Rauschenberg: Patchwork of dreams shapes his life and art

                                As published in the Beaumont Enterprise, May, 13, 2008

LAFAYETTE, La. - Robert Rauschenberg, a 15-year-old kid growing up in Port Arthur in 1940, wanted to be a minister.

Today, at 79, he's known as the Pope of Pop. Some say the day he won the Venice Biennale painting prize in 1964 was the day the earth stood still. At 39, he had become an icon within the church of art, and elsewhere.

He never became a minister. Nor did he become a pharmacist, another of his youthful dreams.

Instead, he merely shifted the course of art.

In the last three years, Rauschenberg produced 14 large-scale collages entitled "Scenarios and Short Stories," mounted last month at the new Paul and Lulu Hilliard University Art Museum in Lafayette. His "Scenarios and Short Stories" will be on display through Sept. 3, along with work by Rauschenberg's photographer son, Christopher, and his longtime friend and collaborator Darryl Pottorf. Rauschenberg attended the opening, which kicked off Rauschenberg Festival Week in Lafayette. The show is dedicated to his mother, whom he watched expertly piecing together fabric in Depression-era Port Arthur, one of the influences in his collage- and collaboration-based style.

And last week, the New York Post reported that the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) is close to purchasing Rauschenberg's 1955 masterpiece, "Rebus," for about $30 million from French billionaire Francois Pinault.

And when Time magazine needed an artist's rendering of American emotion on the first anniversary of Sept. 11, it turned to Rauschenberg. "Only Rauschenberg could sum up the vast amount of information we have received since that day in one piece of artwork," said Dr. Lynne Lokensgard, professor of art history at Lamar University.

How did a shy, religious young boy from Depression-era Port Arthur, from a time and place where the talent to draw or dance were not especially valued, become a driving force in the world of art and ideas of the 21st century?

Rauschenberg would say it was the resistance he faced when he had a new idea. And, face it, his idea that art could be made from anything and could be interpreted wildly was radical.

"Rauschenberg is a relentless and courageous innovator. He didn't play it safe. Many of us, when we find success in a niche, we cling to that success as a lifeboat. People like him don't look at the world as limiting, they look toward the future. His approach influenced everybody in my generation," said Keith Carter, a celebrated photographer at Lamar.

Port Arthur days

Being one of the art world's icons is a long way from gritty Port Arthur.

"We didn't have any museums when Milton was here. That's what we called him then," said Dovie (Horton) Logsdon, a classmate from Thomas Jefferson High School in Port Arthur. "But we all had to make the best of what we had. Everyone here was either farming or working with the railroad. We had to create our own culture."

Art was foreign to Rauschenberg when he was growing up in the working-class town.

"The first art I saw that was hung on the wall as art was in California during the Navy," said Rauschenberg.

What he saw at the Los Angeles County Museum was Gainsborough's "Blue Boy" and Lawrence's "Pinkie."

"They looked like the backs of playing cards I had seen. I remember being surprised that a human being actually made them. I thought, well, that's what I do. I doodle and draw and copy the funnies," Rauschenberg said.

Believing education was the key to a better life, his father and mother - a lineman for Gulf States Utilities and a telephone operator/seamstress - sent him to Austin to study pharmacy at the University of Texas. He was expelled within a semester because he had trouble reading. He now knows he is dyslexic.

World War II was raging. A letter from the draft board saved him from coming home in shame. His first job in the Navy was to bathe and wrap corpses, and he was trained as a neuropsychiatric technician.

"No, I was not forced to fight. What I saw was much worse," Rauschenberg said. "I got to see, every day, what war did to the young men who barely survived it. I was in the repair business."

After the war, he hitchhiked back to Port Arthur. To his surprise, his family had moved away, leaving no address.

"Someone told me they thought they might have moved to Lafayette," he said.

He hitched another 120 miles to a coffee shop there. There sat his father, Ernest, who explained simply, over a cup of coffee: He'd been promoted to Lafayette.

The Transformation

Not long after a friend urged him to look into the Kansas City Art Institute, he decided to apply. In a bus terminal on his way to art school, he literally was transformed: Milton Ernest Rauschenberg changed his name to Bob Rauschenberg.

"When people got to know me better and just assumed that I had some dignity, it became Robert then," he said. "So now I'm known as either Robert or Bob."

Reinventing himself and his surroundings has been a hallmark of his career.

In 1948, he went to Paris, attending the famous Academie Julian on the G.I. Bill at 22. But after a year, he discovered the Black Mountain College in North Carolina, where he gained confidence and a personal style. He adored collaboration. It made him tick.

He was taught by art world giants Willem De Kooning, Franz Kline and Josef Albers and began life-long collaborations with fellow students, dancer Merce Cunningham and musician John Cage. He collaborated with artists of every medium; theater, dance, and even engineering. He created set designs, lighting costumes, while creating art, too.

In 1953, he moved to New York City where he met aspiring artist Jasper Johns. Together, Rauschenberg and Johns designed window displays for Tiffany's to make ends meet and explored the New York art scene. Their work in the 1950's would become the link between abstract expressionism, which dominated the art world in the '50s, and pop art of the 1960s and influences artists today.

In Manhattan, he farmed the streets for old bicycle wheels, rusted metal signs, exhaust pipes, rocks, rope and an endless array of discarded items into his studio. He transformed them into what he called "combines," a mixture of sculpture and paint. His first, entitled "Monogram," in 1955, stirred controversy. A stuffed goat wrapped in a used tire did not endear him to the hardcore New York arts community of the time.

No matter.

He thrived on criticism.

Rauschenberg was a pioneer in many ways. He opened art to entry by engineers, socialites, politicians, dancers, scientists, and even art groupies. He traveled the world with a desire to collaborate with other artists. He met with world leaders - Fidel Castro, among them - in places thought to have unstable government or unfriendly notions about Americans.

Thriving legacy

Fame and fortune came quickly for Rauschenberg, but began to take their toll in 1970.

"At the time, in New York, everyone around me was divorcing or seemed angry," he recalls. "I went to an astrologer and asked if I was the cause of it. I was told that I wasn't, and to move near the sun. I grew up on the coast and liked the ocean, so I went to Florida."

On Captiva Island, he built a home, a state-of-the-art studio and a lift for his aging mother, Dora, who died in 1999. His father died in 1963 of a heart attack on the job, but lived longenough to see his son's career start to rise.

"Our fathers worked together at Gulf States Utilities," said local sculptor David Cargill. "I remember his dad, Ernest, came to see my family in 1962, when my dad died. He was very proud to see an article about him in Time."

In 2001, Rauschenberg awoke in the middle of the night, tripped on a rug and broke his hip. He responded well to therapy after a hip replacement, but a year later suffered a stroke that immobilized the right side of his body.

Rauschenberg still is farming discarded items. Like the junk from the streets of New York, Rauschenberg now assembles images of things visually discarded in everyday life: a telephone pole, fire hydrant, a used tire, a rusted tricycle, a chair.

"He sends friends and assistants out into the world to take pictures for him, using any kind of digital camera. He'll tell them to make sure they're not very good pictures either," said Janine Boardman, his nurse and assistant.

"The images mean something to him, but he will never tell you that," said Mary Lynn Kotz, author of "Rauschenberg/Art and Life."

Last month, Rauschenberg was wheeled onto the stage at the University of Louisiana Theatre in Lafayette to kick off the latest exhibit of his work.

"A reporter asked me once, 'what is your greatest fear?' and I said it would be to run out of world," he told the crowd of reporters and VIPs. "When I die, I don't want to go anywhere, I just want to work in my studio."

Longtime Rauschenberg collaborator and friend Trisha Brown was at his side on stage and throughout the week. Brown is a widely acclaimed choreographer who pushed dance's limits and helped change modern dance forever.

"Bob is 'the' most living artist," she said. "Collaborating requires a sensibility of connecting to another artist. Upon arrival at the San Carlo Opera House in Naples, I realized our sets and costumes for 'Carmen' were lost. With only two days to opening night, I called Bob. He was taken to a junkyard in Naples where he dragged in these huge, twisted, rusted metal pieces.

"He painted and drilled day and night, no one in the opera house bothered him. They knew something magic was happening. He bought soccer flags at the airport and used them as backdrops. We wore plain black leotards that Bob cut and fringed. He was still on a ladder when the curtain opened. The audience was restless and started rumbling, then yelling. They'd never seen anything like it. It was pure perfection," Brown said.

Still coming home

The Port Arthur native who thought he'd be a preacher or a pharmacist no longer has family in Port Arthur, but he's returned several times for openings and honors bestowed on him by Port Arthur and the State of Texas.

The Museum of the Gulf Coast in Port Arthur maintains a gallery featuring a number of pieces of original artwork, posters, and pieces loaned by the artist. The museum also has a copy of the Talking Heads' "Speaking in Tongues" album cover, which Rauschenberg designed and won him the Grammy for best album packaging in 1983. In August, a Smithsonian show of Rauschenberg's work will visit the Museum of the Gulf Coast.

Soul Brothers: Aykroyd, Belushi, Alexander

Dan Aykroyd partners with Beaumont artist in 'spirit-filled' business venture

By Donna Rae Wisor
As published in The Examiner April 10-16, page 6-7B


Dan Aykroyd is putting spirits in bottles again. Only this time it is not ectoplasm and he is not playing a “Ghostbusters” character in partnership with Bill Murray. He is in a real-life business partnership with artist and Beaumont native John Alexander.

When the artist sketched an idea on a napkin during a long lunch in New York with Aykroyd, he had no idea it would lead him into the spirit world. But he is not just any artist and he was not having lunch with just any friend. He and Aykroyd go back more than 30 years. The world-reknown American landscape and portrait artist was in an exchange of ideas with Aykroyd, legendary actor/musician, entrepreneur and “proud wearer of the spiritualist badge.”

In a brief telephone interview last Friday, Aykroyd’s familiar voice bounced back from cell towers across the Northern Americas.

“I am happy to be calling you from my home in the beautiful St. Lawrence region of Ottawa, in the great state of Ontario, Canada where spring time is here and the hay is ready to harvest,” he said, sounding like maybe he had a cigar in his mouth and his feet propped up on the old milk truck that sits in a barn on his ancestral estate.

Aykroyd confirmed that Alexander had indeed ventured into the spirit world with him.

“John Alexander? Who’s that?” he said.

“The American art…,” was the incomplete reply from this end.

Aykroyd graciously interrupted.

“Aaahh, ha ha ha. Just kidding. He’s my best friend,” he said, sounding a little like the glib-tongued, Bag-O-Glass hawker he played on “Saturday Night Live.”

Recently, this seemingly unlikely pair put they’re heads together and launched Crystal Head Vodka---a kind of spirit more worldly than the myth of the 13 Crystal Heads conjured from the ancient past and brought to the fore in marketing the brand. This “very pure spirit,” according to Aykroyd, is produced in Newfoundland, filtered through Herkimer Diamonds and bottled in an “accurate glass rendering of a human skull,” --- a bottle designed by Alexander during that fateful nosh in New York seven years ago.

“He has been putting skulls in his artwork for years,” said Aykroyd.

But this is Alexander’s first go at a business.

Aykroyd, on the other hand, has been bottling “snob-free grapes” since 2005, bearing the label Dan Aykroyd Wines, with Toronto-based partner Diamond Estates Wines & Spirits LTD. He also holds the rights to Patron Spirits which he is currently distributing throughout Canada.

“This is absolutely my only one [business venture] ever, I’m not business oriented. I just came up with a very cool idea for a bottle. I still can’t believe its happening,” said Alexander from his studio in New York.

Alexander became enamored with skulls after visiting the late artist Diego Rivera’s studio and several Day of the Dead festivals in Oaxaca, Mexico.

“I had an idea to make one of those skulls like you see in Mexico and put tequila in it. I had no interest in the liquor business one way or the other,” he said.

Years later, Aykroyd was telling him about the tequila business and how it was keeping him busy.

“I told him I had an idea about a tequila bottle and Danny said ‘Draw it out on a napkin and let me see.’”

He loved the idea and asked Alexander “flat out” if he would be interested in doing this together.

“He seemed so serious about it. I actually went home and did it, front, side, all different angles. A week or so later, I showed it to him and within two weeks, we were in Canada talking to these liquor people. It’s absolutely astounding how this thing is taking off,” he said.

“Bruni Glass in Italy created a prototype that looked exactly like what John designed,” said Aykroyd.

Aykroyd decided to put Vodka rather than tequila in it.

“ So we got the distillery, he did. We got the distributors. The rest has taken off like a house afire,” said Alexander in an accessible, lingering, Southeast Texas accent.

The two have signed bottles in Houston and New Orleans at Crystal Head Vodka launches.

“I attended those launches because people might be acquainted with me there. Otherwise I’m not too involved. But he’s the draw. The draw is the bottle itself. The other thing that makes it work and changes it from being a novelty is the fact that the vodka is so incredibly good,” he said.

The two are working on another product, mildly-spiced rum.

“That will be more problematic. We’ll have to come up with something other than a skull,” he said.

Meanwhile Alexander is working on a show of his own. He will exhibit his latest master works in New Orleans on May 2 at the Arthur Roger Gallery on 423 Julia Street.

“I owe everything to Jerry Newman, my great mentor. He was the guy who laid the foundation for my career,” he said of the late Beaumont artist and Lamar professor.


13 CRYSTAL SKULLS
If two heads are better than one, then, in this case, 13 heads are better than two. According to the myth of the 13 Crystal Skulls, when brought together, they contain vast knowledge and enlightenment capable of unlocking our most enigmatic ancient mysteries. Alone, each is believed to house radiant psychic energy, which has magical powers and healing properties, according Aykroyd’s video on the Web site at crystalheadvodka.com

Let’s hope so. But after popping the cork on this novel bottle, the 40-percent alcohol-per-volume spirit, though tasty with a glycerin after-texture, left this writer incapable of unlocking the back door, much less our most enigmatic ancient mysteries. And it is seriously recommended that if the reader brings 13 of these Crystal Head Vodka bottles together in one place, to have at least 46 friends there to level the drinking field.

Crystal Head Vodka is currently available in Texas, Canada, California, Nevada, Louisiana and Florida. It will gradually roll out into other markets in the U.S.

LIKE REAL GHOSTBUSTERS
Alexander does not claim any particular interest one way or another in the paranormal or spiritualism but says he is intrigued by the 13 Crystal Skulls myth. On the other hand, Aykroyd is a subscribing benefactor to the American Society for Psychical Research and the Mutual U.F.O. Network.

“I create my own world of UFOs in my art. Danny is an expert at it. He follows that stuff. I don’t.,” he said.

“I’ve been talking about this stuff for years,” said Aykroyd.

He has, in fact, hosted a show on the SciFi channel called “Out There,” revealing that he is a believer in the existence and government cover-up of alien life-forms. About the documentary “Dan Aykroyd Unplugged on UFOs” (2005), directed by David Sereda, he said on CNN, “They’re here. They’re looking at us in a petri dish and I’ve got to say, the way mankind is behaving, they are probably very disappointed.”

Aykroyd shares one of his psychic experiences.

“The day before my grandfather died, he came to me in a dream and waved goodbye. He was walking along and waved goodbye to me. That was vivid,” he said.

In what seemed like an unusual moment of vulnerability for Aykroyd, he said, “I am very pleased and almost, like sort of vindicated in a way. There are now assertions that everyone is a little bit psychic. There is now a group in every county in the U.S. researching paranormal activities, studying electronic voice phenomena, ghosts and psychics. Civilians are taking it upon themselves to explore this in an empirical way. Like real ghost busters.”

STRANGE TIES
“For some strange reason I have long friendships with people from ‘Saturday Night Live,’” said Alexander in another telephone interview with the Examiner last Wednesday, from his studio in Amagansett.

The reason is not as strange as the evolution of some of those friendships. Having both been married at different times to “Saturday Night Live” writer Rosie Shuster is one reason Aykroyd and Alexander know each other. Another might be that they have a lot in common.

Alexander said Aykroyd is a pretty gifted artist himself.

“I’ve got a couple of drawings of his. He is an extraordinarily brilliant man. A stunning mind on many levels and art is one of them,” he said.

Both are civic-minded and serve their communities in tangible ways. Alexander is a volunteer firefighter in Amagansett where he resides when he’s not in New York.

“I’ve been a volunteer fireman for 19 years. Dan, on the other hand, I think his love for involvement in police stuff goes back to his childhood. I’ve been down in Louisiana with his police buddies. His involvement with those guys is real. Everytime we go to New Orleans he goes to firehouses and police departments. After Katrina, he was very involved down there. It is very heartfelt and genuine,” he said.

Aykroyd admits he can hardly go anywhere without a policeman’s badge. But that is due to a slight case of Asperger's syndrome, according to his interview with National Public Radio’s Terry Gross. He vigorously and rather sternly recited a large number of facts regarding his appointment by the late Chief J. J. Doyle as a reserve officer with the City of Harahan Police Department in the “great State of Louisiana.”

“Harahan is a no-tolerance-city. Profiling seems to work. I work with them on programs for kids and safety. They do an excellent job down there,” he said.

Aykroyd confirmed that he could legally arrest us but only if we are in the “Great State of Louisiana.” Still, he was assured we at The Examiner would keep our noses clean while he is here in Beaumont with Jim Belushi and the Sacred Heart Band for the Christus gala on Saturday, April 18, where they will performing as The Blues Brothers.

HEY BROTHA!
Aykroyd’s interest in spirits and brand promotion originated with his co-founding of House of Blues Entertainment Inc. now a division of the world’s largest concert company, Live Nation Inc. Yet he still goes on the road as Elwood Blues with Jim Belushi as Zee, or Zurashayda. Together with The Sacred Heart Band, they are The Blues Brothers. Aykroyd’s original partner in The Blues Brothers was Jim Belushi’s real-life brother John Belushi (Jake Blues), who died of a drug overdose in 1982. Together, they founded the Blues Brothers in 1978 during an SNL sketch. They produced a grammy-nominated, triple-platinum selling “Briefcase Full of Blues” record album. In 1997, 15 years after John Belushi’s death, Aykroyd asked Jim Belushi to join the band as Jake’s brother Zee.

It may seem an anomaly that two blue-eyed soul brothers can create triple-platinum selling blues live on stage for more than 30 years. Some say the real blues comes from a life of love lost.

“The loss of my partner when he was 33 and I was 28, that was the loss of a loved one. I think of him when we sing ‘She Caught the Katy,’ you know the one that opened the first movie. I’m really singing the blues then,” said Aykroyd.

Jim Belushi, in an interview with The Examiner last Friday, said there is nothing sad about the blues.

“The blues is the next progression from gospel. There is a great spiritual sense to the music,” said Belushi from his home in Los Angeles where looking out the window he could see the wisteria and the climbing roses.

That’s one reason Belushi performs a back flip at every Blues Brothers performance.

“I always say they pay me to fly because the show is free,” said Belushi. “I’m as strong as a bull. I box, do some yoga, tennis, basketball.

But Aykroyd, like the stereo-typed ‘white man,’ can’t jump.

“I can’t really play basketball. I’m terrible at foot ball. I like watching,” said Aykroyd.

But both of them can sing the blues and they love it.

“I do not have to think about a thing. Not business or…I just get out there and play and sing,” said Aykroyd.

After twelve years together, Belushi said the dance has gotten better.

“I’ll be dancing with ya’ in Beaumont my friend,” he said.

And Aykroyd replied, Hey brotha’.”

Then Belushi’s persona Zee Blues suddenly hit the cell towers.

“We’re reviving a new song for the Beaumont show,” he said.

Then he began to sing, “I started drinking and got real tight, I blew each and all my friends, I felt so good I had to blow it again, I said hey bartender, Hey man, looka here, A draw one, draw two, draw three…

“Look forward to it BROTHA!”

Bob and Me

It was one of the times of my life, meeting Bob Rauschenberg. I call him Bob because that is what he named himself in 1947, in a bus terminal, the day he arrived in Kansas City to attend the Art Institute, when he was only 22 years-old.

You know the question about about who you would dine with if you could go back in time? I usually answered Picasso or Cezanne or Gauguin. What was I thinking?
Why go back in time when we've got Bob right here in the 21st century? Or at least we did, until Monday, May 12, 2008 at 10:53 p.m. when he died at his Captiva Island studio in Florida.

It's understandable to me that he would want to shed himself of Milton Ernest, his given Christian name. During his so-called formative years in Port Arthur, some called him Miltie or mispronounced his last name — “Rooshenberg.” I like to think the new nomen,which reads the same in both directions, foreshadowed the reflective and palindromatic nature of his work—a body of work that rocked the 20th century art world. But this is no art history piece or critique, rather a memory of meeting a man, a very famous man, whom I hold in high esteem for playing by his own rules and being bright, generous and kind about it.

I was told, before heading to the press junket for Raushenberg Festival Week in
Lafayette, that “Mr. Rauschenberg was quite the drinker.”

I liked him already.

The opening of his new exhibition there, “Scenarios and Short Stories,” was dedicated to his mother, Dora.

I liked him even more.

Lafayette was chosen for the opening mostly because it is his family's home. His parents and sister Janet moved there from Port Arthur while he was away, serving in WWII. It was to be the last opening of an exhibition of his new works.

Pictures of Bob had revealed a fair-haired man with a bright white, energetic smile, reflective, alive. In my mind, there is always a breeze blowing through his hair. The man in person is the same, only better because I could approach him.

Preparing for the press conference, questions ran over and over in my mind. What do you ask the single most prolific and influential living artist in the world? All of the other writers there, from Art in America, The Times Picayune, The New Yorker, they would already have figured it out.

A lesser man might have appeared withered in a wheelchair, but Bob has presence, a
projection of character that only living in the moment can produce. His entrance set the cameras to flashing and the reporters to firing the questions. I was told I asked the most. It was out of pure nerves if I did. Trying to bring it home, as it were, I said that near his hometown in Texas, was one of the few remaining independent artist co-ops in the country, The Art Studio Inc.. "Mr. Rauschenberg, what do you say to these artists in the trenches who are struggling to keep such organizations thriving in this country?"

"You are the artists," he said emphasizing the you.

He said to throw a party, raise some money. As artists, we should be able to throw the best parties in town with the best decorations, using the least amount of money.
He wasn't just throwing advice around. He started the Robert Rauschenberg Foundation in 1999, a non-profit devoted to, among other things helping artists in crisis. It was a foundation that didn't require so much paperwork, like others, he said.

As he left the building, I ran ahead of him to snap a candid. Embarrassed by my paparazzi style, I apologized. Bob gave me a big open smile and said, “Nice socks.”
I wore them, multi-colored and striped, in his honor. He was once quoted as saying that a pair of socks is no less suitable to make a painting with than wood, nails, turpentine, oil and fabric.

Speaking of parties, I had really been looking forward to the one planned for that night. It was held on an estate named Moonshadows where Bob was staying. I was chauffeured a distance from town to a plantation home on tree-covered, grassy knolls overlooking a lazy Louisiana waterway, draped in Spanish moss. Bob's pal Dickie Landry was playing saxophone with a Zydeco band. Crawfish canopes and demitasse cups of gumbo were served with chilled white wine. Men in seersucker suits, carried silver-tipped canes and wore panama hats. Pastel-bedecked ladies of the museum guild ornamented the garden.

Bob was joined by friends from around the world and his family, including ex-wife Susan Weil and their son Christopher Rauschenberg.
One friend, famed dancer and choreographer Trisha Brown, was with him the entire week. Their admiration for each other was clear and never obsequious. Most of us had met her the previous night where she recounted a story about finding herself in a pickle at the San Carlo Opera House in Naples, with a ballet to perform and no sets or costumes. Bob flew in from the U.S. to bail her out.

“With only two days to opening night, I called Bob. He was taken to a junkyard in Naples where he dragged in these huge, twisted, rusted metal pieces. He painted and drilled day and night, no one in the opera house bothered him. They knew something magic was happening. He bought soccer flags at the airport and used them as backdrops. We wore plain black leotards that Bob cut and fringed."

As they spoke, you could nearly hear the audience breathing.

At Moonshadows, other guests began to arrive in an attire less pastel. I began to
notice a lot of black. I thought, "Oh well these people are from New York. I overheard conversations about Lou Reed, Laurie Anderson and other living artist giants as if they were next door neighbors in the city. Then I realized these people were wearing the black Rauschenberg Festival Week t-shirts. This would have been a serious fashion feau paux, considering Lafayette was putting on the 'dog' for this collection of mighty distinguished guests. But it was pure perfection, to quote Brown. Fans had cut and fringed their shirts as Bob had done for Trisha's leotards in Naples. It reminded me of an early '70s fad where we cut the ends of our shirts and pants legs into a thick flat fringe, like a dust mop. I was certain, at that moment, the fashion started in Naples with Bob and Trisha.

This was my payoff for spending more than 20 years finishing a BA, studying art history. It was people like this who were all about the art, and about listening and sharing that made me want to be a member of the church of art. And here I was with the Pope of Pop, Bob. He was sitting right next to me, sharing a glass or three of wine. In the conversational mix, it came up that I was representing a Beaumont/Port Arthur newspaper. Port Arthur being Bob's first home, they naturally wanted to know about the art scene there.

The dreaded question.

What is available for an artist in Port Arthur. Hmmm. Aside from the museum of the Gulf Coast, with a gallery dedicated to Bob, there is a gritty oil town on the choppy Gulf with the highest rate of poverty in the state of Texas. I guessed that if there was to be an art "scene' in Port Arthur it would be up to people like me to build it up.

"You do and I'll slap your face," he said smiling at me.

Startled, I jumped straight up out of my chair. I didn't know if I had just been complimented or insulted. Maybe both, or maybe it was the wine. Walking toward the grassy slope, heading away from the dwindling numbers I try to understand what I just heard. My response had been so immediate, so...knee-jerk. Why? I walk some more and I come to a conclusion. Because this man is electric. He knows how to shock. Then, walking up behind me is son Christopher Rauschenberg, looking concerned. A protective son, he hopes I am not going to make this moment into a thesis statement.

I returned to Bob's side, bent toward him and adhered my lips to his cheek, keeping my eyes on his. I think I surprised him too because his eyes opened really wide as he smiled that smile and laughed that laugh. Pure perfection indeed.

The big gala was set for the following night. But I had seen all I needed to see. Still,what's an experience if you can't share it with the ones you love? I drove two and a half hours back to Beaumont to fetch my husband. "You have no choice, you are going to meet Bob.

And he did. I introduced Jeff to him and I swear, it felt like I was introducing Jeff to my father for the first time.

The moon was full. The glass walls of the new museum reflected moonlight onto the white columns of the adjacent building turning them into smooth-bodied sirens. We found a grassy spot and watched museum patrons from a distance, gliding,speaking in muted tones. We heard that Bob had left the building. The lights on the portacache dimmed, the gallery doors slammed shut and the crowd disappeared like a ghostly dream.

Three years later, almost to the day, Bob died. Like his Erased de Kooning, Bob will also be difficult to erase from the world he called a canvas. Like his works, he has become greater for having once been at all.

And I have become more for having once met him.