HUSBERG — SEDONA GALLERY | Arizona Highways

BY: Elizabeth Rigby

It's Artist For Artists In This Sedona Gallery

The Swedish-born artist and gallery owner in whose handsome Sedona establishment, Husberg's Fine Arts Gallery, Arnold Friberg has chosen to show his own western paintings, has had a one-thing-leads-to-another sort of life.

Coming of a theatrical family, Allan Husberg gained his first recognition as a painter with a popular series of European circus scenes done in his native land, then became an art director for the Swedish film industry. He emigrated to the U.S. in 1947 with Hollywood in mind, instead became an interior decorator for posh department stores, until a "lucky" accident incurred when moving heavy furniture sent him back to his easel.

Husberg met his wife Sheila now his partner in the gallery, then a struggling young actress when she was waiting tables in a Los Angeles dinner house while waiting for roles. Sheila spilled a bowl of hot soup into Allan's lap, so how could she refuse his invitation for a date? They were married a year later.

In 1958, they moved to Laguna Beach, where for 10 consecutive years he exhibited at the Festival of Arts. Meanwhile, he was showing at O'Brien's Art Emporium in Scottsdale and, in 1965, was invited to join Tom Lewis's stable at the Taos Art Gallery.

On their way to Taos with a load of paintings, the Husbergs stopped at Flagstaff and heard about Oak Creek Canyon and Sedona.

"We stopped every hundred yards on the way down and decided we'd have to come back to stay, no matter how," they recall, and in March, 1969 they did. Looking for something they could do together, the Husbergs hit on the idea of opening a gallery, with the thought of inviting some of the artists they'd known in Laguna. A friend, who owned some incompletely developed property in lower Sedona, agreed to build for them, and they opened for business in October, 1969.

One day a photographer who had done an article on Ray Swanson walked in carrying her portfolio. Swanson's Indian paintings were just beginning to be known, and after seeing the photographs, the Husbergs decided to ask him to exhibit with them.

"Swanson was the first big name we handled, and we are proud still to be representing this painter whose reputation has plummeted upward since then," they say.

The following spring, the new gallery owners made another happy connection, this one with Don Doxey, whose western still life paintings are something very special. Not only did Doxey become a regular exhibitor; it was he who suggested that the Husbergs invite Arnold Friberg to join them and offered to introduce them.

Allan Husberg did a double take. Friberg was one of his "idols," but his prices were high and, in addition, it was known that for several years this artist had shied clear of galleries. Still, it was worth a try.

"For the next three weeks we burned up the wires. Then I learned that Arnold had had an offer from the Kennedy Galleries in New York, and I said to Sheila, forget it. Against competition like that, we don't stand a chance."

But then came the final call from Holladay, Utah.

"Allan," said the caller, "You probably don't know it, but I'm a Phoenix boy, and I've decided that if I'm to go back with a gallery, it should be an Arizona one. What's more, it should be with a Swede."

It's been a happy association since, and Friberg's second one-man show at the Husberg Gallery will be next March.

By last fall, the Husbergs had outgrown their first gallery, and in November, 1972, they opened a new and larger building that has become one of the things to see in Sedona. It houses not only the Husberg Fine Arts Gallery but the Husbergs' Singletree Gallery as well, and, on the second floor, a fine new Indian arts and crafts shop, the Eagle Dancer, that brings a top-ranking collection to the area.

The new gallery, which faces Tlaquepaque on one side and the popular Oak Creek Owl restaurant on the other, literally overhangs the creek and provides one of the loveliest views to be found in a place that runs rich with scenic beauty. And if one thing has led to another for Allan Husberg all his life, the new building is no exception. Off in a corner out of public view, it contains a studio in which he can go back to painting, if he can ever find the time.

Reprinted from Publisher Tom Miller's column "One Man's Viewpoint" - Cherokee (Iowa) Daily Times. A VISITATION TO WHERE 'GOD LIVES'

A friend is now doing what many of us think about in our day dreams - unwinding in a place of solitude, with all pressures, cares, duties and responsibilities pushed aside.

She is Lorry Alexander, until recently a jill of all trades, secretarial and otherwise at Sanford Museum.

For some time, she had been plugging away at a correspondence course in writing. But the workaday world and family life kept interrupting and prevented concentration.

Wistfully, she expressed the wish to escape for a time. Her husband and daughter encouraged her and almost not believing that it was happening to her she packed bags and headed out of town, glancing nervously over her shoulder as though she expected to be called back.

Her destination was 1,500 miles away, down along the Mexican border near Nogales, Arizona, a desert area she had visited once before and had studied extensively at long range in preparation for an Indian exhibit at Sanford.

Now we'll let Lorry tell it her way . . .

"For four days, I had just been one of the multitudinous humans dashing along the glaring ribbons of superhighways aiming for a destination.

"This was when I said to myself, 'You are a fool!' But once, some time ago, I had had a very brief glimpse of where I thought God lived. Now I was going to either be convinced of His dwelling place or be disappointed. But, either way, I had to find out for myself.

"Heading south out of Tucson on the Nogales highway, I slowly felt my spirits lifting as the mountains loomed high and beautiful around me. A copper mine in the distance looked like a giant ant hill, and the black 'ants' crawling back and forth were the huge trucks loading and unloading cargoes of copper.

"Stopping for a cup of coffee, I found the restaurant full of holiday travelers. License plates on cars from nine states testified to the use their occupants were making of the three-day weekend or, more likely, vacations.

"It is easy to spot a non-Westerner he is the fellow who squirms in his chair impatiently waiting for someone, anyone, to take his order. This man's life is a NOW thing. He has not and probably never will learn how to enjoy waiting. His impatience robs him of the ability to look around and see where he is and among whom he is. Poor man, when he gets ten miles down the road, he will blame someone else for the knot in his stomach.

"Moving down the highway at a reduced speed, I began to feel that perhaps I had not been such a fool at all.

"All along the roadside and across the valley floor still lingered some of the desert flowers left over from the spring.

"Emerging from the sand, barrel cactus still sported a few blooms on their heads and the fingers of the prickly pear reached forth yellow flowers. The blue harebell mingled with the wild yellow zinnias and the north slopes of the mountains played host to the Arizona cypress with its drooping, graceful branches.

"Only 50 miles south of Tucson and yet here was no dry, dusty foliage. The green plants rising from the sand were fresh looking, and later I learned that sufficient rains come to this part of the desert country to assure good growth of flowers and trees. Peeking out from a cactus was a little cactus wren and scurrying across the highway further on was a roadrunner clutching a grasshopper in his mouth.

"After settling in and unpacking, I decided to take advantage of the cool desert evening and take a walk.

Yours Sincerely

"It is impossible with words to describe a desert sunset there are no adjectives yet invented to put down on paper the beauty one sees. It is slow in coming and for a long, long time one can watch the pinks, whites, blues and purples all blending together. 'And lifting up mine eyes' I beheld the vastness of the skies, the might of the mountains and I felt very unimportant and humble.

"Sitting outside before bedtime, I looked up and above me the stars shone out of the black night sky. I didn't want to sleep just to stay awake and take in all of the day and night given to me.

"Later lying in bed, looking up at the sky. I knew there would be other such days and nights because after all God lives here."

JUSTICE AND DUE CREDIT

Congratulations on your truly beautiful June issue, and to Ray Manley for his outstanding photographs of Alvin James Makya's magnificent kachina dolls.

The story states that "A special selection of twenty-four Makya kachinas has been exhibited in western museums" and that "The showing is scheduled to the Gila River Arts and Crafts Center from May 12 through June 12."

This statement suggests that the dolls have been shown at several museums, on a schedule traveling from one to another. In fact, the dolls were acquired by Makya from private collectors for a one-man show presented by the American Indian Lore Association of Orange County at the Charles W. Bowers Museum in Santa Ana, California from March 4 through 25. The response was so great that the show was extended through May 1, for an extraordinary eight-week run. I, with Charles Irwin of the Bowers Museum staff, brought them from Makya's residence to the museum in February and delivered them May 5 to the Gila River Arts and Crafts Center for the exhibit now there.

I feel that the Bowers Museum show deserves some recognition as being the catalyst which brought this fantastic collection together. All of us who were involved are proud to have had a part in the efforts which have resulted in your beautiful story on Alvin James Makya and his kachinas.

Sincerely yours, John E. Collins for American Indian Lore Association of Orange County Charles W. Bowers Museum

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Very truly yours, Miss. Fluerdeliza S. Gabutin Republic of the Philippines NATIONAL POWER CORPORATION Maria Cristina Falls Hydroelectric Plant Iligan City Could I but speak your tongue I would sing of the spring, The awakening time of the year. When the young are young And the old are young And the snows are gone for another year.