In Memory of Charles Bragg (1931-2017)

In 2010, Park West President Marc Scaglione and myself hit on the idea of reaching out to Charles again (we had done business together in the 1980s and ‘90s). We contacted him to see if he’d be interested in appearing at some of our private events on cruise ships. Charles was interested, and Marc and I went to visit him and his wife Margaret at their apartment in Beverly Hills, California. It was a delight to enter into his home and his world. His studio occupied most of the living area and his stock room was adjacent. On the easel was an oil painting he was working on, called “Parade #1,” which was snapped up the first time we showed it. Next to his painting table was laid out a sculpture — a sort of colorless diorama — of his masterpiece concept “Asylum Earth,” comprised of dozens of tiny figures, which the viewer looked down upon, all engaging in riotous activities and crazy interactions with each other. Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly Delights” through the lens of Charles Bragg, transported into the 21^st century.

Thus began our renewed relationship: Charles Bragg 2.0. For nearly six years we brought Charles and Margaret out to sea and land a few times each year, to meet our clients and create new fans and collectors for him. Charles worked hard in preparation for each of these appearances. Our typical collection consisted of approximately 20 oil paintings, many of which paid homage to his heroes: Pablo Picasso, Rembrandt van Rijn, Henri Matisse, Edgar Degas, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec and his beloved Claude Monet. Also included were a series of highly detailed, mixed-media works on colored paper (in the last two years Charles was enamored with Asian subjects in this medium), along with at least a dozen drawings and his famous etchings. Charles’ art was not always easily accessible and certainly not decorative in any sense. It was to be contended with, and it challenged the viewer, no matter how humorous or innocuous at first glance. But the response from our guests was always positive. The truly astute collectors realized how rare and important and opportunity it was to meet him and see a world-class collection of his works. And they took advantage.

Our introductions of Charles were always the evening before his auction. We previewed a selection of paintings and talked about his extensive credentials, but the coup de gras was when he tottered up to his lectern (from a wheelchair in his last days) and delivered his monologue. This was the moment when everyone in the room realized the talent and greatness to which they were being treated. He usually spoke for about 30-40 minutes. In deadpan, self-deprecating prose, he covered such topics as his health (for a perspective on his prices, he told everyone his age, and joked that his blood-pressure was “through the roof,” and that he was wearing a diaper!); some musings on the great philosophers’ quotes, with his own spin, of course; stories about his days as a young artist in Paris, paying for his restaurant meal with a drawing on the tablecloth and then being charged for defacing restaurant property; and a visit to the Louvre, where he put up one of his own paintings on the wall with two-sided tape and instantly doubled the Louvre’s collection of American art (“Whistler’s Mother” is the only American painting in the collection); and finally his great story about “Art Heaven.”

The story, which appears complete in the brilliant and hysterically funny collection of his writings, “Asylum Earth,” recalls a dream in which after he dies Charles hopes to be admitted to Art Heaven. He walks through the corridors and peeks into the shared studios of the masters and must ultimately present his portfolio to a group of them, including Goya and Rembrandt. While looking at one of his paintings, Rembrandt asks, “What were you thinking about when you made this?” to which Charles replies, “I was poor and probably thinking about my car payment.” Rembrandt quietly contemplates the work and says, “Yes, I can see the desperation in the brushstrokes…” Finally, the group discovers a painting that interests them all. It depicts God as the wizened, bearded visage of the ages. He holds a tree with two large breasts protruding from the trunk and with a long serpent-like tail. The group inquires about it. He replies that when God made the world Charles suspected there were certain creations that might not have gone as planned. Thus, he titled the painting, “In the Beginning there were Mistakes.” The group chuckles all around and decides Heaven needs a little levity. They decide to let Charles in, at which point he awakens from his dream.

The obvious poignancy of the story has been resonating all over these last few days among those who knew him and were treated to this tale at one of his appearances. Many have reached out to me with words of comfort, as they knew how much I adored the man and affirmed that “Art Heaven” is where Charles is painting today.

Over these last five years, I savored every moment that I was with him and Margaret, as I knew this day was not far off. With Charles, I laughed longer and harder than with anyone I ever knew. Everyone around him did too. We had many wonderful adventures together: dinners from Venice to San Juan; discussions on art, life and ideas, always brimming with ideas. He was usually drinking his beloved gin martinis, which when placed in his hands, he would announce to all, before the first sip, “See ya later!”

I always described Charles as an “American National Treasure,” which I believe became truer with each passing year. And now, like so many great ones before him, he belongs to the ages. I know he’s painting alongside his heroes now, occupying one of those studios in “Art Heaven,” and I know he’ll be one of the committee passing judgments on the next generation of applicants. I’m sure he’ll be lenient though. He was such a sweet soul.

Rest in Peace, Charles Bragg.