R. Brownell McGrew

THE IDYLL

The enchanting site was a very special place known as Bridge Canyon. The site is now under several hundred feet of water, part of the Glen Canyon-Lake Powell Project and Recreational complex. The artist had finished his photographs of the area only a few days before flooding began. The painting is indeed a treasure of great importance, not only for its masterful artistic expression, but also for the lasting record documenting the beauty of the "once-upon-a-time landscape."

Artist: R. Brownell McGrew Courtesy O'Brien's Art Emporium

In the nation, and reproductions of them are found, dog-eared and frayed, in far corners of the world. (Recent letters from New Zealand and from England mention coming across old magazines with McGrew's Indians in them.) A missionary working in a remote part of the Navajo reservation wrote that she often finds the July, 1969, all-McGrew issue of Arizona Highways in Navajo hogans. Saks Fifth Avenue in Phoenix, presenting elegant, jewel-toned velvet clothing, used a McGrew painting as the keynote of their display.

"The man who paints the old" continues to approach his subjects in a timeless way. He has never been swayed in the least by any current fad or climate of opinion, and his paintings reflect things which speak to people in all times and places joy, suffering, delight in children and in nature, love of sunshine and pain of cold, hunger and the pleasures of cooking, strength of youth and heartache of age. His dogs are afflicted with fleas, his horses are swaybacked and sore-footed, but the children love the dogs and the people are proud of the horses, and their love and pride are evident in paint.

Although he is a loner and an intensely private man, McGrew's paintings seem to go out among people with a curiously gregarious life of their own. Few artists receive the volume of personal mail that he does; letters from his Indians about everything under the sun; letters from people wanting to know more about this or that figure in a painting, wanting to know where that little girl lives, what is that old man talking about, why is that woman's hair arranged that way? Children, housewives, college professors, artists and people who never looked at a painting before in their lives, all write to tell him of their response. One critic mused, "He seems to be able to leave the socialprotesting smog-polluted world and send back messages about human values." He often receives letters from peoPeople who bought his paintings fifteen or twenty years ago, telling him how much the paintings mean to them. None of his numerous awards, medals, and honors mean so much to him as this response.

McGrew's life is spent in his studio or with his Indian friends. He seldom takes part in any social function. He never travels, except for 30,000 miles a year on the vast Navajo reservation. He has never done anything but paint. His only recreation is riding and showing his horses, Quarter horses and Arabian, sometimes showing more than one horse at the same show, and usually coming home with ribbons. Studio and stable are closely connected on his ranch as in his life.

Vital statistics: McGrew was born in Columbus, Ohio, in 1916, studied in Alhambra, California, under Lester Bonar and at Otis Art Institute in Los Angeles with Ralph Holmes, E. Roscoe Shrader and Edouard Vysekal. He was married in 1938, has three children and five grandchildren. He has been a lifelong active Lutheran.

It surely seems I was meant to do this work how else to explain setting out to find one particular Navajo out of 100,000, with no slightest idea whether he lived at Four Corners or Cañon Diablo, then lighting on him the first crack? The technique must remain a professional secret, but it worked time after time after time

from the Journals of the Artist in the Lands of the Hopis and Navajos

We came to the camp of Haddas Chatlie, an old, nearly blind medicine man, who was prevailed upon to sit for a charcoal sketch. As I worked, Shine tilted back in his chair and wreathed the area with cigar smoke. He and the Indian exchanged news and views in a desultory fashion, and after one comparatively animated passage I asked Shine what they had been discussing.

"Oh," he returned, "I told him in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth."

"What did he say?"

"He thinks Coyote made it. . ."

for several hours I made my way through some of the roughest, most desolate country I had ever seen, over a pair of ruts so faint that I was occasionally unsure whether or not I was in a jam. In all this time, and nearly a hundred miles, I had seen one wagon, one pickup, two riders, and almost no hogans.

Suddenly from the heavy chaparral at the side of the track rose a group of women and children, beside whom I came to a stop no trick at all in the knee-deep blow sand. One of the younger women had some English and informed me they wanted a ride to the trading post. Always the Yankee trader in these matters, I said it was a deal if I could take their pictures.

This evoked the usual gigglement and consent was given. Of course it fell out my camera was empty after a snap or two and I turned back to the car to reload. The women maintained the flow of laughing chatter which so endears the Navajo to those who get to know them, and at one point one of them said something that produced a real gale of merriment. I turned to the young woman and asked what had caused the outburst. She looked out over the lunar landscape, a jillion miles of loneliness where the next coyote would not be along for another month or so, and responded, "She say to tell you we in hurry."

Over the corner of my clipboard as I write gleams a chunk of prime turquoise, a huge ring that evokes a strange concatenation of memories someone had told me of a young trader who possessed an article I wanted, so one day I ambled into his post, one of the oldest and most colorful on the reservation, to see what might transpire. What transpired was, he knew of my work and asked if I ever swapped sketches or drawings for jewelry and suchlike. Being cool toward this type of thing, except where old Navajo bridles are concerned, I discouraged this idea, but he said he had something he'd like me to see anyway. So we went over to a counter where the rings were kept and he pulled out a tray in the center of which was a ring that had turned clear over of its own weight. He handed it to me and that was that a perfect fit of course on my hamlike, unartistic hand. I told him to put it away for me and I would send him a sketch when I got home, which would be several weeks because I was then on my way to Flag and Chicago.

"No," he said, "take it with you and send me something when you can."

This I couldn't resist, so I slipped it on and headed south, nearly driving off the road forty times because I couldn't desist from staring at my gorgeous new acquisition.

I left my Land Rover with the wonderful Dr. Ned at the Museum in Flag and hopped the rattler for Chi. Three weeks later I was back to clean up some projects before going home, and my travels took me by the young trader's post. It had burned to the ground not a jot or tittle had been saved, except the ring the trader's generosity and trust had preserved.

Some years later, I met by accident the Navajo who had fashioned the ring, when he brought his wife to be treated by a medicine man who is a friend of mine. By great luck I got to witness a thing I'd heard marvelous tales about, but never supposed I'd get to watch. This is healing by use of a crystal so potent that it enables the initiate to see through anything, or as one friend told me, to see objects miles away.

The woman was seated and a fetish was put into her hand, to be held in a very precise manner which the medicine man adjusted when it did not suit him. Her ailing foot and leg were uncovered and bathed with some herb tea or juice, then the hatahlie began to hold the stone in front of the affected areas and to move it slowly over them. As he did so, the woman evinced severe pain, nearly crying out, yet I am sure the crystal was not used with any pressure, indeed, so far as I could see, it did not even touch her. so the ring reminds me of the morning I was awakened by my Hopi host, whose smaller ancestral home I was using while painting the portrait of an older patriarch of the village. My friend sat down and told me that on the very spot where my bed stood, he had been brought as a boy of six, when his burro threw him and broke his back. The lad was in a coma from which he never emerged until his father had made a horseback journey of eighty miles or so to fetch a relative who was the tribe's most powerful medicine man, and who also used one of the crystals I was later to see in operation. When the seer arrived, he stood in the doorway and told a milling group of hysterical women to be quiet, that the boy would recover. He examined the still unconscious youngster through the crystal and had the people place him in traction by pulling on the boy's hands and feet while he manipulated the fractured spine. Soon the lad recovered consciousness and was to all appearances quite well.

At that same period, the father of the man I was now painting was also a very powerful and respected medicine man, but it happened later that the two seers fell out and a most serious feud developed between them. One cast a spell on the other, who, when recovered, repaid in kind. Both were several times near death, but eventually my model's father succumbed.

The healer of my informant, a great-uncle if memory serves, died also in due course of more pedestrian causes, but just before he died he swallowed the great crystal and was buried with it, so that it should never come into the possession of someone who might use it for evil purposes

Personal Reflections

BY MARILYN L. MURRAY To try to separate R. Brownell McGrew, artist, from R. Brownell McGrew, man of faith, is a total impossibility. Because Brownie is naturally shy and quiet, his reserved manner is sometimes mistakenly interpreted as aloofness. In reality, Brownie is one of the most genuinely sensitive, warm, considerate human beings that I have had the privilege to meet. A constant abiding trust in the fact that a loving heavenly Father guides his every move is coupled with the recognition that he has a rare God-given ability to create magnificent canvases that have astounded the art world for the past several decades.

Away from the hustle of the city, the McGrews' life revolves around their family be it their children, one of their grandchildren, or their animals. Visiting there once it was a special delight to see Brownie in his living room with a two-month-old baby lamb given to him by a Navajo family in appreciation for what "Big Mac" had done for the Navajo people. The lamb adored Brownie and the feeling was obviously mutual. Seeing this huge man loving that tiny lamb and feeding it from a bottle was indeed a rare treat.

We then proceeded to the barn to saddle the horses for a much-anticipated ride to view the McGrew "rancho." Brownie's palomino mare, Bubbles, had a four month colt frolicking at her side. Brownie allowed the baby to come along with us and I could see his obvious pleasure and delight in the little fellow as he raced up and down the hills, enjoying his new-found freedom. Brownie seems to take as much pride, or more, in the ribbons that his horses have won than in the magnificent medals, four gold and two silver, that are the well-deserved awards he received from the National Academy of Western Art and the Cowboy Artists of America.

Each horse is very special to him, making it extremely difficult to ever sell any. At the present time he is fascinated with the cutting horse aspect of the horse show world. He is an excellent rider, but is always anxious to have suggestions from anyone he feels can help him become more proficient in this area.

As we rode over the large expanse of property that forms the McGrew ranch, we came upon five different homesteader's cabins, deserted many years ago, but now standing as mute evidence of the great pioneering spirit and determination that helped found this part of the West. I could sense a little bit of envy in Brownie's voice as he talked about the people who settled there, people who were unencumbered by bureaucratic problems in Washington, keeping books, the I.R.S., etc.

Brownie has a burning desire to live his life as purely and as freely as possible. Definitely shying away from the influences of television, the McGrew family is a well read, intellectual family. Brownie is extremely skilled as a writer, using his vast knowledge of words to mold mental pictures as beautiful as his paintings.

As civilization began to press in on the McGrews, first in California, then in Arizona, they decided to set out to find the ideal place of solitude and contentment. After very literally searching the continent from the Canadian to the Mexican borders, they found five sections of land in New Mexico that ideally suited them. As they both are history buffs, they have enjoyed the stories told by the natives of this area about the times of the original Spanish conquerors. Brownie and Ann began to plan the home that would be perfect for the New Mexican landscape. Brownie not only did most of the designing himself, but also a great deal of the building. He personally went to the forests of Arizona and, by hand, cut the huge vegas that lace their living-room ceiling. He also did much of the interior plastering, using his artistic touch to mold the walls into replicas of the old time adobes. Many of the adobe bricks used in the house were actually made in their front yard. The house features a music room with a beautiful harpsichord, made by their professional musician son-in-law and an extensive collection of fine classical music.

Separated from the house is another adobe building that houses lovely guest quarters, often used by the McGrew daughters and their families. The back section is Brownie's fascinating studio, filled with superb artifacts and numerous works in various stages of completion, awaiting the day they will be framed, crated, and shipped to eager buyers at O'Brien's Gallery in Scottsdale, Arizona, or Trailside Gallery in Jackson, Wyoming.

One of my favorite anecdotes about Brownie is one we have often said should go down in "the annals of R. Brownell McGrew" because it so typifies this marvelous man. It happened many years ago when his favorite mare, Boots, whom Brownie idolized, had become ill. She needed constant everyday care by the vet. They were living in the country where this was impossible, so Brownie brought Boots down to stay in our stable where the vet could treat her each day. Brownie and his family came to the valley to spend Easter with us, have dinner in our home, and also pick up Boots, as she was much improved. At that time we were having some electrical work done in the barn. About Friday, after Easter, my husband, Troy, ran excitedly into the house, shoved a cardboard box at me and said, "This has been wired to the top of the stall door for several days, and I thought it was something the electricians had put there so I didn't bother it. But today when I went out to feed the horses, one of them had worked the top of the door around to where he could reach the box and was chewing on the corner of it. I decided I had better take it down and check into it before something happened to it. And would you believe what was inside?" I opened it up and pulled out a beautiful original R. Brownell McGrew pencil drawing of a Navajo Indian head, all framed and ready to hang! I turned it over and read the following inscription on the back, "Dear Troy, Thought you might like to have this memento of my stay with you. Brownie and I sure did appreciate the care you took of me. If the drawing is a bit sloppy, please excuse, that vet has temporarily messed up my drawing hoof. Love and kisses, Boots R. Brownell McGrew, an enigma to many, is so typical of the "strong, silent type" that made the West what it is today. He is ruggedly independent, jealously guarding his privacy, yet extremely loyal to friends and family, a dedicated husband and father, with a deep abiding faith that shines through and envelopes those close to him. I am sure that Brownie will want to be remembered as a man of God, first and Artist, second.

The late Dr. Ben K. Green was especially noted for stretching a thought that might have been expressed in one sentence into a story of interesting but usually boresome length. His comment about R.

Brownell McGrew, however, is a classic masterpiece of one of Dr. Ben's rare exceptions when he told the whole story in one simple sentence. “Brownell McGrew,” he declared, “is the best thing that has happened to the image of the Navajo Indian in this century.” There is no mistaking the qualities of a painting or drawing by Brownell McGrew. Each is a true work of fine art that bears the mark of the master.

GOING ON A VISIT Mr. and Mrs. Chet Johns Collection

We have always thought of him as "the Michaelangelo of painters of Indians." Artists of his caliber emerge only rarely. For the archeologists and anthropologists of future generations no more meticulous or accurate documentary record of the Hopi and Navajo Indian can be preserved and believed than the paintings of R. Brownell McGrew. In his pre-Indian periods McGrew painted portraits and landscapes, each executed with the same mark of excellence carried into his Indianperiod.

Quality of mind, spirit and a degree of competence to conceive excellence as a goal, to try and to achieve it, always striving for the highest standard in every phase of life... in his work, in the handling and showing of his horses, in his intimate relations with people of all walks of life. clearly establish Brownell McGrew as a great artist and a very special human being. McGrew is one of the Academicians of the National Academy of Western Art, with major awards atthree of the four Academy shows in which he has participated. In six consecutive years at the Cowboy Hall of Fame and Western Heritage Center exhibitions, including Cowboy Artists of America and National Academy of Western Art, he has won six awards, four of them gold medals. He was the first member of the CAA to win awards in two media at the same show. McGrew is a Fellow of the American Institute of Fine Arts and a Fellow of the Society of Western Artists,both of which are positions of honor conferred by the membership of these organizations. A retrospective exhibition of R. Brownell McGrew's major works is scheduled for the month of August, 1978, at the Laguna Beach Museum of Art, Laguna Beach, California. Proceeds from admission and sale of catalogs will benefit the Thunderbird Foundation, a non-profit organization noted for its work with Indian people. Danny Davey of Laguna Beach is chairman and coordinator.

HASTI' IN DUGGAI

Mr. and Mrs. Dellenback Collection The works of R. Brownell McGrew are represented by Obrien's Art Emporium, Scottsdale, Arizona, and Trailside Galleries, Jackson, Wyoming.

EVENING OF BESSIE'S GIRLHOOD

Mr. and Mrs. D. McNary Collection