It started with a raincoat.
It was 1973, artist Ron Isaacs was wanting something more from art than he was getting from traditional painting and collage techniques. After a couple years of experimenting, he hung his London Fog raincoat on the wall one day with a vision. He intended to reproduce its structure using 3/8” fir plywood. He had never recreated a garment out of wood before, and even though the structure was to be made of relatively simple, flat planes, the process had him stumped.
“The coat stayed on the wall as fall, and then winter, came on,” Isaacs recalled. “I finally had to borrow one to wear.”
The experiment eventually resulted in a final work that the artist now refers to as “clunky,” and says was the hardest piece he ever had to find his way through. But the project — a successful liberation from the two-dimensional canvas and rectangular picture plane — stirred something inside him, and the beginnings of a signature style were born. Today, Isaacs is a lauded and collected artist whose unique style blends sculptural techniques, hand painting and trompe l’oeil, an artistic concept that touches on the experience of both the eye and the psyche.
Trompe d’l’oeil — French for “fool the eye” — dates back to ancient Greece and Rome but became popular in France in the 1800s. The concept can take many forms: It could be a mural of a tunnel painted so realistically on a brick wall that it tempts one to try to drive straight through it, or a polished stone sculpture of a flame that looks so real it could burn. Whatever form it takes, trompe l’oeil intends to invite a longer look, and to reinforce the notion that things are not always as they appear.
Isaacs was initially attracted to the concept because of the rich added layers that this type of emotional and psychological experience can bring to a work. Primarily inspired by three reoccurring themes — vintage fabrics, items from nature and other found objects — the artist creates eclectic and engaging compositions incorporating finely honed painting techniques on sculpted Finnish birch plywood. The elements of the finished pieces look so much like their inspiration, one might momentarily think they are actually looking at the fabric of a vintage dress or a flower petal, a twig or the wing of a bird.
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"Abide," 2018. Photo by Ron Isaacs
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"Canis Sycamoris," 2020. Photo by Ron Isaacs
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Leaf "Domestication Series - Sycamore," 2019. Photo by Ron Isaacs
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"Anomaly," 2020. Photo by Ron Isaacs
But beyond the technical and optical illusion aspects, more important to Isaacs is the dimension of emotional connections that his work evokes: nostalgia, wistfulness, whimsy, delight.
“Vintage garments have histories and mysteries — they serve as anthropomorphic stand-ins for the figure in my work,” he said, explaining one of his leading inspirations during a recent chat. “I’m intrigued by the memories of objects, including personal and cultural associations. It’s amazing how much content the simplest item can carry with it through time.”
Items from nature, such as twigs and leaves, are a recurring motif of the artist’s work that hearken back to his own personal history. Born in Cincinnati, Isaacs spent his early childhood on 11 acres of an old tree nursery that provided plenty of opportunities for outdoor wandering and exploring for a young, imaginative boy. When he was 12 years old, his family moved to Jackson County in Eastern Kentucky, where his father was a farmer and his mother was a teacher. A self-described shy, skinny and bookish boy, Isaacs soon discovered farming was not his future.
“I knew I would be an artist from a very young age,” he recalled. “My parents didn’t know where that came from — no one in the family had chosen that career path — but they never discouraged me.”
After studying art at Berea College and completing a graduate degree at Indiana University, Isaacs went on to a 32-year career teaching art at Eastern Kentucky University, all the while honing the unique imaginative style that is now so recognizable to his many fans and collectors, and seeking ways to expand his career as a professional artist.
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"Bright Spot," 2019. Photo by Ron Isaacs
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"The Fern Child," 2019. Photo by Ron Isaacs
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"Pattern Recognition," 2017. Photo by Ron Isaacs
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"Chimera," 2020. Photo by Ron Isaacs
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"Vortex," 2020. Photo by Ron Isaacs
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"Entropy," 2020. Photo by Ron Isaacs
It was during those early years of pursuing his professional artistic career — around the same time that the raincoat experiment set him on the path toward developing his signature style — that Isaacs encountered what he considers a “stroke of luck” that gave him the confidence to seek gallery representation. In 1972, Stephen Prokoff, the director of the Contemporary Art Museum in Chicago, saw a piece of the artist’s work as part of a juried show at a small college in Northern Kentucky, and selected it for a purchase prize. Prokoff was so impressed with Isaacs’ work that he offered to provide introductions to Chicago art gallery curators. Through those introductions, Isaacs soon became an established artist in a Chicago gallery, which ultimately led to representation in New York and other cities. For decades, he was represented locally by Heike Pickett Gallery, which was located for many years in Lexington and more recently in Versailles until the gallery owner retired this past year, closing her eponymous gallery.
“When we opened the Heike Pickett Gallery in Lexington in 1983, Ron had already gained wide acclaim for his art — he certainly did not need representation in our one-room space,” Heike Pickett recalled, looking back to the early days of her professional relationship with Isaacs. “However, he accepted our invitation, joined our stable of artists and became a strong supporter of the gallery and the fellow artists we represented.”
Pickett’s gallery “benefited greatly from [Isaacs’] experience, advice and his extraordinary art for the next 30 years,” she added. Since retiring from his art professor job in 2001, Isaacs continues to work hard to keep a handful of galleries in various parts of the country supplied with new work to sell.
The artist’s wife, Judy Isaacs, at one of his gallery openings in Milwaukee in 2018. Photo by Ron Isaacs
Four years ago, Isaacs and his wife of 54 years, Judy, also an artist and a retired teacher, relocated from a plot of land in Richmond to a quiet suburban home in Lexington’s Hamburg area, where they are both enjoying the change of pace.
“We had seven and a half acres in Richmond, and I spent 30 years handling all that sort of thing requires,” Isaacs explained, referencing the mowing, chainsawing, weeding, gardening and general maintenance the land required. “It was all getting to be too much. Now that we have downsized, I work more— but it’s studio work, and I can focus on art a lot more without interruption.”
The Isaacs’ Lexington home is a feast for the eyes. Every room is filled with work from fellow artists collected over the years, including an extensive collection of artist-made ceramic cups that takes up an entire wall. Each one is a fascinating, tiny masterpiece.
Looking back over his 50-year career, Isaacs’ joy with this time of his life is obvious. He relishes time spent in his studio with his iPod or noise cancelling headphones, creating what he refers to as “visual poems.”
“The things that inspire my work usually carry some patina of time and entropy, and they have their own stories and visual appeal,” he said. “It’s enough to keep me going and going.”
Lexington artist Ron Isaacs recently took some time to answer a few questions for writer Celeste Lewis.
Tell me about growing up. I was an only child, which I guess is important. I was born seven weeks before Pearl Harbor, in Cincinnati. My father worked for a porcelain enameling company which was doing important war work that kept him home during the war. For eight years (ages 4-12 for me), we lived in a tiny rented cottage in the middle of 11 acres of an old tree nursery in the suburbs of Cincy; the house had been the office for it. My parents were from Jackson County in Eastern Kentucky, and we moved back there when I was 12 to help my grandmother, and to farm (subsistence farming and a half-acre tobacco base). My mother went back to teaching, at first in a one-room school. My father cut timber out of our woods and built a good house nearly single-handedly, with me helping to log, farm and build as much as I could — which was not much, being skinny and bookish. I liked the woods and nature but hated farm work, especially tobacco. And high school was miserable, as it is for nearly everybody, apparently. I was socially out-of-it. Good grades for me but few good teachers and no art, of course. Majoring in art at Berea College opened things up considerably.
How did you become interested in art? The first thing I ever answered when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up was “artist.” Not “cowboy” or “fireman.” I never questioned it, nor did my supportive parents. We had no idea where the notion came from; it’s not a family thing. Looking now at my childhood drawings, they don’t seem especially brilliant or special, but I persisted and kept making and drawing and painting on my own. I always had a ‘good eye,’ but less creativity (and instruction) than I might have had in an ideal world.
How did you get interested in trompe l’oeil? Funny, I’ve never been really interested in the hyper-realistic painting and sculpture aspect of trompe l’oeil. I marvel at the patience and the verisimilitude, like everybody else — maybe with a more professional eye and less awe — but a lot of it seems like pure showing off of technical skill…entertaining, but a little shallow. Starting with that raincoat and growing out of the needs of the piece, I’ve used it in a more functional way to serve the image and try to give it the visual authority of directly observed reality. [My take on trompe l’oiel] is not as obsessively detailed or precious as most. After whatever illusion is achieved breaks down, usually fairly quickly, the viewer still has the image to work with.
You have a very impressive collection of ceramic cups. How did you get started with that collection? In the mid-’80s I had a cup I used for coffee every day, carrying it into studio classes. It broke and I replaced it with a handsome cup by Michael Frasca, which made me want to find more cups. Soon I had a nice variety, enough that I could have a different cup every day for a whole semester of classes (I wouldn’t mention it until someone commented). So now there are close to 450 free-range cups in the house, functional and nonfunctional, by many well-known contemporary ceramists. The bulk of the collection will eventually go to Berea College as a study collection in a special double-sided glass wall case between two classrooms; a few will go to the Racine Art Museum, which has the largest collection of contemporary crafts in North America. The search for new ones goes on, though mostly online, now.
Isaacs boasts a collection of nearly 450 free-range ceramic cups, both functional and nonfunctional, by many well-known contemporary ceramists. Photo by Ron Isaacs
What were some of the challenges in your career as a college professor? What were some of the best parts of the job? The biggest challenge was my basic introverted, shy personality. And nobody much tells you how to teach college, so you recall the examples, good and not-so, of the teachers you’ve had. (Is sarcasm an effective teaching tool?) I still feel bad about my uncertain, inexperienced earliest classes, and wish I had a do-over. I was getting the hang of it later on, especially toward the end, with what I feel were well-designed sequences of assignments and effective explanations, and reasonably articulate lectures and critiques. (I have noted, more than once, that just as you’re getting good at something, it’s over. Including life. That’s my moment of wisdom for the day.) The best parts were getting strong responses from students, seeing the occasional light bulbs over their heads and a good development from start to semester’s end and beyond. And watching a decent number of them go on to have actual, meaningful careers in art.
Do you have any career advice for someone working toward a career as an artist? Establish a flow of work, even as a student; just keep it coming, good or bad, experiments or major pieces or potboilers. Mostly, just show up to work without waiting for inspiration or the muse of painting or whatever to fly down and whisper in your ear. The best ideas come out of the work itself. Seriously.
Where do you go to feel inspired? Upstairs, to my studio and workshop; everything is waiting.
Do you have a passion outside of your work? Not particularly. I read good science fiction, keep my eye out for imagery and format idea starters, and listen to an eclectic variety of music as I work. And take walks, for exercise and looking around. And look for cups online and in person.
What is your favorite tool in your studio? My scroll saw. Maybe that’s too obvious.
How did you and your wife, Judy, meet? Judy and I met in grad school, at Indiana University in Bloomington. We both lived in the graduate residence center dorms and ate at the cafeteria, where she seemed to always have an entourage of male friends at her table. I introduced myself to her in line one day, reintroduced myself a few days later, and gradually worked my way onto her table. I left funny notes on her windshield and proposed odd dates like walking in rain without umbrellas or washing our cars together. It eventually worked, to my amazement. We recently had our 54th anniversary, and I couldn’t have possibly asked for a better, more supportive friend and life partner.
Artist Ron Isaacs at work in his studio with his favorite tool, the scroll saw. Photo by Judy Isaacs