» December 5 Merkin memorial | schedule

Hello friends of RISD and Richard Merkin,

This page is where we will keep remembrances of Richard that you send to our-suggests **at** risd.edu. (See also this original post.) The photograph of Richard at left was made at RISD in 1974 by Roger Gordy ‘76 FAV- see more pictures along with thoughts from other friends, students and colleagues of Richard below. Best to all, many thanks and please keep sending in your thoughts.

» Professor Mike Fink
» Matthew Bird ‘89 ID
» Professor Trent Burleson MFA ‘76 PT
» Pamela Pike Powers ‘81 GL
» Stacy Jannis ‘80 FAV
» Laraine Armenti ‘80 PR
» Amy (Willams) Gates ‘79 PT
» Liz Leuthner, RISD Interactive Media
» Stuart Brecher ‘64 AR
» Sue Herne ‘82 PT
» Roger Gordy ‘76 FAV
» Linda Gottesfeld ‘79 PT
» Susan Weinreich ‘79 SC
» Saarin Keck ‘91 SC
» Stephen J. Freitas ‘92 GD
» Jessica Frelinghuysen ‘02 PR
» Jim Butler ‘78 PT
» Arnie Gallay, childhood friend
» George Delany ‘69 GD
» Jack Nyberg

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from Professor Mike Fink

Richard Merkin and I lunched together at Miss Dutton’s downtown tea-room, among other Providence places. I saw him at the various antique shops beyond the bridges, always seeking something regional or simply odd to incorporate into his paintings. It was Richard Merkin who joined Bob Jungels and me in jump-starting the RISD Cinema Club. Merkin went for the W.C. Fields’ Mae West comedies and the Marx Brothers’ mayhem, while I introduced the Garbo and Dietrich fare. (Bob was attracted, as I recall, to the experimental efforts.) At openings in public spaces, Merkin’s masterpieces brought humor, urban imagery, elegant design, and a multitude of other artistic virtues, literary as well as visual, into the shows that, without his colorful work, were otherwise sometimes somewhat sentimental.

I recently asked him if he could locate in his studios his sketch of James Thurber, my favorite wit, wizard, and cartoonist: name your price, I want it! He never answered my letter, and I have just heard of his passing, and offer this far-too-brief account of my friendship and alliance with the marvelous Merkin. I read his columns with admiration. I laughed at his jokes. I cherish the pictures he gave me, which include a signed photograph of Gloria Grahame. (He preferred her to Greta Garbo. Hmmm.) He even sent me a biography of G.G. that closed with her death in the house of a fan in England.

But I digress. Richard Merkin contributed distinction and energy to RISD and deeply appreciated his colleagues and mentors, with eloquence, loyalty, and dedication. Remember his curatorial memoir at the retro of Bob Hamilton in our museum? I salute his soul and picture that ruler he placed under his signature to make sure the letters were clear, straightforward, and emphatic.

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from Matthew Bird ‘89 ID

[Above is a] LOVELY picture of Richard Merkin’s show at risd|works from around 2003 (?). He had just been in a TERRIBLE accident (pedestrian vs. truck, I think), and was in the hospital. The show had been long planned, and much anticipated. He was in such bad shape that he tried to cancel the show; I didn’t let him. I think I was just being selfish, because so much work had gone into planning and promoting the show. Richard’s wife Heather was kind enough to meet me at his New York studio and let me load paintings into my car. As I drove back to Providence I realized how unkind I had been, bullying a man in his hospital bed. I also realized that I needed to drive VERY carefully because the cargo was worth more than I was! The show was (as you can see) gorgeous. We sold many of the pieces (more, I think, than his New York gallery had sold for some time), and many locals and long-term friends and colleagues were thrilled to get a chance to see Richard’s work in person after a long absence from the Providence art scene. When I returned the unsold work to his studio, Richard was there. He was still in rough shape, even two months after the accident. He told me that the prospect of showing his work in Providence again, the sale of so many pieces, but most especially the mail and phone calls he had received from the RISD community, had helped him through his difficult recovery. Richard gave me a painting of Mae West that I now look at daily. It is a reminder of that memorable experience, and the thrill of spending a month surrounded by his vibrant work. More than that, though, it reminds me how rich the RISD family has been with caring, talented artists watching out for each other.

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from Professor Trent Burleson MFA ‘76 PT

Richard’s extraordinary presence and persona have been and will continue to be commented on by more articulate writers than I but I would like to mention and remember how generous and kind Richard was to me as a teacher and mentor. Sometime around the time I was a graduate student and teaching assistant Richard invited me down to New York, put me up in his apartment for a day or two, and introduced me to some of the galleries and gallery people he had some association with. What an experience. Richard’s apartment was as amazing as you might expect with his unusual taste and love of collecting (I remember now that he confided he lived in fear that his building might suffer a fire and his baseball card collection, as well as all the other collections I guess, might perish). There must be so many of us that feel the loss of Richard.

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from Pamela Pike Powers ‘81 GL

When I attended RISD enrolled at first as a painter prior to switching to the glass department, I recall lamenting the loss of Richard’s exuberance, confidence and knowledge, but mostly passion for his field. Switching to glass aligned me with Richard’s friend and colleague, Dale Chihuly, an equally colorful character who also commanded respect and applause. Their professionalism was not lost or compromised by either’s flair. I am glad to have gotten acquainted with both in my undergraduate years and lament the passing of Richard who had become for me symbolic of RISD’s painting department. On chance meetings, he’d often inquired, “Are you keeping up with your painting? ” For which I am proud to have replied positively. It’s been nearly 30 years since I graduated, having taught at Parsons School of Design and served as Art Director at Pilchuck Glass School founded by Chihuly for 15 years. Now, I have begun Artspace, a small public access art studio in Narraganssett, RI for painting and interactive art. Now, hearing of his passing, I recall just how influential Richard Merkin had become in all those years because he cared in all those years. He cared about the school, his students, his friends, his career , the arts, and most importantly I suppose painting. “Yes, Richard, thank you for asking, I am painting again!” -my sympathies and appreciation to RISD.

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from Stacy Jannis ‘80 FAV

I first met Richard Merkin quite by accident. I was 17 , in the summer program, first time away from home and rather intimidated by the scruffy Providence street life. Rushing to my 1st class, I picked up the pace as I felt I was being trailed by an eccentric mustachio’ed man wearing 2 different colored socks. imagine my surprise when he raced me up the steps and took his place at the front of the class. I did not go to RISD for my first year, but I kept up a correspondence with him, in which he kindly encouraged me to transfer “back”. Richard was, by far, my favorite teacher at RISD. He pushed and prodded but was never disparaging. He treated me, and other young people, with an uncommon courtesy that was not typical of those times (30 years ago) in which a pervasive punkier attitude seemed more in vogue . Richard’s warmth and respect is appreciated to this day. He was a modernist dandy, a connoisseur of American pop culture, yet he never seemed to take himself too seriously; there was graciousness, fun, and discovery in his art and at the root of his interactions with students. He was dedicated to RISD beyond measure, and helped me to better see, discern, and think.

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from Laraine Armenti ‘80 PR

Richard Merkin taught a painting survey course to seniors in 1979. Despite imparting valuable information on a host of 20th century painters, it quickly became apparent that the true subject of the course was Richard Merkin. Towards the end of the semester, he assigned a final thesis. Any paper longer than one page would automatically receive an F. He further explained that grading would be accomplished by throwing the papers on his stair case: those landing at the top would receive an A; those at the bottom would fail. To fulfill the requirements, I assembled a long scroll made of photographs of Richard that I copied from a book in the library. On these were typed his signature phrases, dealing with sliced bread, canned peaches, and the importance of ladies stockings having straight back seams. He was never politically correct. A few years later I was on a New York city subway platform. The train doors opened and there he was seated on a bench. He pointed to me and said, “You made that scroll. I keep it on my desk.” I’ve never felt prouder. Needless to say, he gave me an A for the course.

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from Amy (Willams) Gates ‘79 PT

Richard Merkin was really one of the most astounding and wonderful teachers I have ever had.I can picture him now walking around in the Bank Building sophomore painting class. David in a pith helmet in the still life. Merkin smoking and walking slowly around - really letting us paint and talking to David - telling stories - smoking - laughing.

I think he was exceptional in his ability to connect to us and our work. It has been wonderful to see his beautiful work in the New Yorker all these years - celebrating the characters - the colors. He really was like one of his own works.

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from Liz Leuthner, RISD Interactive Media

I met Richard in 1997 (?) when I organized a memorial exhibition at the RISD Museum in honor of former Museum director Danny Robbins (loads of Danny’s artist friends donated work to RISD and we put on a show). Then I had the good fortune to be seated next to Richard at the opening dinner, where we gabbed and gabbed. That night I drove him to the train station so he could speed back to NYC (Richard in the back of our pickup truck with our 75lb dog sitting ON him). Then he took an interest in my (non-RISD alum) husband’s paintings, always urging him to PAINT, PAINT, PAINT! After I got up the guts to ask him, we agreed to “swap” a RISD Museum logo fleece vest for his drawing of the baseball player Luis Tiant (my childhood hero), which ran in the NYer in 2000, accompanying a Roger Angell piece about Tiant. I still have that NYer page hanging over my desk here at RISD. We never made the (admittedly pretty lopsided) swap - the vest is still under my desk - and I am sorry, not for the work of art (though I selfishly mourn that, too), but just because I know it would have reignited many conversations with Richard about Tiant, the Negro and Cuban Leagues, baseball in general, painting and all of our other common interests.

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from Stuart Brecher ‘64 AR

I can’t add a lot to the posted remembrances except that Richard thought I could draw and said so publically. This was quite an honor for a “young” -  it seems we were nearly the same age - architecture student. He will be missed.

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from Sue Herne ‘82 PT

The first image that comes to mind whenever I hear Richard Merkin’s name is his footwear. When I was in his class he had the most feminine looking men’s shoes I’d ever seen. He was very conscious of his appearance and was quite dismayed that I wasn’t. He once commented, “Are you sure you want to look like THAT?”, when he saw me walking down the sidewalk. I don’t believe that he meant it in a malicious way, he just couldn’t quite fathom my lack of fashion sense. He did like my paintings and that was the highest praise. I truly valued his opinion on painting. One other moment stands out in my memory of him – he was visiting with another teacher while I was within earshot. They were having a grand old time talking about some car. Merkin was especially animated in telling about how he had driven it on a mountainside road and the main feat was simply keeping the car on the road. If that other teacher is reading this by chance, please tell the story, because I can’t do it justice and don’t remember the exact swear words used.

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from Roger Gordy, ‘76 FAV

I was saddened to read of the passing of Richard Merkin in the RISD eviews. I never studied with him but occasionally I would sit in on his classes and draw and sometimes photograph his elaborate setups. I was fascinated by his look, from an earlier era of the twentieth century. I was not surprised that he was an extra in the movie, “The Great Gatsby”, which was filming in Newport in 1974. You can see him quite clearly in many of the night lawn party scenes. I made the attached photo [ed: at the top of this page] of him on the narrow stairway between The Art Museum and Memorial Hall in 1974. He was always glad for me to make a photograph of him.

I was moved by the passing of Richard Merkin to look through my photo files for further images I had made of him. Attached is a photograph taken moments after he had entered the studio, having just removed his scarf. I made a print of this and had him sign it later, as you can see at the bottom right. A little later Dean Richardson came in and was joking with Richard Merkin. Both images made in 1973. The last is a photograph I made of Richard Merkin’s right hand holding his favorite cigarette at the time, State Express ‘ 555 ‘. A match book from “21″ club in NYC with which he had lit the State Express ‘ 555 ‘, is beside his hand.

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from Linda Gottesfeld ‘79 PT

Richard conducted an informal art history slide lecture one evening a week while I was in my sophomore year at RISD. He introduced an eclectic mix of artists as working artists, not as a revered chronology of art historical figures. Richard brought to life artists such as Pinkham-Ryder and Lartigue, in a personal context speaking about their messy palette or the perspective of a youth photographing. He made it possible for arts students to imagine themselves as practicing artists. I have used his familiar yet informed teaching style as a model for my own. Over the years we kept in touch infrequently, but I am grateful that I was able to spend some time with Richard in 2006 when we exhibited his works at the Pace University Gallery, where I teach in NYC.

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from Susan Weinreich ‘79 SC

Richard tracked me down in 2004 during my “Erotica” show at The Casola Gallery in Peekskill, NY. Even though I was a RISD alumni, we had previously never met. I had studied Glass with Dale Chihuly. Living a short distance from each other, we remained close friends until his death. I felt compelled to write because of the incredible gift that Richard gave me in the last years of his life. In my Junior year at RISD I was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia and could not complete my formal education there, regardless, I continued to make art. There have been deep and profound wounds as a result. Richard embraced my life and art, healing the pain that split me off from my fellow students and education 35 years ago. In return, I had the unbelievable honor to be a source of comfort for him in his final years.

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from Saarin Keck ‘91 SC

Here are some photos from Steeple street on the occasion of david Fowler’s Birthday, somewhere I have a great photo of david and Richard together who acted like foils to one another, could make a day of drawing go by so quickly with their banter….try to find it.

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from Stephen J. Freitas ‘92 GD

Dear Merkin family and Friends,

I had the great pleasure of having Richard Merkin as a painting professor in an elective pastel class at RISD. in the early ’90s. He asked me if I was related to a baseball player who’s last name was Freitas that played for the Pacific Coast League on the San Francisco Seals. Joe DiMaggio actually played for the Seals prior to playing for the New York Yankees.

I recall that Richard Merkin used to ride the train from New York to RISD and live in a faculty house on Angell Street. Because he did not have a car and he knew I liked baseball, he invited me to attend a Pawtucket Red Sox game with him at McCoy Stadium. Richard wore a black top hat, white gloves and cane and had on a bright orange satin baseball jacket over a blue jump suit with orange wrestling shoes. A young boy in front of me turned around and said to me “your dad is really weird.” We both shared a good laugh.

After the game when we returned to Providence, Richard bought me dinner at Three Steeple Street where one of his faculty friends joined us. Previous to this dinner, I had only had free food served at Happy Hour in the bar — another starving artist.

I loved having Richard as a professor. He was a cool guy and very talented. I like his artistic style. I once asked Richard about his illustrations that were frequently published in the New Yorker magazine. I was curious big they were because they were always printed so small. He opened his arms as large as he could.

I said, “professor Merkin, why do you work so large?”

He answered, “because Freitas, no one is going to pay you $10,000 for an 8″ x 10″ drawing. They want art that is going to fill a wall.”

With sincere sympathy and admiration,
Stephen J. Freitas

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from Jessica Frelinghuysen ‘02 PR

This is what I immediately thought of when I read of Richard Merkin…

Oh Merkin! How I will remember your bright orange jump suits standing tall on the steps outside of the Mail Room. Your white cloth painter’s cap on your head, your hands clasped behind your back, one thumb and fingers wrapped around the wrist of the other. Looking back and forth as you wait, in-between classes, to see another set of students rushing to get their mail and struggling with portfolios, drawing papers. Your white mustache flicking up and down, making invisible conversation with students, unaudible from the wrought iron perch of the Intaglio Studio’s balcony. Distributing weight between your evenly stanced feet, with the separated toed shoes, you comfortably observe all the changes, styles, people, as a king would before his castle.

I had Richard for Pastel. Which was like having a window into the history of RISD.

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from Jim Butler ‘78 PT

Although its been 34 years, I remember the first time Richard critiqued an assignment in our sophomore painting class as if yesterday. He strolled into the Bank Building wearing, I was certain, striped pajamas. I’d never before seen a man in an official capacity wear striped pajamas. And then came that commanding voice. Going from 0 to 60 in five seconds, Richard peeled off a rollercoaster of associations and alliterations as he walked before the wall of works. He riffed on the nature of style; how a color choice could seem to smell (!); or if thick paint indicated insecurity. All the while musing whether or not
good art really needed to be intentional. Just before it got too top heavy, Richard let out his huge self-mocking laugh as if to let us in on a joke we didn’t even know existed.

He saved one particular painting until the end of the crit to address. “Who made that?” he asked, pointing. A hand went up from the back. Richard turned very calm and said “its clear this painting did not fulfill the assignment.” We all braced for the lowering boom. “I don’t like that. In my class, there’s only one thing you can do if you don’t follow the assignment…and that’s make something better than the assignment. And this painting does it.” It was the first time I truly understood something essential about being an artist.

I’ve rarely stood in front of a class not having that lesson in my head. Richard was as effective teacher as I have ever met: generous, big spirited, and never pulling punches. But it was also Richard’s self-confidence that allowed him to be quietly observant and respectful of differing artistic approaches. That he did so with high style-and-misdemeanors was, and still is, inspiring.

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from Arnie Gallay, childhood friend

I grew up with Richard. He was 5 years older than I, and I inherited his Tonka Trucks when he outgrew them. He had two boxer dogs, Brandie and Impy and reveled in them jumping the 4’ fence in our backyard into Harms Real Estates field. As a kid he was big and heavy, unlike his adult self. At 13 he was a gifted artist with a wicked sense of humor. He drew caricatures of the children who lived in the building with us in pastel chalk on the backyard brick wall. Rhoda the Rhodesian Ape, Fred Erdberg in a barrel held up by suspenders, Me, as a pinhead, and Lance Delman in a dress. Lance’s father hunted Richard for weeks. When he left to attend college in Syracuse he began smoking a pipe and his mother bought him a green MG convertible. He was by then the precursor of the man-about-town he was to become.

Joel Brodsky, the photographer of the Doors and Black Moses lived in the building with us and was friends with Richard. He died earlier last year. Richard had a sister Carole who was unmanageable as a teen-ager, I don’t know what happened to her. As a twelve year old she beat up 13 yr old Arthur Pollack who claimed he wouldn’t hit her back because she was a girl. Richard was already at Syracuse at the time or Arthur would have suffered more that the beating. Richard was a clever tease.

He was always a gentleman and had a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Condolences to Heather and other family and friends who I am sure will miss him and hold him strong in their hearts and memory.

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from George Delany ‘69 GD

Richard Merkin was never my teacher - I did not have the good fortune. In fact, as a student who entered RISD in the mid-sixties, so far as I can recall Richard Merkin and I never said two words to each other. By sophomore year, so often did I find myself among fellow students making frequent, everyday references to this colorful man, this teacher, this very special guy - painting students, illustration students, mostly. One morning, as we walked along Benefit Street together toward Memorial Hall, a friend and college chum, a student of Richard’s (“Zippy,” an illustration major, a dear classmate), pointed him out to me. “That’s him, that’s Richard Merkin,” he exclaimed. Indeed, upon first glance Richard Merkin’s style was striking - like no other I had seen before (or known since). Over the course of those several years, Richard’s personal sense of fashion, presence, persona as “man-about-town,” joie-de-vivre, his art, and inimitable elan made an indelible impression on me (dare I say many of us) that has remained intact all these years.

In those wild and tumultuously wonderful years, Richard often stood out amidst what was going on. How ecstatic we were when the Beatles released the inventive Rubber Soul, then the astonishing Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Lo-and-behold, there was Richard Merkin’s face among the luminaries and characters of the time, right on the album’s front cover - or so we were told. I don’t know whether this image was actually Richard, or not. But at the time, we were possessed of a deep admiration for the man and a powerful sense of the company he kept - how perfect.

Then came the Magical Mystery Tour, whereupon there seemed to be a collective realization that in some way this, too, was apt. Despite the horror of the Viet Nam war, we were living out a very special magical mystery tour at RISD of which Richard was so much a part. I include myself among those who have admired him for a handful of decades, now. Along with so many others, I have enjoyed seeing his work in the New Yorker over the years, and extend my deep condolences to his family on the occasion of the passing of this artist, gentleman, and master of the American cultural milieu - thank you, Richard. You are missed.

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from Jack Nyberg

Although I never had a chance to meet or see Richard Merkin in person, I can safely say that he was one of my guiding influences as a young man entering adulthood. During my college days in the 1980s, Mr. Merkin wrote a monthly column in GQ magazine about style. His columns were wonderful essays about his favorite haunts in New York City (Bradleys…”You’ll be alright kid…just lay off the patchouli.”), the people in his life (the guy who loaned out Brooks Brothers buttondowns until the collars were sufficiently broken-in), RISD (writing about seeing a plucky student one day with a pin labeled “Oscar Wilde died for our sins.”), and his sense of style (I still remember his entertaining essay about the art of shabby dressing 25 years hence). He was a gifted writer and only later did I realize that the whimsical and lively artwork accompanying his columns were his creations as well. I am saddened that he is no longer with us.