Millions recognize Helen Van Wyk as the host of PBS Television's "Welcome to my Studio" which, for many years, was a breath of fresh air on TV for serious artists who wanted to know more about their craft. Rather than introducing a formula for making paintings Helen took the time to teach the reasoning behind every brush stroke and its value in reaching the goal of a finished work.

I remember watching her show and being mesmerized, not by her creation of a painting, but by her absolute clarity of knowledge and her astounding ability to convey complex thoughts in a matter of a few, always informal, words.

"Put that cast shadow right underneath that vase," she'd say. "Park it's little carcass...because without it, the vase will appear to float." Always the why. Always the reason. Always a very clear instruction. She was a note taker's dream as I found out in studying with her. She had an ability to make everything seem right. And oh yes, if you were doing something wrong, you'd hear about that, too! No foolishness allowed.

"Painting isn't fun!" she would say, "It's a battle between you and that canvas as you try to turn its flat 2-dimsenionalness into a 3-dimensional being!"

It was one of the rare occasions somewhere in 1992, when I picked up a pen and wrote a fan letter. And to my surprise, a few days later she called me. I had given her my office telephone number feeling she'd never need to call me, and I was rarely in the office at that time since I was producing and announcing shows, tours, events, and was spotty in my office attendance. But when I picked up the phone and a familiar voice said "Hi Jan! This is Helen!" I didn't even need to ask, "Helen, who?" And we had an animated conversation about each others' careers and I realized she was among the few people I've met with whom conversation became an art form. Effortless, educational, fun, lifely, all the positive adjectives applied.

Out of pure respect for her, I continued writing notes, asking questions, and she continued calling me with answers and friendly chatter. Until we met in person at her studio in Rockport, she had never talked about her life before I got to know her, figuring, I'm sure, that I knew how to read her biographies published in all her books. But those phone calls were the perfect stage setting for when we would ultimately meet, face-to-face, at her studio in Rockport, Cape Ann, Massachusetts.

She was born in Fair Lawn, New Jersey and - like me - was painting seriously by an early pre-teen age. She studied with Ralph Entwistle and her biggest teaching influence, Maxmillian Rasko - a portrait painter and teacher. Soon as she got her own "legs" as a professional artist she, too, was off teaching people the wonders of good technique. Thousands have studied with her in her painting demonstrations around the country and came away the better for it.

In 1990 she began her PBS television series - the same year she was diagnosed with brain cancer. She continued going full tilt with television shows, demonstrations and commissioned paintings. It was her relief from the terror she must have been feeling.

I last saw her in Cape Ann in June of 1994. She told me that a continuous release "radiation bullet" they had installed in her brain, as well as her continual visualization of the tumor shrinking was, apparently working. But we all could tell she wasn't anywhere near her usual 110 percent.

She informed me - almost with a sadness in her voice - that she and her husband, cartoonist Herb Rogoff, had decided to spend Winters down in Florida because she simply couldn't take the cold Rockport winters any more. But injecting, as usual, a positive note, she mentioned that she would enjoy teaching practicing artists down in the southland, and perhaps might find a new "audience" for her classes and television series - which, surprisingly, she intended to continue. I remember thinking that I doubted she would feel well enough to do those things, but offered encouragement since she was already skilled at overlooking her physical state more than anyone I've ever known.

The seminar I was attending at the time was 8 hours or more a day, 5 days a week - and on weekends she would prepare for the next one! She was not well at all, but plowed through the daily sessions with an incredible deftness, humor, and energy.

Despite her decreasing energy level, when she was standing in "her place", palette in hand, canvas at the ready, she was a tiger and a fountain of valuable information. The pin-drop silence in a room of 40 people was awe inspiring as her students learned and absorbed.

Her students ranged from beginners to professionals and everyone walked away having learned new things. If they had studied with her before, they had come again to brush up and to reinforce. A "Helen session" was one in which nobody but Helen painted. Everyone, however, had been told to bring one of their paintings for critique; one which the artist wouldn't mind if Helen painted corrections on, while giving valuable lessons and corrections - which is what art creation is: "a record of a series of corrections" as she often defined a painting.

This master artist divested herself of 50 years of knowledge, so selfessly and with such charm, earthy humor, solid truth. She genuinely believed that if she could paint well, then so could anyone! "You learn the techniques. You train your eye. You put yourself in charge. And if you're serious, everything will fall into place as you paint."

While at one of Helen's instruction sessions there are always students who have studied with her before, Most in the crowd are basically first-timers; strangers on the first day. It is somewhat uncomfortable before the first lunch break because nobody knows anything about each other, they are reluctant to speak up, and all are certain they'd die if called up in front of a class full of strangers. Surely you'll remember your first day as a Freshman in high school. And that's what happened to me, as she selected my painting, "Pepper Pot Soup" as her third painting critique of the first morning of the week's session. I remember my "frozen moment" clearly.

First, you don't know what will be expected of you. So you opt to sit quietly and to pay attention - difficult in trying conditions. Secondly, you have this feeling she's going to rip you apart, questioning your whys and hows and pointing out that in the intelligent world of painting, you - yes, YOU - are a dud!

Oh God! Mortification sets in. You could assume that Helen was going to let you have it, both barrels, no punches pulled. Never in a demeaning way but also never gently. Her attitude was always forthright: "you're here to learn this stuff. I would be shortchanging you if I glossed over your errors." It was the kind of honest critique we hungered for yet feared, though it is a tad disconcerting in front of a room full of people to whom you haven't even said "Hello" yet; but it is just the kind of criticism one needs. "Teach me more! Whip it into me!" I was a dog. Head bowed, eyes looking up - sadly. But my tail was slightly wagging as if to say, "is there any hope you'll like me?"

"Jan," she began as I snapped the picture above, "this is a very nice painting!" (I wait for a shoe to drop.) "It has many technically nice features but..." (oh here it comes!) "you should never sign your name on a painting at a slant! Always horizontal, easy to read." (Big Van Wyk grin. Bigger sigh from fidgeting, nervous artist and swelling laughter among the crowd!)

After breaking the ice with a moment of comedy, Helen did find potential improvements to help the painting - and she was absolutely correct in finding possibilities I had overlooked.

"The pot could be warmer" she added, quickly turning the cold bluish pan warm by mixing a nice, thin umber-sienna glaze to wash over it. "Metallic objects can be warmed up, it is not necessary to paint them cold and bluish as is the realistic fact. In a wonderfully warm painting, though, everything must work toward the painting's goal. And she continued...

"Perhaps the fine detail in the edge of the cloth could be pulled back a bit so as not to detract from the focal point: the red pepper," and she painted out some of the detail. "Of course," she continued, "less detail nearest the subject matter means fewer distractions from the focal area." It is these little bits of advice which made her a master instructor. They were terse, filled with reasoning, and indicative of her full understanding of how viewers take in a work of art.

And on she went, through the works of more than 20 artists. The first break in the morning was a great stress reliever and after we had all chatted with one another we were much better acquainted and we unlucky souls who had our pictures critiqued prior to lunch now knew we could relax and learn for the rest of the week. It was nice to learn each had the same fears and frustrations.

Helen had a unique gift of being able to simultaneously paint a subject with her hands and eyes, while continuing to speak continuously of important, complex painting issues as she went along. I'm a pianist, but I could never master the art of carrying on a conversation while playing. Yet, that is exactly what Helen did while painting. But this ability of hers made it virtually impossible to take all the needed notes AND make quick sketches AND to watch what she was doing. This meant that we students were frantically taking notes, sketching examples, asking questions, and watching her painting progress, all the while feeling inadequate because we weren't getting it ALL down on paper. But, I realize now - 5 years later - the notes I did take, the sketches I was able to make, and the answers to questions I was able to ask, set me further ahead as a painter than anything else I had learned in the previous 40 years.

VIEWS OF HELEN'S PERSONAL PAINTING STUDIO JUST STEPS FROM HER
TEACHING STUDIO WHERE A MUSEUM-FULL OF PORTRAITS WERE ON DISPLAY

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Interview with Helen Van Wyk

In mid-1994 after a hearty lunch of lobster sandwiches Herb had gathered up from the to-go window of a local Rockport restaurant over on Bearskin Neck, Helen and I sat down in her private studio for a short while and just chatted.

Jan - What do you feel is the real secret behind your painting success?

Helen - I don't think I can put my finger on one thing. The whole secret is the years you spend learning your craft. It's the same way with a pianist, or a singer of opera. I like to tell people who ask me how long it took to finish a painting that it took me 2 days.....and 40 years! But if I had to put things into quick advice, I would say, "always paint plausibly". You see if a painting isn't plausible to the viewer then nothing else you can do will make it complete.

Jan - Your mentor, Maxmilian Rasko, he was a portrait painter?

Helen - Oh he was much more than just that. He was a teacher. I mean a real teacher, the sort whose every waking moment is devoted to showing you the way. One time he went out and bought a big bag of apples. He poured them out onto a table and told me, "Now spend the day painting these apples". So I did as I was told.

When the painting was completed, he went over and put the apples back into the bag. Then he brought me the bag of apples and said, "All right now, I want you to pull each apple out of the bag and show me which one is which in your painting!" It was a tough lesson in the difference between knowing - as we all do - that no two apples are alike, and actually painting them so you could tell them apart!

Jan Who is Gertrude?

Helen (Laughs) Gertrude was a student in a seminar some time ago. She painted a beautiful pear with an unusual lump in it. The lump was so counter to the rest of the painting, I asked her why she put it there. "Because it WAS there," she said. Well that's a good example of why the artist should be in charge. She would have been much better off omitting the lump, because it drew the viewer's eye straight to the lump - a defect - and, focusing on that, the viewer missed the beauty of the succulent pear. She should have painted what should BE, not necessarily what she saw. There's that plausibility thing again.

(Note: the following is my favorite of all the thousands of "Helenisms" and the one I quote most often when dealing with beginning art students.

Jan - You really put everything into painting! In this morning's demonstration you finished with your hands and arms covered with paint, it's on your blouse, the floor. You really get into it!

Helen (feigning surprise!) Well that's the essense of most artists' problems with painting, you know. Timidity. You CAN'T be timid. Don't be in awe of painting. Don't be afraid of the process! It's you who's in charge so grab that canvas with gusto and beat the CRAP out of it!"

After the interview we went back into our final afternoon of class for the week and as we departed, there were many best wishes, tears and expressions of concern for Helen's health.

HELENISMS

Helenisms are those little "mutterances" Helen would come out with at the most unexpected times, but which always reflected her ready sense of humor. Our thanks to many people who have contributed "Helenisms" gleaned from class sessions and her television and video appearances, and if you have a favorite, let us know.:

Alan writes:

Here are some Helenisms you might remember from her show "Welcome to my Studio" - I always laughed whenever Helen would say "the Holland people" I would yell at my TV - "the Dutch, Helen, the Dutch!" - I now say "Holland people" as a kind of personal joke to myself.

• Another Helenism is when she's drawing a perfect circle she would say, "people ask me how I can draw a circle so perfectly and I say years of drinkin'!"

• And then when she's talking about an underpainting she'll say "an underpainting is like underwear, it makes you look better in the end"

• And then there's "and the light comes from above, hallelujah!"

• And the classic "start on time and keep the flame low"

- that's all I can think of for now - I downloaded her cataloge of videos from the WHMT website so now I can get access to some more videos and hopefully some more "Helenisms"

-Alan

From her video, "Oil Painting Techniques and Procedures:" as she applies an area of paint whose color doesn't please her, "Well, Helen, that was dumb!"

On "Welcome To My Studio", while painting a background, Helen said:"It's best to do the background first. Painting a background around the subject is like putting your bra on through your sleeve!" :)

Helen Van Wyk passed away in December, 1994 a week before Christmas. We artists who studied personally with Helen, and who paid reasonable attention, were given a priceless legacy upon which to build our hobbies, careers and professions in painting. Because of the tireless work of her superb husband, Herb Rogoff, Helen lives on in her BOOKS. (For Videos, click HERE). He has overseen the publishing and updating of several of her books, some with new color pictures and even additional paintings by close friends and associates of Helen's. I own them all, and many are autographed by Helen. Reading them is like being right back in class again!

Thank you Helen
For your lifetime of giving!