This evening, my husband Kurt and I will be attending an art opening at The Arts Federation in Lafayette, Indiana. The featured exhibition What a Time To Be Alive will be the recent works of Loren Olson, the widow of the late Al Pounders.
The Arts Federation; Lafayette, Indiana
Exactly six years ago this evening, Al Pounders, professor emeritus of painting at Purdue University, had the opening of his final exhibit Landscapes Continue in the same building. Then, he passed from this earth just a few days later.
Interestingly, the summer before that night, after receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis, Al told his physician he had an upcoming art exhibit and couldn’t be sick. He was determined to complete all of his works in time for that show; and he accomplished his goal!
I remember arriving to the opening night—and Al was missing—but I heard whispers he was on his way. (Actually, he was discharged from the hospital earlier that evening but had to be taken home first in order to get ready for the special occasion.)
“Landscapes Continue;” 2019
Some of his final paintings.
I met Al Pounders on a Friday in late August of my senior year; the first day of my Advanced Painting class at Purdue. (He was the instructor for Advanced Painting and Graduate Painting courses.)
He appeared to be a bit gruff, in his 50s, slender but athletic—wearing a wrinkled button down shirt tucked into a well-worn pair of pants—and sporting a graying goatee. (I later learned he played competitive squash and raquetball regularly at the Purdue Rec Center with colleagues.)
After providing a list of oil pigments and supplies he had handwritten on sheets of paper, he instructed us to paint anything: any subject matter, any style, any size. He just wanted to see our work, so he could evaluate our compositional skills and abilities.
I was so excited to show my skills to him.
Having drawn and painted since childhood, I launched a full-time mural painting career as soon as I got my driver’s license at age sixteen. I executed large-scale images on the sides of buildings and walls throughout the Northeastern Indiana and Greater Lafayette areas.
Not to mention the multitude of prerequisite courses: design, drawing, life drawing, painting, and printmaking classes I had checked off my list leading up to this moment.
I had the perfect image in mind ready to be brought to life on canvas, with the weekend ahead of me to execute it.
The image was a photograph of my mother holding me. I was about six-months-old in the picture. I always wanted to capture the joy on both of our faces; and this assignment was the perfect opportunity to do it.
And I pulled it off with exquisite precision: I had captured the twinkle in my aqua blue eyes; my mom’s photogenic smile; my chubby little fingers; Mom’s chocolate brown hair; and the lace on my sea green dress.
By Sunday night, I couldn’t wait until Monday morning.
Since it was still summer, the trees lining Stadium Avenue were lush green. As I carried my masterpiece to the studio classroom in what used to be an old WWII army barracks—located directly across the street from Mackey Arena—I could only imagine how impressed Pounders would be with my work.
I set the wet canvas on the the large metal easel.
And waited.
He was evaluating and critiquing other students’ paintings.
The anticipation mounted as he approached my easel.
He stopped, stepped back, crossed one arm over his torso to support the other arm hoisted to prop his chin with his hand. As he slowly stroked his goatee, he didn’t say a word. The pondering silence was deafening as he contemplated forthcoming remarks.
Then he bluntly grunted, “Wipe it off.” (When an oil painting is still wet, one can take a rag dipped in turpentine and entirely erase an image.)
He explained that I’d focused so intensely on executing the details of the figures, that I had neglected to make a composition.
I had no idea what he meant.
But I was fuming on the inside. The guy had no idea what he was talking about. And he had no idea I’d been a professional muralist for the past six years.
I don’t remember anything after that moment, because the only thought consuming me was how to drop his class while still graduating on time in the spring.
I carried my canvas back to Kurt’s and my scorching hot apartment in married student housing, and set it on a wooden chair. As I thoroughly studied the painting, the still small whisper of God’s spirit reminded me of a verse I’d memorized years earlier: “Accept correction, and you will find life; reject correction, and you will miss the road.” (Proverbs 10:17)
Ouch.
I contemplated giving the professor another chance; but I would definitely not wipe off the canvas as he had instructed. I would just stretch another one the same size.
But in that moment, I knew deep within what I had to do if I wanted to grow as an artist.
I dipped a rag in turpentine and wiped it off.
Instantly, an inexplainable relief flooded over me as I gave Al Pounders permission to correct me.
The next day, I showed up to class with a muddied-looking canvas that had had an image wiped off it.
Pounders exited the room to his office and returned with two apples.
As he set up a composition for me, arranging those pieces of fruit, he said, “Teaching you to paint correctly is more important than my lunch today.”
And that was the day he became my teacher.
He started each class with introducing us to the works of various master painters; pulling slides from the vast collection of art history masterpieces housed in the art department library. I had taken several Art History courses at Purdue, but Al made each painting come alive.
He accompanied us to the Art Institute of Chicago to study the masters’ paintings in person. And we had to make sketches and take copious notes about each one. He wholeheartedly believed in exposing our eyes to the best works of art humanity has ever created.
He also took us gallery-hopping in the windy city; opening our hearts to modern-day artists as well. . .and ending the day savoring authentic Italian cuisine.
Since his studio was within walking distance of campus, he’d show us what he’d be working on as well.
Pounders was not generous with compliments, but when he gave them, they were sincere.
At my final senior critique that following spring, he simply stated, “You’ve got what it takes.”
And I knew what he meant.
After he passed away, I told the “wipe it off” story at the remembrance gathering on his behalf held at Purdue University Galleries. Former students and colleagues nodded in agreement and laughed.
It was truly an honor to have been taught by the late Al Pounders.
After Al retired from Purdue, for the next twenty-five years, he and his wife Loren lived in Umbria, Italy for several months out of every year—and he painted the rolling, pastoral countryside. Then he would finish them in his studio in West Lafayette.
His dramatic, large-scale panoramic landscapes captured the essence of what he described as “the country of miracles.” Each composition became a legendary adventure for the viewer to experience.
This is a postcard from one of his exhibits: Umbria from the Eye of Al Pounders; The Swope Art Museum; 2009
In 2006, I had the privilege of traveling with the University of Saint Francis to study the Art Renaissance of Italy and Greece. On one of the days, Al and Loren met me in Assisi.
After prayerfully touring the Basilica of Saint Francis together, Al drove us through the mountainous terrain of Umbria on winding country roads; showing me various locations where he painted some of his works throughout the years.
Afterwards, the three of us dined in a medieval stone cafe’ built in the 12th century—tucked away in a small village on the side of a mountain.
Kurt, myself, and our children tried to attend as many of Al’s openings as possible throughout the kids’ formative years—he loved their drawings they’d give to him—and I even got to attend one of his openings in the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
We continued to stay in touch for many years.
The year before he died, my youngest son participated in an all-day sporting event at Purdue. During a break, I walked to Al’s studio to see his current works. His canvases were massive, and his body was becoming weaker, so I helped him pull them out of their storage racks. After he described each one, I helped him put them back.
It was then I understood: I had been taught by a legend.
Italian Landscapes exhibit opening at the Allan Stone Gallery in Manhattan, NY; 2006
Some of the last words he wrote to me were: “I’m having bad back problems that will require more surgery. It’s hard to get around the way it is. But I get to my studio every day, and do what I can. Sorry about my writing—stiff fingers. All the Best, Al.”
Some view teaching solely as a profession to pay bills.
And others are teachers.
It’s not what they do, it’s who they are.
Al Pounders was not only an accomplished painter. . .but also a teacher extraordinaire to the end.
I’m grateful I listened to his instruction.
Al Pounders; 1931 - 2019
Emily Boller, wife, mother, painter, and author is on a mission to create expressive works of art in her lifetime; and to bring awareness to the potentially harmful traps of diet-wellness culture. In her free time, she loves to chase sunrises, grow flowers and vegetables, and can homemade soups.