Le Salon d’Art ... at Grandma’s
For more than two decades, some of Maui’s most respected artists have been meeting to share ideas, opinions—and friendship.
Diane Haynes Woodburn
For the literary and artistic ex-patriots of the early 1900s, it was Paris. They gathered in the cafés and bookstores, punctuating their heady discussions with espresso and absinthe.
In post-WWII America, it was the beatnik coffeehouses and jazz joints from San Francisco to New York. A generation had taken to the road, and they fueled their discussions with cigarettes, coffee and bourbon.
For the artistes of Maui, it’s Keokea, at Grandma’s Coffee House.
OK, maybe it’s a stretch. But this little group of artists and writers gathers in much the same way, for much the same purpose—an exchange of ideas, the support of one’s peers, food for the soul. Dressed in straw hats, t-shirts, denim and bandanas, their discussions are warmed by steaming lattes and Portuguese omelets.
Credit for creating the “Keokea Salon” some 25 years ago goes to three of Maui’s most respected and diverse artists: Richard (Dick) Nelson, George Allan and Marian Freeman.
“Dick was the organized one,” explains Freeman. “So we used to meet upcountry, at his house for potluck lunches.”
They were meeting not just to float high-flown ideas about aesthetics, but also to nurture the Maui art scene. Among the group’s myriad community accomplishments: Art Maui, today one of Hawai‘i’s most respected annual juried shows. And it’s no wonder with the likes of Nelson, Allan (both George and Janet) and Freeman at the nexus.
Dick Nelson grew up in Hawai‘i, and after graduating from Yale University, returned home to become Chairman of the Art Department at Punahou High School in Honolulu. For 22 years, he taught everything from life drawing to art history, and of course, his passion, watercolor.
“It’s the quality of luminosity which intrigues me, and my love of seeing through one color to another, ” explains Nelson.
He is creator of the now famous Tri-Hue watercolor technique, wherein all the colors on the finished painting emerge by mixing only three colors on the palette. Since his retirement over 25 years ago, he has made Maui his home and continued his passion for education, becoming both teacher and mentor to a generation of Maui artists.
Eventually some of Nelson’s students joined the potluck meetings, as did others, so the move to Grandma’s was made.
“We used to talk a lot more about art in those days,” Allan recalls. “Dick would bring in articles from magazines, or things to puzzle us.”
Aussie born, George Allan was educated at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology. He arrived in Lahaina some 30 years ago, via Denmark, aboard the Carthaginian. He is one of Maui’s most respected (and collected) local painters, and also mentor to countless aspiring artists. He serves on numerous boards in the art and music world, and is well loved for his willingness to share his passion, knowledge, even his home with friends and students.
Allan recalls the early gatherings at Grandma’s with humility and humor. “We didn’t really know what we were talking about back then, but it didn’t stop us.”
“No, it didn’t stop us,” adds Freeman, agreeing with Allan (for once).
Marian Freeman arrived on Maui with her husband in 1973, and quickly became an integral part of the art community. She holds a Masters of Arts degree from San Jose State University, and was given her first one-woman retrospective in 1974 at the Lahaina Arts Society.
“The experience I seek when viewing art,” says Freeman “is the same as the pure joy and excitement of listening to great music: the resonance, form, contrasts, harmonies, flashes and tensions. These are the feelings I want to evoke with my own work by focusing on line, shape and color.”
Thinking back to the early days at Grandma’s, Freeman recalls that Allan was painting a lot of koi then. “People really liked the koi,” she tells him.
“Yeah,” Allan agrees, “I think because it’s impressionism.”
“No it’s not,” says Freeman.
And off they go, for the millionth time, debating and discussing what art is and isn’t.
Allan offers a partial definition of impressionism: “You’re involved in it because the painter isn’t telling the whole story—you’re giving them just part of it. It’s the viewer who puts it together.”
He gives an example: “Think about Marian’s cows. Incredible color!” he says. “They really vibrate. You’re really involved. You can’t help it.”
This is the spirit of the gatherings at Grandma’s. As Nelson says, “At Grandma’s, we come together, and stuff happens.”
In fact, it’s how Nelson became involved in computer art. A musician from New Jersey, Robert Pollock of Ebb and Flow Arts, showed up one morning and convinced him to illustrate an original music score.
“I’d never done anything so elaborate,” explains Nelson. “Robert was really into Kadinsky—the computer was the only way I could manage the images to work with the music. That experience opened a whole new perspective on my work.”
“This is what Grandma’s was like in the old days,” says Freeman. “I remember once we were bragging about how erudite we had become. Dick and I decided to have a conversation about Matisse. We were focused on a figure painting that I thought extremely simple and elegant. Dick thought it crude and unfinished. Friends of ours heard about “the debate” and came to hear all this erudition.” She laughs and shakes her head. “We fell flat. But we had fun.”
The group is a little different now, a little older perhaps, but no less excited to see one another. Art, like friendship, endures.
It’s 7:30 a.m., on a gorgeous Kula morning. A small group is gathering in front of Grandma’s for the traditional pre-breakfast walk. George offers Marian his arm. Parkinson’s has taken a bit of the spunk from her step, but not from her spirit. Together they walk arm in arm leaning on one another, a gesture so natural neither notice.
An hour later, the walkers return to find the little lanai at Grandma’s filled with folks and the intoxicating aroma of paniolo omelets, pastries, coffee, and yes, Spam and eggs. Zora Durock hurries to her parked jeep and hauls out tubs of towels and plastic bags that she employs to dry the wobbling tables and chairs and
cover the damp wooden benches. "Oh, don't mention me," she implores, "I'm not an artist. I just come to support these guys." Friends embrace, everybody’s talking, bantering, joking.
Dick Nelson officially begins today’s session by announcing that “It’s time for our factoid.”
This is the cue for another regular, Tom Jennings, who, at 90-plus years of age, is retired from teaching at UCLA but not from lecturing this group. He informs the group that American writer Oliver Wendell Holmes was also a professor of anatomy at Harvard. “He saved the lives of many women by insisting that doctors wash their hands.”
A chorus of comments about Holmes and a myriad of other disjointed subjects follows.
“I’m the designated imposter,” Tommy Conger confesses. “I’m a writer. J.B. walked me in here about 10 years ago when I moved back to Maui.” J.B. Rea, a jeweler, has been a member of the group for over 20 years, and proud to prove it by pulling from his wallet a well-worn actual numbered member card. Meanwhile, Sharon Shigekawa is collecting pledges for a charity horseback ride. Frank Kane is sharing photos he took recently in Hanoi. And there’s some discussion regarding the Red City Ramblers Jug Band.
Don’t they talk about art anymore?
“This is art,” says Nelson.
“Basically what we do [as artists] is very solitary,” adds Denise Champion. “It’s important to be able to share.” Although Champion moved to the Mainland some time ago, she returns each year to be with family—and this little group at Grandma’s. “There’s nothing to substitute for this, anywhere,” says Champion. “And I miss that the most. George, Dick, Marian—these are my heroes, my mentors. Because of what I learned from them, I learned to be an artist.”
