BIOGRAPHY
drawing of a very complicated gear mechanism. When I brought that drawing in the teacher said, ‘You didn’t draw that.’ And he failed me! I said, ‘What are you talking about?’ He said, ‘You didn’t draw this!’ I said, ‘I’ll see you after basketball practice…give me any kind of assignment and I’ll draw it for you.’ So we did that. I sat down and he gave me this much more complicated gear thing. I took about an hour and a half or so, and I drew it perfectly. You know that sonofabitch would only give me a B on it? It was exact, but he just couldn’t take it that he was wrong about me.”
THE APPRENTICE
Joe’s father worked in real estate and had a client named Barry Stephens, an art rep with offices on Park Avenue in New York City. Stephens offered Joe an errand-running job at his studio. Joe recalled with enthusiasm:
“My introduction to the illustration business was through picking up and delivering drawings and paintings for all of his artists. So some very exciting things happened to me at that time.”
He went on to describe the remarkable locations he encountered on his assignments:
“This was long before I really knew too much about art history, but one of the places I used to pick up art was at 51 West 10th St., which happened to be the building where William Merritt Chase had his big studio, and which John Singer Sargent borrowed and painted in. A fellow named John Allen Maxwell, who painted pocketbook covers, was there, and so was Mortimer Wilson Jr. So here I was delivering paintings and picking them up in these incredible places.”
Joe recalled one defining moment from those early days:
“I’ll never forget; one of Barry’s big illustrators was a fellow by the name of Frederic Varady, a Hungarian artist who was very popular at that time.
“Varady would come into town and Barry would put him up at the St. Regis Hotel, in the penthouse suite. Barry would give me a little envelope to give to the concierge every time I went over to pick up a painting from Varady. One time the envelope wasn’t sealed so I peeked inside... it was a $100 bill!
(“Barry didn’t pay me anything,” Joe chuckled, “but he used to be very generous with the tips and so on.)
“So I gave the envelope to the concierge and went up and knocked on the door. Varady opened it, and here he was in this beautiful velvet smoking jacket. And over his shoulder I see this beautiful blonde festooned on the couch. Right there I said to myself, ‘I wanna be an illustrator!’”
Unlike other art representatives of the day, Barry Stephens operated without a staff of resident artists. His office primarily housed Stephens and his salesmen, with Joe responsible for flapping and matting artwork before delivery. Joe recalled an evening at the studio:
“One night, everyone was going home, and there was one piece by Varady left out, and one of the salesmen said to me, ‘Don’t forget to put that away.’ I said, ‘Ok.’ I was the last one there... I was gonna lock up, and I very carefully wrapped it up and took it home with me. I was staying with my grandmother in Port Washington and I had my paints there.”
That night, Joe stayed awake copying the Varady illustration, and the next day he proudly displayed his work on the office table. He remembered with a smile:
“I don’t think I slept a wink. The next morning I went in to the office and I put my copy on the table, then sort of ho-hummed around until one of the salesmen came in. He looked over and said, ‘Joe! I told you to put this Varady away!’ That made my day. The salesmen weren’t the brightest art people in the world... I looked at it years later and it was no Varady. But I wanted to test myself, see if I could fool them. I won that day.”
Chuckling, he added, “You know, thinking back on it I can’t believe the balls that I had for a 17-year-old kid!”
Joe’s next career move came when he asked Barry Stephens for a raise:
“I was making $18 a week... I was living at home, and the Pennsylvania Railroad raised the fares. So I went in one day and asked for a $2 raise to cover the cost. Barry put his arm around my shoulder and said, ‘Joe, I think you’ve learned enough here. I think it’s time for you to move on.’
He wouldn’t give me a two-dollar raise! But talk about a guy with luck: unbelievably, a friend of our family had a friend who was an art director for Kling Studios—the New York office!”
Joe Bowler in the studio
Frederic Varady, self-portrait
At Kling Studios, where four or five artists worked, Joe was given a drawing board to observe the process. “I did some little samples and the salesmen started to take them around and I got my first professional work there,” he recalled. “It was for Redbook, it was a couple of little black & white medical spots for a feature they ran every month. Next I got a double-page spread in True Detective or something…that was my first big one.” For a young artist embarking on a lifelong adventure, seeing his work—and his name—in print was nothing short of exhilarating.
At Kling, his earnings soon rose from $35 a week at Barry Stephens’ place to $75 and then to $150 a week. But the Kling shop did not last long. Joe remembered:
“The salesmen would go to lunch around 10 o’clock and take a 3-hour lunch and get plastered. I never saw so much drinking in all my life! So they closed and I thought, ‘Oh boy, I’m outta luck.’ But as I said, I don’t know where I got the balls, but I figured, well, there’s the Cooper Studio, the biggest, most famous art studio in America… I’ll go try there first. So that’s where I went!”
THE COOPER YEARS
At the Charles E. Cooper studio, prospective artists were typically interviewed by Chuck Cooper himself. However, when Joe arrived with his portfolio on a Friday—while Chuck was in the hospital—Chuck’s brother Arthur handled the interview. Joe described the encounter:
“Art said, ‘Yeah, we need an apprentice here.’ So I said, ‘Oh,
that’s good! What’ll I do here?’ And he said, ‘Well, you wash brushes and clean palettes and run errands…’ and I said, ‘No, no, no…I’m an artist. I work at making art.’ And he said, ‘Oh really? Well that’s the job. That’s it.’ This was a Friday so he said, ‘You go home and think about it.’ I said, ‘Alright, I’ll do that.’ and I walked out.”
Walking home, Joe was tormented by regret:
“All the way home I was thinking, ‘I just…committed suicide. I had a chance to get in with the Cooper Studio and I blew it.’ I literally didn’t sleep that weekend. Monday morning I went into the city—caught the five o’clock train or something—and I was sitting on the 57th and Lex doorstep of the building when it opened for the day. I went up and said to Art Cooper, ‘I’ll take it.’”
At the studio, artists worked in individual spaces along the exterior of the 9th floor while the bullpen occupied the center, leaving ample room for the salesmen’s offices. Just outside the bullpen was Coby Whitmore’s studio, and Joe soon found himself learning by closely observing Coby at work. During any lull in the bullpen, Joe would slip into Whitmore’s studio, carefully studying every brushstroke and paint mixture. He recalled:
“Now this is a little later, but I remember going out to lunch with them, and everybody having two or three martinis (Coby was a great martini drinker) and he’d sit down in the middle of his studio with all the salesmen and everybody standing around talking, and in about
Editorial illustration for Cosmopolitan, September 1951
three quarters of an hour he would paint a pretty girl with a cigarette—I think it was a 24-sheet billboard—and he would do that beginning to end in about 45-minutes, talking the whole time, and I’d be watching every stroke, every mixture of paint.
“Then he’d give it to me and say, ‘Ok, wrap it up’ I’d go out and matte it and wrap it and the salesman would go out and take it to the agency. That was a typical day. But just watching him work…every color he put down on his palette, the way he applied the paint…that was my education really.”
Joe’s stint in the bullpen lasted only a month or two.
“Most of the fellows probably spent about a year in there, but at the end of a month or so, the head guy in the bullpen, Ernie Olsen, went to Art and said I wasn’t working out. That I’m never there and don’t do my work…and he told me this and I couldn’t believe it! I said, ‘I do my work!’
And he said, ‘Well, you’re always off somewhere looking at the artists working.’”
It seemed his time at Cooper might be coming to an end—but fate intervened. On the 11th floor, Craig Bollman, a kind of “inhouse art director” and a good friend of Coby Whitmore’s, was available. Despite Ernie Olsen’s frustrations, he remarked, “Craig Bollman needs a paste-up guy up there. So get your ass up there.”
“So,” said Joe, “I was saved!”
This near-dismissal ultimately became a turning point in Joe’s career. Recognizing Joe’s raw talent and eagerness to paint rather than focus on paste-up work, Bollman provided him with a desk
and materials and encouraged him to start painting immediately. Soon, Joe’s main assignment involved redoing “bounced jobs”— illustrations returned by clients due to minor issues—which allowed him to gain favor with the salesmen. Meanwhile, he continued assembling a personal portfolio with the hope that one day the salesmen would proudly represent “Joe Bowler’s” work to Cooper Studio clients. One night, while working on a painting of a pretty girl’s head, Coby Whitmore stopped by with an illustration he had completed for Cosmo
“So he took it with him to Cosmo, to Frank Eltonhead, the art director. When he came back he said, ‘They bought it—just bill ’em for a thousand.’ Well, a thousand dollars to me at that time was the same as a million! You know?
A thousand dollars! I don’t think it was more than three months or so, I was in about three or four magazines. It really happened so quickly.”
In the span of his first year, Joe’s weekly earnings surged— from $35 to $75 to $150—until Chuck Cooper, having returned from the hospital, declared, “This is getting ridiculous— you’re going on commission.” By then, Joe was completing roughly 30 jobs a month. At about the same time, while attending night classes at the Art Students League in Frank Reilly’s drawing class (and later his painting class), Joe found himself challenging traditional methods. Reilly demonstrated color mixing using a graduated value scale, to which Joe boldly interjected,
“That not the way they do it.”
Reilly responded, “Oh, really?” and Joe replied, “Yeah, I’m working at the Cooper Studio.” With that, Reilly dismissed
Advertising illustration. Gouache on board, 16.25" x 25"
Advertising illustration for Bibb Sheets, 1951
Advertising illustration for TWA, 1952
Advertising illustration for Philip Morris, 1955
Advertising illustration for Dupont, 1952
him from class. Some 15 or 20 years later—after Joe had firmly established himself as one of America’s premiere illustrators— Reilly contacted him:
“Oh Joe, how are you? I’m just finishing up my book and putting the names of some of my more famous students in there…and I see your name is there, but I don’t really remember too much about you.”
Joe laughed as he recalled, “He asked me if he could use my name in his book and I said sure. I didn’t remind him that he kicked me out of his class before it ever really got started.”
THE STUDIO CULTURE
Joe often credited his good fortune to his mentors and the open, collaborative environment at Cooper Studio. He explained:
“I realized Chuck Cooper’s main talent was picking guys for that studio who were ‘sharers’. They all shared. I mean you could go in any place and get help. I mean real help. I used to go in and paint on other guys’ work all the time! To show them, you know, how to do hair or whatever.”
The 1950s brought a steady stream of high-profile assignments from both advertising and editorial clients. Joe’s reputation soared to the point where he earned $2,500 per magazine spread. He recounted one memorable offer:
“I got a call from McCalls…they said they were willing to give me two double-spreads a month if I didn’t paint for
the Journal! So I said, ‘Ok!’ Well—I wasn’t painting for the Journal! So I said, ‘Well, that was easy!’ But can you imagine getting two spreads a month—five grand—from one magazine…and allowing me to do, really, anything I wanted. They knew me so well. And Chuck encouraged us to do more editorial work because that brought in more advertising work!”
EVOLUTION OF A STYLE
During this time, while Joe also observed trends—such as many imitating Bernie Fuchs—he chose instead to adhere to a traditional approach.
“I started to see a bunch of people imitating Bernie Fuchs, I think I said it in an interview once. After that, every month it was like, ‘Can you top this?’ and somebody’d come up with a new technique. And all of a sudden everybody was trying to be Bernie Fuchs. And I couldn’t be. I went the other way. I went more and more traditional. I did try a bit of everything at that time. I did a lot of just charcoal drawings with colored ink washes and things like that, which were different, I guess, for me. The only influence was to do consistently wonderful work, but he didn’t influence me on my style.”
Bowler’s success continued to grow. His illustrations appeared in The Saturday Evening Post, Cosmopolitan, Ladies’ Home
Editorial illustration for Redbook, February 1952
Advertising illustration for Pepsi-Cola, 1953
Advertising illustration for Pepsi-Cola
Advertising illustration for Pepsi-Cola
Advertising illustration for Pepsi-Cola, 1956
Journal, McCall’s, Redbook, Collier’s, Woman’s Home Companion, and many more. His images, often featuring a wholesome suburban girl-next-door, stood out for their delicacy, warmth, and emotion.
In 1950, he married Marilyn Crang, and the couple had two daughters, Jolyn and Brynne. Joe’s family often appeared as models in his paintings.
In 1958, while wrapping up a European trip with Marilyn, Joe suddenly fell ill. Upon returning to the U.S., he was diagnosed with polio. The disease nearly paralyzed him. “It was devastating,” he said. But within three months of leaving the hospital, he completed an illustration for The Saturday Evening Post. Though recovery would take years, he began to adapt. He started painting more often in oil and gradually shifted his style. “The look of my work began to soften,” he recalled. “It was also a time of much introspection.”
“In the ’50s at Cooper’s I would usually start most of the illustrations I did with a fairly involved pencil drawing. I would then do the painting in gouache. It was something I learned watching Coby, mainly. I used to do a lot of drawing in those days. And that whole business of being afraid to lose your drawing because you’ll never get it back? Once I got over that—that’s when I really started to have fun. You can always get the drawing back. And mainly reading about how Sargent painted and Sorolla and Zorn—all of these guys had a lot written about how they approach painting and that’s where I get a lot of the
stuff…and then I have to do it…and then I say, ‘Oohhh, that’s how they did it.’
“But once I started doing painted sketches, I ended up drawing less and sort of ‘drawing’ with my paint brush. In fact, when Murray Tinkelman got me to start teaching at Parsons, that’s how I would begin my demonstrations. I would just get the model up there and begin to paint… maybe do a little raw sienna outlining to sort of establish where she was going to sit on the canvas, and then go in immediately with color and paint—big areas—like you’re supposed to do. I never draw anything anymore. All done with paint. And boy, is it fun. It’s like making mistakes and correcting them, that’s what [Thomas] Eakins used to say. And that’s what I do; I apply pure pigment with no medium, then scrape it down to a petina—a thin transparent layer that I can paint into, and that’s how it grows.”
Bowler avoided rigid outlines, preferring edges that softened and disappeared. “Too many hard edges make a painting look cut-out,” he said. “The finger is the best paintbrush made.”
THE HILTON HEAD YEARS
In 1972, seeking a better climate and more peace, Joe and Marilyn moved to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, joining longtime friend and mentor Coby Whitmore.
After completing two manuscripts upon moving to Hilton Head Island, Joe committed himself entirely to pursuing the
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, April 1953
portrait business without much advertising—work that seemed to come naturally. Marilyn became his business manager and artistic collaborator—scheduling sessions, handling photography, and helping with client relations. “All I do is paint,” Joe said. “Every artist should have someone like her.”
On Hilton Head, Joe became a pillar of the local arts community, helping establish the island as a serious art center. He was instrumental in forming the Red Piano Art Gallery Round Table, which brought together Walter Greer, Joe DeMers, George Plante, Ray Ellis, Ralph Ballentine, and other resident artists for weekly discussions about art and craft.
His commitment to arts education was legendary. His paintings at the annual Evening of the Arts fundraiser routinely commanded five figures, pumping millions into local schools’ arts programs over the years. He donated artwork that raised tens of thousands for the Youth Center founded by the Rotary Club.
THE PORTRAIT YEARS
Throughout the ’60s and into the early ’70s, while continuing with magazine and advertising assignments—and occasionally working on paperback covers and movie posters—Joe also devoted time to portrait painting. He recalled one instance:
“One time I did this painting of just a beautiful girl’s head looking right at the viewer. I actually just made her up out of several models. And at the time, Good Housekeeping had this monthly poll asking readers what they liked the best in the magazine, what made them stop and read something and how much did they read and so on. And they got the best response ever to the painting I did of that girl’s head! So from that point on, if I had a moment I would just paint a beautiful girl’s head and sell it to Good Housekeeping. And Coby [Whitmore] did the same thing and Joe [DeMers] did the same thing! And they would
Cover illustration for McCall’s, June 1958. Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Redbook, October 1953
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, January 22, 1954
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, January 1954 (detail)
just buy them because they got such a good response from the readership.”
By the early ’70s, Joe made a deliberate choice to focus solely on portrait painting.
“Good Housekeeping was always after me. And I started to get these portraits, and the portraits were paying a lot more than illustrations. So I told the art director that I couldn’t do them (illustrations), but I could send pictures of these portraits. So all through the ’70s, I would do a portrait of a child and send an Ektachrome to Good Housekeeping and they would use it. So I was in Good Housekeeping all through the ’70s, and people thought I was still doing illustration, but I wasn’t. I was selling the portrait originals, getting the ok from the clients, of course, and then selling the Ektachromes to Good Housekeeping.”
Then in the winter of 1982, a breakthrough occurred. A relatively new magazine called Southern Accents had been featuring monthly articles on Southern artists. A friend, who
was Andrew Wyeth’s agent, contacted the editor and insisted, “You gotta put Joe’s work in there.”
The editor obliged, devoting about ten pages to Joe’s portraits.
“Well, we got over 1,800 requests for portraits! We told the magazine after we got about 800 and they couldn’t believe it. That magazine became the place that every portrait painter put ads in. And that put me in business for the rest of my life!”
In the following years, Joe Bowler painted countless portraits for devoted clients—sometimes even creating works for families whose members had once been his subjects as children. “When they get that way, I don’t even call them clients—I call them patrons!” he explained.
THE TECHNICAL MASTER
Joe Bowler’s portrait methodology represented a synthesis of 19th-century painterly values and 20th-century efficiency. He worked from photographs—taking upwards of 300 per
Editorial illustration for Redbook, January 1954
Editorial illustration for Redbook, January 1954
Editorial illustration for Redbook, April 1954
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration (detail)
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, February 1954
Editorial illustration for Redbook, March 1954
session—but never slavishly. “The photo is the source of reference,” explained his Cooper Studios colleague Bernard D’Andrea. “Painting directly from the subject fulfilled the need to indoctrinate memory and mental adjustments to the finite observations of color and drawing.”
Joe shot with a Nikon micro-lens at 1/4 second, using only natural north light, creating multiple exposures: overexposed prints to reveal shadow detail, underexposed to capture light values. He worked in black and white to avoid the color distortions of film. “The most crucial element,” he insisted, “happens before I begin to take pictures. I always try to get an impression of the person when I first see them—that moment when they first walk in the door.”
His palette, essentially unchanged since his Cooper days, was arranged by temperature from warm to cool. He mixed flesh tones from yellow ochre, cadmium red, and white, using manganese blue, viridian, and ultramarine as cooling agents.
“I’m a nut on using complementary colors,” he said. His method was to build up thin layers, scraping down to create what he called “patina”—transparent color that could be overpainted or worked into with fresh pigment.
“Never get hung up in one area and finish it,” he advised. “Ideally, the painting should develop like a photograph, all at once.” He constantly moved around the canvas, maintaining relationships between all elements. Edges—hard, soft, and lost— were crucial. “A common error many painters make is an excess of hard edges causing a ‘cut-out’ look.”
THE TEACHER
Teaching became Joe’s way of repaying the debt to his mentors. At Parsons School of Design (1968-1972) and later as a guest instructor at Syracuse University’s MFA program (1980-1983), he demonstrated the alla prima approach that had become his signature, beginning paintings with nothing but raw sienna
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, April 1954 (detail)
to establish placement, then immediately laying in color with loaded brushes.
Murray Tinkelman, who brought Joe to Parsons, observed: “Joe is never arrogant, he is genuinely constructive. His demos always have that lyrical quality in the play of colors, value, and warm/cool contrast.” Students regularly reported learning more in a week with Bowler than in four years of art school.
Even in retirement from formal teaching, Joe maintained an open-door policy for serious young artists. James Tennison, a successful artist in his own right, recalled: “Joe has always taken time out with me, no matter how busy he was, to answer my questions and talk ‘shop.’ He’s been a great encourager and his work is an inspiration to me.”
The technical mastery never flagged. In 1992, he was inducted into the Society of Illustrators Hall of Fame. In 2014, the Portrait Society of America awarded him their Gold Medal for Lifetime Achievement.
THE RUSSIAN DISCOVERY
Late in his career, Joe became obsessed with the Russian realists—Ilya Repin, Valentin Serov, Nicolae Grigorescu. “Most artists today have never heard of these Russian painters,” he said, “but they’re important because they really understood their art.” His library grew to include dozens of books on Sargent, half a dozen on Sorolla, volumes on Chase, Benson, Tarbell, Cecilia Beaux. Some came with remarkable provenance—Chase’s greatgrandchildren once appeared at his door with an old book
containing the artist’s handwritten notes, which they simply gave him.
This constant study informed his work. From Sargent, he learned to analyze lace and jewelry, finding “the key little details that made it work.” From Sorolla, whom he’d discovered in 1950 when only one book existed on the Spanish master, he absorbed lessons about light and vibrant brushwork. From the Russians, he learned about compositional complexity—Repin’s ability to orchestrate a dozen figures where “every single element is nailed down right where it should be.”
THE PHILOSOPHY
“The basics have never changed,” Joe insisted. “Whatever success I have had, I attribute to sticking to the fundamentals, like sound drawing and composition, and always, quality.” He saw painting as inherently difficult, requiring patience and dedication. “Most artists look for an easy way. They want color formulas and technique. When they try my way, they give up because of the difficulty involved.”
His definition of a true painter was precise: someone who could “destroy the line completely, and get it back.” Many successful artists, he observed, needed their careful preliminary drawing as a safety net, treating the line as “the sacred edge which can never be lost.” A painter, by contrast, embraced the process of building and destroying.
Portrait painting, he believed, was “more challenging than any other form of painting, because I must achieve a likeness,
Editorial illustration for Redbook, April 1954
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, July 20, 1954. Gouache on board, 14.75" x 10.25". Photo courtesy Heritage Auctions, HA.com
Editorial illustration (detail)
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, March 1954
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, September 17, 1954
please the client, and satisfy myself as an artist.” Yet he never saw compromise as failure. “If you’re in any kind of commission business, there’s a certain amount of compromise. There has to be.” His goal was to make people “look as best as they possibly can” without sacrificing character. “They do not want to look like it’s been a bad day.”
THE LEGACY
When Joe Bowler died on November 14, 2016, at 88, American illustration lost one of its last direct links to the golden age. He’d seen the business transform from hand-painted gouache illustrations to digital art, from studios full of craftsmen to freelancers working in isolation. Yet his work argued for continuity over rupture, for the enduring value of traditional skills married to contemporary sensibility.
Theodore F. Wolff, writing in The Christian Science Monitor, placed Bowler in the lineage of “painterly magicians like Velázquez, Rubens, Vermeer, Renoir, and Sargent.” Walt Reed, the dean of illustration historians, characterized his work as demonstrating “sheer mastery of technique, color, composition, and always good taste.”
But perhaps Bernie Fuchs, Joe’s contemporary and fellow Hall of Famer, captured him best: “He’s like another great illustrator of our times, Al Parker, in that he never seems to lose that boyish, enthusiastic high in order to please himself in his work. In other words, he still loves to paint as much as he loves to fish, and boy, does he love to fish!”
The morning routine never varied: up at six, an hour of fly fishing in the inlet behind his Sea Pines home, in the studio by eight. Three and a half hours on portrait work, lunch and a nap, then back for personal work— beach scenes with children, often his grandchildren Joseph and Coby (named for Whitmore). The paintings grew from this rhythm, from what D’Andrea called “dedication and love with which he pursues it each day of each passing year.”
To the end, Joe maintained the apprentice’s humility. “I’m in the first stages of what I want to do,” he said in 1992, after nearly 50 years as a professional. “I’m humbled by the masters, and one of these days, I’d really like to get one of these right.” Asked about his aspirations, he admitted a secret wish: to elevate portraiture to where it stood at the turn of the 20th century, when Sargent and Chase defined American artistic sophistication. He never claimed to have reached that summit. But for those who knew his work—the clients who became patrons, the students who became disciples, the colleagues who became champions—Joe Bowler had long since earned his place in the pantheon. He was, simply, a painter: someone who could destroy the line and get it back, who understood that painting was mistakes and corrections, who believed that if you painted the exterior well enough, it would reveal the interior.
The Cooper Studios are gone, the golden age of illustration is memory, but Joe Bowler’s portraits
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, September 1954
Editorial illustration for Ladies’ Home Journal, December 1954 (detail)
remain: testimonies to craft, dedication, and the enduring power of looking—really looking—at the human face. As he said of his first impression method: “That vision that I have the first time I see the subject…the better a painter you are, the better you paint the exterior, and the more it shows what the interior looks like.”
In an age of instant images, Joe Bowler spent 70 years proving that some things can’t be rushed, that mastery comes from doing the work, and he painted nearly every day of his adult life.
“I paint every day. Saturdays and Sundays as well. That’s sort of what I do. Because I can’t do very much else.”
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, July 9, 1954
Editorial illustration for Redbook, July 1954
Joe Bowler, 2001
Editorial illustration for Redbook, January 1955 (detail)
EDITORIAL ILLUSTRATION
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, January 1955. Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, March 1955
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, April 1, 1955
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, March 4, 1955
Editorial illustration for Ladies’ Home Journal, October 1955 (detail)
Editorial illustration (detail). Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Collier’s, July 1955 (detail)
Editorial illustration for Ladies’ Home Journal, November 1955 (detail)
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Editorial illustration, 1955
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, 1955
Editorial illustration for Redbook, September 1956. Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, June 1956
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, July 1956
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Editorial illustration for Redbook, July 1956
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, November 1956
Editorial illustration for Redbook, February 1957. Photo courtesy Heritage Auctions, HA.com
Editorial illustration for Ladies’ Home Journal, April 1957
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, April 1957
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, September 28, 1957
Advertising illustration in McCall’s, 1957. Gouache on board, 18" x 18". Photo courtesy Heritage Auctions, HA.com
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, July 1957
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, October 1957
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, October 1957
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, November 1957
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, January 1958
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, February 1, 1958
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, June 1958
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, July 1958
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, October 4, 1958
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, October 11, 1958
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, November 1958
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, November 1958
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, December 1958
Advertising illustration for Philip Morris
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Editorial illustration for McCall’s, 1958
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, April 1959
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, March 28, 1959
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, September 1959
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Editorial illustration for McCall’s, August 1959
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, September 12, 1959. Gouache on board, 20" x 24". Photo courtesy of Heritage Auctions, HA.com
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, January 1960
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, February 20, 1960
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, February 27, 1960
Editorial illustration for Ladies’ Home Journal, February 1960
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, February 1960
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for Collier’s, April 16, 1960
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Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, 1960
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, January 28, 1961
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Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, June 3, 1961
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, October 1961
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, October 1961
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, July 1962
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Evening Post, January 6, 1962
Editorial illustration for Redbook, February 1962
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, August 1962
Editorial illustration (detail). Mixed media on board
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Editorial illustration for McCall’s, 1962
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Editorial illustration for Redbook, April 1963
Editorial illustration for Redbook, June 1963
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McCall’s, August 1963
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, December 1963
Editorial illustration for Redbook, November 1963
Editorial illustration for Redbook, November 1963
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, November 1963
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration for Redbook, December 1963
Editorial illustration for Redbook, January 1964
Study for an editorial illustration in Good Housekeeping, 1964
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration for Redbook, February 1964
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, September 1964. Mixed media on board
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, April 1964
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, April 1964
Editorial illustration. Mixed media on board
Editorial illustration. Mixed media on board
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, December 1964
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, December 1964
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, December 1964
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, December 1964
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration. Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, April 1965. Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, April 1965. Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, August 1965
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, February 1966
Editorial illustration for Ladies’ Home Journal, April 1966
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, June 1966
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, August 1966
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, January 1967
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, March 1967
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, April 1967
Editorial illustration
illustration
Editorial
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, June 1967
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration for McCall’s, June 1967
Editorial illustration for The Saturday Eening Post, July 1967
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, December 1967
Editorial illustration (detail)
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, November 1967. Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, November 1967. Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, November 1967. (detail) Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, November 1967. (detail) Gouache on board
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, August 1968
Advertising illustration fo Gold Label Cigars, 1968
Editorial illustration for Ladies’ Home Journal, 1968
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, March 1969. Mixed media on board
Editorial illustration for Ladies’ Home Journal, October 1969
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, November 1969
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, December 1969
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, November 1970 (detail)
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, September 1970 (detail)
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, September 1970. Oil on canvas
Editorial illustration. Oil on board
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration. Oil on board, 14.5" x 12". Photo courtesy Heritage Auctions, HA.com
Editorial illustration
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, April 1971
Editorial illustration for Good Housekeeping, August 1976. Oil on canvas
Editorial illustration. Oil on canvas
White Tutu, 2008. Oil on canvas, 20" x 16"
Ella. Oil on canvas, 10" x 8"
The Pose, 2008. Oil on canvas, 24" x 12"
Whistler’s Daughter. Oil on canvas, 18" x 24"
Blue Tutu, 2008. Oil on canvas, 14" x 18"
Loose Ends, 2008. Oil on canvas, 20" x 16"
Loose Ends, 2008. Oil on canvas, 20" x 16"
Coffee Break, 2008. Oil on canvas, 24" x 20"
Pondering, 2013. Oil on canvas, 12" x 16"
Finishing Touches, 2008. Oil on canvas, 16" x 12"
Morning Light. Oil on canvas, 24" x 18"
Negligee, 2006. Oil on canvas, 24" x 12"
The Ankle Bracelet, 2009. Oil on canvas, 18" x 24"
Meditation, 2003. Oil on canvas, 24" x 20"
Dainty Dipper, 2009. Oil on canvas, 16" x 12"
Irises, 2011. Oil on canvas, 16" x 12"
Water’s Edge, 2008. Oil on canvas, 12" x 16"
Victorian Secrets, 2013. Oil on canvas, 30" x 24"
Blue Scarf, 2009. Oil on canvas, 24" x 20"
Secret Garden, 2009. Oil on canvas, 16" x 24"
Hoe Down, 2007. Oil on canvas, 14" x 18"
Sunday Stroll, 2009. Oil on canvas, 18" x 14"
Nude, 2010. Oil on canvas
Nude, 2010. Oil on canvas
Mandarin Coat. Oil on canvas, 20" x 16"
Golden Morning. Oil on canvas, 10" x 8"
Fairest One, 2013. Oil on canvas, 16" x 12"
Touch Up. Oil on canvas, 16" x 20"
Mandarin Mood. Oil on canvas, 30" x 24"
Blue Ribbon, 2010. Oil on canvas, 12" x 16"
Turkish Towel, 2013. Oil on canvas, 18" x 12". Photo courtesy Heritage Auctions, HA.com
Resting, 1986. Oil on canvas, 20" x 24". Photo courtesy Heritage Auctions, HA.com
Alex Schenck, 1983. Oil on canvas, 30" x 24"
