Artist GoH at BucConeer is the "e;Admiral-ble"e; Michael Whelan whose presence is literally "e;state of the art"e; within the contemporary visual science fiction and fantasy marketplace. He has deservedly been named the most outstanding science fiction artist of the past 50 years. His work succeeds spectacularly. Each painting he creates sympathetically and accurately expresses the source material, be it manuscript, music, or his own inspiration. There is always a dynamic, well-thought-out design and color scheme that are held together with impeccable drawing and strong values. Values meaning both the visual play of light versus dark shapes and the not so visual but decidedly apparent dedication to make a worthy expression within each of his creative efforts. There have been three art book collections of his distinctive paintings published, Wonder Works; Michael Whelan's Works of Wonder; and most recently, The Art of Michael Whelan. Through these sources, Michael Whelan's background from early childhood, his personal insights, his awards (he's got enough to sink a frigate), and his techniques are readily accessible. These books are wonderful documentation of the artist and his work. Buy the books. They provide a much better account of Michael Whelan than I can here. If there is something about him you wish to know, ASK him. That is one of the reasons Bucconeer invited him. He is a friendly, approachable, individual who is willing to answer questions.
And now for the scuttlebutt!
I met Michael Whelan in 1978 at a convention art show over art crates. It is a fact that more convention artists meet "e;over crates"e; than "e;over drinks"e;. It was after this initial encounter that I discovered I had been introduced to this artist by Kull and the Barbarians. It was issue #1 of a Marvel magazine featuring a dynamic cover with a powerful, windswept barbarian with sword and shield who stood hunched over a slain, terrifically evil looking B.E.M. This striking cover painting was the first published offering by an illustrator I never heard of before. But that didn't matter. I simply had to buy a copy. Was it the fabulous cover that made me buy this particular issue? Nah! I snatched up the thing because MY first reproduced drawing was inside! Apparently, we each made our first splash in the same puddle.
Within the past twenty years of our acquaintance, we've shared time at art museums, galleries, universities, zoos, parties, parties that were zoos, art classes, photographic excursions, conventions, concerts, dinners, and visits to each other's studios. After all those encounters, you sort of compare notes and inevitably one naturally acquires a good smattering of scuttlebutt. For example, we discovered we were both art school nerds. Yup, we were the quiet withdrawn types with squinty eyes (an art school condition- looking through one's eyelashes simplifies shapes, values, and colors), sharpened drawing pencils, and noses to the grindstone. We were constantly off by ourselves working through lunch breaks, taking extra classes, and we always had paint unintentionally covering various parts of our bodies. It wasn't really anti-social behavior. Truth be told, at the time we entered art school, seventy-five percent of enrolling students did not remain till graduation. There were many reasons for this. Hard work, competition, long hours of effort to get frustratingly inept results, for example. Phrases like, "e;What makes you think you'll be any good as an artist"e;, "e;you are wasting your mind"e;, "e;you'll starve"e;, "e;you'll never make it"e; were directed at us from authority figures. It is the dedicated individual who can overcome all this and then face the student loans and uncertain employment looming ahead. But we nerds are made of sterner stuff! In Michael's case, when the going gets tough, (and I understand at the prestigious Art Center School it can be tough going) the tough, and specifically talented, go to the San Diego Comic Con. It was a result of exhibiting his favorite works there for the first time, that he got an inkling that there just might be a career in this sort of thing. I saw that "e;inkling"e; framed on a wall in his studio a few years ago. It was in the form of a letter promising Michael work at DAW Books written by Donald Wollheim. Inkling in hand, Michael did what any budding, creative, and free-thinking spirit would do in the early seventies-gather all that one has and drive a Volkswagen van FROM (??!) California? A typically shrewd maneuver because the heart of the publishing marketplace can be found in and around the New York City area.
Whelan runs a tight ship. The armada of equipment in his studio is arranged like a control center with Michael at the helm. Within easy reach he has his own specially pre-mixed acrylics in squeeze bottles that vary with subtle increments in value and color. Piped-in air from his compressor alleviates excess noise, while a stainless steel hooded fan removes harmful paint particles from his environment. I watched him "e;test run"e; a drawing table at an art supply house in New York City. He put the thing through all it's paces while making drawing motions with his arm at the surface area. This kind of focused attention to the process is evident in all aspects of his chosen profession.
Where does he get his ideas? That's obvious, his soul. Heart and soul are more evident in his work than the paint itself. He goes on unusual voyages to gain unique experiences for inspiration. His imagination allows these experiences to come to light in his work. He has been in a deprivation tank, he sneaked into a nearly completed giant empty water tank. On photo opportunities I have been with him as he climbed into jet cockpits, bombers, aircraft wreckage and was there as he got a behind the scenes look at a NASA facility. He toured the empty and desolate Alcatraz prison, and climbed Ayers Rock in Australia. All these experiences are as wind for his sails. However, music is the current beneath his keel. He carefully selects what he listens to so that it reflects the mood the painting is to express. He is convinced there is a direct, if interpretive correlation between color and sound.
Michael Whelan has spearheaded many exhibits and publications. In fact, no major endeavor involving fantastic art is without his presence. He has spoken publicly on many occasions for the benefit of all imaginative artists. He once confessed that he never prepares a speech but always seems to come up with something on the way to the stage.
I have known him to refer work to other artists, in some cases very desirable work which he thought would better suit another's talents. He is professional, sincere and competent.
Enough about Michael Whelan. The real scuttlebutt resides with Audrey Price, his wife. I am sure Michael's ship would have sailed over the edge of the earth had he not been fortunate in his choice of an anchor. The small house Michael rented early in his career came with a very important attribute, the landlady! Soon Audrey provided more than the roof over his head. She became the invisible force that surrounds every painting. An artist can be free to have his head in the clouds, his imagination across the universe, his mind on the distant future, and his fingers in the paint-provided he has a partner who is down to earth. Her practical influence, protectiveness, common sense, entrepreneurial spirit, and willingness to work long hard hours are only a few abilities to her credit. Anyone who stands toe to toe with printers deserves a great admiration. She has created Glass Onion Graphics (inspired by a Beatles song) and daily deals with print runs, distribution, sales, inventory management, catalogs, product shipping, frame and mat selection, manning dealer tables, and she recently opened a retail gallery to the public. Audrey maintains a beautiful home, has terrific kids, and I have always known her to be thoughtful and kind. I hope you take the opportunity to meet her.
I never could figure out which of them decided to put the things in the swimming pool at some of their parties. Things like realistic plastic frogs, glow sticks, and invisible water balloons that crept up on you. I guess I'll have to ask them to get the scuttlebutt on that.
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