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Bob Ross, television painting guru, the man who defined fantasy-land do-it-yourself painting. He was to art what the Ginsu knife was to kitchen cutlery. Introducing the art of oil painting to the great unwashed masses, he inspired a cult fan base devoted to his smooth voice, zen-like demeanor, and iconic afro.

Ross believed we all have the capacity for artistic talent. This echoes some of Jonathan Hale's thinking. And I think it is true too. But if so, doesn't that take away from some of what's special about artistry? Can a common talent be a valued one? If we could all sing like Placido Domingo, would Opera matter to us anymore?

But lets leave the realm of philosophy aside now, and venture into Bob's happy mountains. And what mountains they were, raised on the canvas with a few lithe sweeps of the palette knife! Ross was captivated, perhaps even obsessed with painting mountains. Perhaps this came from their exoticness; born in Florida, I remember him once saying that the highest hill in his childhood had been fifteen feet tall. Or perhaps his fascination came from his stint in the USAF, when he was stationed in Alaska.

Most "serious artists" -- you know the kind, they scoff down canapes and wine while explaining their vision in white-walled rooms to moneyed elites in every town over half-a-million population -- would consider Ross to be in a different world from them. Too low-brow. Too common. Sure, he was no great intellectual artist, and his talents were limited. He was afraid of portraits. His art teacher once told him to stick to bushes and trees, because that's where his heart lay. Might there have been a sarcastic comment there about his abilities? Perhaps, but I suspect with his "always-the-butter-side-up" attitude, Bob either didn't notice or didn't care. Instead he took the advice, and by all appearances he was happy with his bushes and trees. There's something about him that was inspiring. In a way he inspired me, certainly, as a small child, to continue painting. There's a pleasing fantasy to his landscapes, a simple escapism that is tranquil in a childish way.

For all the artistic seriousness that we intellectual painters have, we should be so lucky to find such happiness.

Bob Ross, who died on the Fourth of July in 1995, would have been 65 today. Happy birthday, Bob. Hope you're enjoying the company of your squirrels up there in a happy place, with happy little trees and happy mountains and happy little lakes.

"I tried to write shorterbut I ran out of time"~Mark Twain

"I tried to write shorter
but I ran out of time"
~Mark Twain