. His work was meticulously crafted. I don’t think he had any formal training but don’t know for sure. He was a real character but was in the throes of alcoholism. He would call me as well as others and threaten to jump in front of the train which passed through town on a regular sequence if I didn’t buy him a six pack of beer. He used this ploy several times with me, my wife, as well as numerous other people that knew him.

John Hawkins said his father, Allen L. Hawkins, mayor of Sedalia (1978 to 1981) and David were “close friends”:

He (Wilson) was quite a character, nice guy. He used to call my dad sometimes when he was out to the bar and needed a ride home. … We’d have to stop at a liquor store on the way home. I’d drink a beer or two. Don’t think he had a job. … David used to go to our church quite a bit, to counsel with our priest (Father Lusley?)—counseled Wilson. Calvary Episcopal Church) at Broadway and Ohio. He was counseling there. He drank a little bit you know. … I was always intrigued by his paintings. I don’t know if it was sand that he used in them. … He was a starving artist for sure. I don’t know if he ever had a vehicle or not, because he walked everywhere. The Democrat had written an article and interviewed him. He wore glasses. … Kind of like a Picasso style. He done quite a few of Scott Joplin. … He would voice his opinion. He was definitely vocal. I think he was more of a Republican or a conservative as for political. It didn’t bother him to give his opinion. Bars—the Pacific, Interlude, and Leo’s Budweiser bar was on Main Street.

“A FEAST FOR THE EYES”: An Online Showing of David Wilson Paintings

David Wilson (misidentified as David Walker in the photo of him and his Ragtime painting in the May 23rd 1974 article in The Sedalia Democrat) was quoted as saying, “his aim as an artist is to create a fest for the eyes.”

That phrase, “feast for the eyes,” was used In Chapter XV, “A Walk on the Bottom of the Sea” in Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1870) to describe the vision a diver had of a coral reef:

It was marvelous, a feast for the eyes, this complication of colored tints, a perfect kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange, violet, indigo, and blue; in one word, the whole palette of an enthusiastic colorist!

We have no way of knowing if Wilson read Verne. It’s not a unique simile. That Wilson was familiar with the Greek goddess Hygieia signals he had wider literary interests than the funny papers. Verne, a literary precursor to science fiction and surrealism, could have been describing Wilson’s art, which is a “whole palette of an enthusiastic colorist!” His colors are somewhat muted, but he engaged a “wide range of hues” that interact radioactively. These colors interact, abetted by his pointillist application of paint. Every surface is covered by a stippled effect of small blobs of thick oil paint using several hues.

All the paintings we’ve seen are signed WILSON.

None are dated.

No titles are on the front or back.

The ground for all but one is Masonite.  Some are painted on the smooth side, some on the textured side.

Our following divisions are arbitrary, but they show Wilson exerted selective control over his output. All share stylistic and technical similarities. Clearly they are all by the same hand.

Biomorphic Abstractions

These compositions are almost totally curvilinear shapes. Occasionally one suggests a recognizable figure but stops short of being conclusively figural.

Above left: Oil on Masonite, 17 ¾ x 24 ½

Above right: Oil on Masonite 24 x 23 ½

Click to enlarge.

Biomorphic Abstraction with Figure(s)

The two large ragtime paintings have stylized figures with cubistic, fractured backgrounds, but they are a mix of straight-lined divisions with rounded, organic, i.e. biomorphic shapes.  The 22 ½ x 27 oil on Masonite (left) has a bearded face with a headdress in the upper right hand quadrant.

Click to enlarge.

 

 

 

Geometrized Faces

Above left: This 13 ½ x 14 ½ oil on Masonite appears to be a convict.

Above center: The Asian portrait is 21 ½ x 15 ¾ It is oil on plywood.

Above right: This vaguely Dogbert-looking figure appears to be in a vehicle. As Scott Adams introduced the malicious beagle only three month before Wilson’s death, it’s likely a coincidence. Oil on Masonite 12 x 15 ¾

Click to enlarge.

Religious Works

 

The Calvary Episcopal Church, 1713 S. Ohio, Sedalia, Missouri, has two large paintings signed WILSON. They too are oil on Masonite, but are stylistically more conventional than most of his art. Although the faces are realistic and the proportions accurate, the backgrounds have some degree of the abstracted treatment of his other work. The fabric has not been rendered three-dimensional, but is decoratively realized. They prove Wilson could produce more illusionary pictures than he usually chose to.

Above right: Appears to be a profile of Christ, 19 ½ x 10, oil on Masonite.

Click to enlarge.

Close-ups of Wilson’s quasi-pointillist technique.

Click to enlarge.

Portrait of Robert Eugene Smith

Click to view a PDF of the entire Maine Antique Digest article.

We did an extensive profile of folk artist Robert E. Smith for the Maine Antique Digest, which was published October, 1993. In it we have many quotes from Bob, which we tape-recorded and transcribed. Interestingly, he rejected the term outsider: “I’m not exactly an outsider,” he said. “I been there before. I’m more broken in-I’m not no outsider. I’m a folk artist. If you’re not known, [you’re an outsider], aren’t you?”

Bob not only painted interesting pictures he was a showman, musician, poet, and all-around intriguing personality. See also Crystal’s post, Happy Birthday Robert E. Smith, which has a number of photographs taken when we interviewed him for the Maine Antique Digest.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROBERT E. SMITH! Remembering Springfield’s own folk artist on his 92nd birthday – October 14.

Happy birthday, Bob!

For years we supplied Bob with materials—paints, brushes, artist’s board, and occasionally an object like this guitar. We then paid him for the finished art and sold them to collectors and dealers on both coasts. When he began to find local buyers at higher prices we bowed out but kept in touch through the years.

Today would have been Robert E. Smith’s 92nd birthday (October 14, 1927-Feb. 13, 2010). The calendar reminder pops up every year and makes me smile. The indefatigable Bob Smith rises front and center in memory – from our first encounter at his room in a white frame boarding house on North Main Street in Springfield to meetings and phone calls over decades as his art developed and his audience grew. We were delighted with his success.

We first saw his work at the Missouri State Fair in 1977. Across a not-too-crowded room in the Fine Arts Building was a cheaply framed picture of Stalin in the Shower Room, with a camel, some birds and a monkey-like creature. This was an artist we had to meet. Some weeks later we found him in his rented room in Springfield. Somewhere we have an audiotape of that first meeting. From that time on, Bob was a fixture in our lives – as he became with so many people. Through those early years we placed around 200 of his paintings, the majority going to the Larry Whiteley Folk Art Gallery in Los Angeles.

Google the name and you’ll find a lot of Robert Smiths in the world. But there is only one Robert Eugene Smith, Springfield folk artist.

To the best of our knowledge we suggested Bob write down the stories for each artwork. We tape-recorded him telling stories whenever we saw him. He acquired his own tape recorder and began recording his stories, songs and poems. He was prolific and we were able to provide a market for everything he sent us, which helped him realize he could make a living from his art; he could be a professional artist.

When we interviewed him in 1993 for an article in the Maine Antique Digest (see separate post tomorrow), he questioned the term Outsider Artist, a label that had been applied to him. “Well, what is the term outsider art anyway? I’m not exactly an outsider. I been there before. I’m more broken in—I’m not no outsider. I’m a folk artist. If you’re not known [you’re an outsider], aren’t you?”

When we settled in Springfield we heard from him frequently. For years he called a couple of times a week to update us on his busy life. And a busy life it was. Bob was very mobile. He roamed the country on Greyhound buses – to California and St. Joseph and Little Rock. He took the bus to St. Louis for Cardinals baseball games, where he might have sold beer/soda to pay his way. Tales of his trips were very entertaining and usually inspired more art.

Bob Smith became a Springfield celebrity. Artists in the community were fans. Bob was a performer and local musicians and bands played with him. His story paintings are full of animals, usually in incongruent locations and most have names, and monsters and action scenes. Vehicles race down crooked roads; birds and aircraft, even hot air balloons skim through his skies. Some surrogate characters show up often in the stories – Baby Huey and an artist named Abraham Smitty Boob are frequently present.

Robert’s cousin, Grace Mathews, has put up a blog where friends have posted memories and pictures. http://roberteugenesmith.blogspot.com/ The stories are personal and entertaining. Bob made his mark on everyone who knew him.

Once again – Happy birthday, Bob!  We’re so glad we knew you.

Click on an image to view it at a larger size.

STREETS OF SEDALIA During the 38th Scott Joplin International Ragtime Festival, 2019: Leland Payton Photographs

Mural of Scott Joplin, Sedalia, Missouri

Scott Joplin would feel at home in downtown Sedalia of 2019. Some of the buildings now have Vitrolite façades or other street-level modifications but if you look up, you’ll see many have a pre-1900 date chiseled into their limestone cornices. In the interests of setting the stage for a display of a number of David Wilson paintings, consider the physical setting both he and Scott Joplin experienced. This mercantile landscape evidences a commercial culture that seems an unlikely environment for either’s art. The following brief description of the ambience of current Sedalia and its ragtime score is an effort to set the stage what might seem a completely intrusive cultural phenomenon.

Ragtime was at its zenith before World War I. Its syncopated rhythms made it a precursor to jazz. Scott Joplin was the preeminent composer of this spirited piano music and some of his most productive years were spent in the then-booming railroad town of Sedalia, Missouri. Since Sedalia has been static and its business district usurped by highway development

During this year’s festival, my wife Crystal and I walked the streets of old downtown Sedalia one evening. Many buildings date from the era when the composer lived here. Lamppost banners and window posters advertised the festival. Shops that once purveyed necessities now sell antiques and crafts. It’s a sympathetic setting for the performance of old-time music that, like the downtown, has apparently diminishing attendance. The experience was a tad melancholy but not unpleasant. There is visual richness in the weathered surfaces of buildings slouching toward ruins but still useful if their roofs are good. Perhaps a third were for rent. The twilight when I took the photographs seemed appropriate given the twilight of the moribund business district and waning appreciation of Joplin’s poignant piano music. It’s encouraging that Joplin’s haunting melodies are treasured by some and the culturally unpretentious town strives to keep his memory alive.

Click on the images below to enlarge.

 

 

REMEMBRANCE OF TWO LONG LOST WATERCOLORS

Leland Payton, Three Trees Along Gravois Creek, March 1958, watercolor, 17 x 23. On weekends we often drove to my mother’s hometown of Versailles, Missouri, to visit her sister, Maureen. One Sunday I took the Studebaker south to a place where gravel extraction had messed up Gravois Creek and did this watercolor. Bob Green introduced me to large flat sable brushes, which I used extensively. It may not look like Cezanne but I was influenced by the ambiguities, unfinished look, and overlapping panels of colors characterizing the landscapes of the French proto-Cubist. It was a foggy day and the ground was a mixture of wet leaves, mud and remnants of snow. Yes, the three trees had a Christian symbolic meaning. That recognition, like any emotional association, came to me as I painted, not before.

Two watercolors of Ozark streams I did in the spring of 1958 bring up memories—some good, some interesting, and a few painful. Having quit the University of Kansas after one semester I rented an old storefront in Lincoln, Missouri and opened the Lincoln Gallery to sell (or try to) my paintings and antiques I had acquired. A woman and her husband came in one afternoon. After looking around, she asked what I would take if she bought two framed watercolors I had done during my senior year of high school. She wrote a check for $200 and they left with them.

A few weeks later my best friend Ron Freed came down from Kansas City, Kansas to see “what was shakin.’” We drove from Sedalia to Lincoln in my used Porsche. As we locked the front door of the gallery that evening, some local guys in a Corvette pulled up beside my 1956 red Speedster. A not-completely-cordial, or purely technical discussion on the merits of each vehicle followed. Freed asserted that while the V-8 would of course blow the little German car away on a straight stretch, the Porsche would take curves better.

Leland Payton, Cole Camp Creek, April, 1958, watercolor, 17 x 23. There were several low water bridges on Cole Camp Creek where I often parked to fish or, when I returned from Florida, to snorkel in the deep pools below them. One rainy day in March, I did this watercolor probably in an hour between showers. Obviously it was a very complex scene and required much simplification. The stylizations would be to acknowledge the liquid unity of the creek water, the about-to-rain sky, and the wet, fresh green buds on the trees of the opposite shore. Willows rose from concrete chunks broken off the bridge. At the bottom left of the picture is the bridge then geometric and intact, but I knew it would one day be chewed up by high water and become rubble. I remember thinking how the willows would always regenerate but the bridge would ultimately be destroyed. When the toughs in the Corvette challenged me and Freed to a race (or Freed challenged them, I’m not sure) they asked how far on H highway we would go. I suggested the bridge where H crosses Cole Camp Creek where several years earlier I painted this watercolor. “Great,” they said. “We’ll be waiting for you there.” The low water bridge is gone, replaced by a higher concrete bridge. My friend, who I almost killed, has been dead a half a century.

Stupidly, I went along with a challenge to prove his theory on a nearby winding blacktop.  The initial hairpin curves gave me a lead, but a loopy curve five or six miles down the road caused me to accelerate and I lost control. We rolled four or five times coming to rest upside down, held in by our seatbelts. We kicked the doors open, climbed out and saw the Corvette stopped at the top of the hill. Freed beckoned to them and they drove down and helped us right the Porsche. Miraculously it ran.  With a smashed flat windshield, flickering headlights, and fighting the steering wheel, we slowly made it back to Sedalia. Frame bent—it was totaled.

Sunday, August 13, 1961, about three months after that, Ronald Michael Freed, 20 years old, was the passenger in a car driven by David Eugene Rouyer, 23 years old. Near the Nelson-Atkins Art Gallery in Kansas City, Rouyer lost control rounding a curve, going by police estimate 65 mph. His vehicle “broke off a utility pole and hit a tree.” Both young men were killed.

A “Distress Sale (Auction)” was held at the Lincoln Gallery Saturday, October 14, 1961. The sale was largely old stuff but a few artworks were included:

There will be offered at this sale some of my original paintings including a pen and ink sketch, which I made of the building across the street from the gallery. The person who buys the most in dollar value will be given a painting by me valued at approximately $50.

Searching my name (which is on a dozen books) allowed several people in possession of my early paintings to contact me. This allowed me to buy back four watercolors from the late 1950s and early 1960s. Two of them hang on the wall of our office, above a table of awards we have won for our photographically illustrated books. I’ll post three chapters from an unfinished biography that explains my transition from painting to photography.

What those sketches and original paintings were or what they sold for I don’t recall. The two watercolors I had sold earlier I vividly remembered and often wondered what became of them. Then in 2014, the son of the woman who purchased them from me in Lincoln in 1961 emailed me after finding my address on the Internet. I inquired if he would be interested in selling them back to me:

Mr. Payton, the only way I could get those paintings out of my mother’s house is if she (god forbid) passes away. She loves them that much! If they ever do become available, I will definitely keep you in mind!

Further interchanges revealed that although Mom “loved them” the rest of her family didn’t share her enthusiasm. Turns out she downsized and there wouldn’t be room for these and no one in the family wanted them. One thing led to another and for an exchange of several of my photographs, the son said I could have them. Crystal and I drove to Jefferson City to retrieve them.

PICTURING AND PERFORMING SCOTT JOPLIN: In Murals and a Festival, Sedalia, Missouri, Celebrates Ragtime’s Premiere Composer

David Wilson, Ragtime, circa 1974, oil on Masonite, 51 x 36, City of Sedalia, Missouri. Now in an office in the Municipal Building. One might think a fractured folk modern work like this would vex the citizens of a mid-size Midwestern town, but Wilson’s depiction of Scott Joplin is a favorite with the public. It has kinetic energy, not unlike the spirited rhythm of ragtime music.

In 1974 David Wilson was commissioned to paint a portrait of Scott Joplin. It was displayed in the hall of Sedalia’s new municipal building. For better security today it hangs in an office. That same year, Sedalia launched its first annual Scott Joplin Ragtime Festival.

At the end of World War I, other syncopated popular music forms like stride piano, boogie-woogie, Dixieland, blues and jazz successively supplanted ragtime.  Periodically, it was dusted off and performed. Joshua Rifkin’s album of Scott Joplin in 1970 sold a million copies, equally the sales number of Maple Leaf Rag sheet music a century earlier.

Marvin Hamlisch won an Oscar for his score based on Scott Joplin’s songs for the movie The Sting. That 1973 film starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford was awarded a total of seven Academy awards including Best Picture.

The 1970s saw a national revival of interest in Joplin, but Sedalia’s ragtime heritage had been continuous since the turn of the nineteenth century when the town was the base for a number of black piano players who pioneered the lively syncopated dance music. Businessman John Stark was located here and his success publishing Joplin’s Maple Leaf Rag in 1899 established Joplin as the “King of Ragtime.”

Article from The Sedalia Democrat, May 23, 1974.

The Sedalia Democrat followed every stage of Joplin’s career. Through the years, nostalgic stories recalled his success and the good old days when he enthralled white concertgoers and diverse patrons of the town’s many bawdy houses. Sedalia is a well-churched town, but is candid about its wide-open past as a booming railroad nexus with a thriving red light district and surfeit of saloons. Does the fetching musicality of ragtime provide a soundtrack that covers over the grim realities of its prostitution industry and rampant alcohol abuse? Scott Joplin would die in an asylum at the age of 48 of syphilitic dementia.

Photographs of Scott Joplin have survived so artists are able to paint credible portraits. Some of David Wilson’s other paintings prove he could have created a recognizable Joplin, but obviously he chose not to. In both our painting and the one at Sedalia’s Municipal Building he departed from the constraints of verisimilitude.

Other Sedalia public art works of Joplin are realistic. In 1977, Eric Bransby was paid $10,000 to paint three panels illustrating the town’s past (below left).

The entire chamber of a courtroom of the Pettis County courthouse is lined with pictures of local history by Barbara Campbell done in 2000. She of course included scenes evocative of Scott Joplin’s years in Sedalia, circa 1895-1901 (center).

Stanley James Heard painted a large mural of Joplin at the piano in 1994 on the wall of the Wilkins Music Co. 205 S. Ohio (below right).

(Click image to enlarge).