Robert indiana
My mother wasn’t a big art collector, but she had a few things. One of them was a signed artist proof of Robert Indiana’s “The Bridge.” He made the image as a tribute to his beloved Brooklyn Bridge -- my mother’s favorite bridge -- and the links between his former home in New York and his home on Vinalhaven in Maine. Granite from Vinalhaven was used to build the bridge.
It hung over her sofa for years, and when she died it came to me.
When I got the arts-writing job with the Press Herald, among my early assignments was a profile of Indiana. I traveled out to Vinalhaven and spent the day with him in his sail loft and at his home, the Star of Hope. He met us at the ferry terminal in his pickup truck, cigar in hand, and took us on a 10-cent island tour before we settled in for our conversation. He was delightful -- funny, engaging and apparently genuinely interested in me and my story. I liked him.
I interviewed him many times over the years. He always took my call -- until he didn’t. The last time I spoke with him in person was at his 80th birthday party, on the island. We talked briefly by phone a few times after that, but I hit roadblocks with my interview requests the last few years of his life. I couldn’t get past his studio assistants, and eventually stopped trying.
His death in May 2018 was and remains a bitter ending to a great art story, clouded by a lawsuit alleging elder abuse, forgery and fraud. The value and disposition of his estate ended up in court, where there were dramatic revelations about his generosity, his studio habits and lifestyle. His death was dramatic and wrenchingly sad, and eminently newsworthy.
