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Artist
of "Buster's Mom" --
Jerry
Zorthian Dies at 92
Born: April 14, 1911, in Kutahya,
Turkey. / Died: January. 3, 2003-----Col. Jirayr
"Jerry" H. Zorthian, a longtime Pasadena artist and
a staunch supporter of the annual Doo Dah Parade,
died Monday night after suffering a heart attack.
He was 92.
-----The eclectic
Artist played host to the 1968 Feature Films,
"Buster Ladd" and "Star Maker", staring Troy Cory
and Wendle Corey, directed by John Carr. His
masterfull Art work "Buster's
Mom"- was featured. Since that time, "show biz
was the name of his game", said Guido Meindl. He
became a regular participant in the first Doo Dah
Parade nearly 30 years ago and continued
participating in the wacky Rose Parade alternative
on horseback, that is until horses were
banished.
-----Over the last two
years, Zorthian held the tryouts for the Doo Dah
Queen at his ranch in Altadena, where he often held
birthday parties for himself featuring dancing
girls dressed in togas.
-----He is survived by
his wife of 46 years, Dabney, and their three
children: Alan, Toby and Alice. Two children from a
prior marriage and multiple grandchildren also
survive him.
-----Funeral
arrangements were pending. Friends planned to
celebrate his life.
-----" He was very
much of a living, breathing, uninhibited, very
talented artist," said Dabney.
-----" He had a vision
unlike anyone else's."
----- " He lived a
full life," said Alan. "We all rode in the first
few Doo Doh Parades on our horses. He loved the
parade.
-----"But even after
the horses were banned, Zorthian continued to be a
big part of the annual Tournament of Roses
sendup. " He would
watch from out VIP section," said Tom Coston,
president of the Light Bringer Project, the
organization that purchased the rights to the
parade from its originator, Peter Apanel, for $2 in
1995.
-----" He would always
dance in the streets," Coston said of the bearded,
diminutive Zorthian.
-----" Every year he
talked about what he was going to do."
-----Over the last two
years, Zorthian held the tryouts for the Doo Dah
Queen at his ranch in Altadena, but he missed last
November's parade due to a bout with pneumonia.
-----Zorthian was
admitted to Huntington Memorial Hospital Saturday,
January. 3, 2003. He died of congestive heart
failure at 1:10 p.m. Tuesday, said family friend
Regina Mitchell.
-----He was surrounded
by his family when he died, Mitchell
said. " There is going
to be a hell of a wake," said Mitchell.-----The
wake was to be at the Zorthian Ranch at noon
Sunday. The ranch was the site of many of
Zorthian's wild birthday parties where he sometimes
danced naked with the toga-clad girls, which he
referred to as "nymphs."
Standing at just 5-2, Zorthian's life cast a
giant shadow.
-----According to his
Web site, he was born on April 14, 1911, in
Kutahya, Turkey. / Died: January. 3, 2003. He came
to the United State when he was 11 and his family
settled in New Haven, Conn.
Years later, he graduated from Yale
University and continued his studies as he traveled
throughout Europe. After he returned to the United
States, he established himself as a mural painter,
but just as he began to establish himself World War
II erupted and Zorthian's career was sidetracked by
the war.
-----He came to Los
Angeles after the war and painted 42 murals around
the country, including 11 for the state of
Tennessee. It was a Tennessee governor who made him
an honorary Colonel.
-----In 1997 Pasadena
residents voted him Best Artist and Most Eccentric
in a "Best of " issue of the Pasadena Weekly
-----" He did not
belong to any art movements," said Dabney. "He just
had his own vision."
Zorthian also had a strong love for
animals.
------" Jerry has been
working with the business community down on Olvera
Street for over 50 years," said Doug Larner. "He
helped set up a blessing of the animals the
Saturday before Easter [and] the priests
would bless people's pets. He would take horses,
dogs, cats, geese down there. The entire Mexican
community is involved now, and now Cardinal
[Roger M.] Mahony leads the blessing.
People from all over California take animals down
there. It is a whole fiesta. Three years ago they
honored him with a beautiful painting of him. This
is something he has been organizing for over 50
years." But it was for his love of horses that
Zorthian is perhaps best known.
-----He rode in the
Los Cabolleros ride, a 55-year-old annual event in
which more than 100 horses and people spend five
days riding horses on Catalina Island.
-----" We got to go
these wonderful places all of these men know Jerry
and he bought special meaning to them and these
clubs," Larner said.
-----Despite his
advanced age, Zorthian's death still came as a
surprise to some. " He was always hearty and
vigorous and a part of everything around him, even
though he was older," said
Coston. " He was so
vital to everybody who knew him. He was a big part
of Pasadena's heritage and history. I can't imagine
him not being part of the Pasadena fabric. His
resonance will stay a long time. Some people pass
on and they are in your memory. Other people pass
on and their presence seems to stay with us,"
Coston said.
------" I watched him
stand on the rail on the boat at Catalina and he
jumped into the arms of the cowboys," Larner
recalled. "He was 90 and it was like he was jumping
into a mosh pit. People are already missing the
man."
The
Last Bohemian,
RIP
Jirayr
Zorthian, 1911ñ2004
by
Paul J. Karlstrom
----- -I
first met Jirayr Zorthian and his famously
patient wife, Dabney, at their San Gabriel Mountain
ranch about nine or 10 years ago. At that point I
knew nothing about him and the extraordinary
environment he and his imagination had created. I
vaguely remember having heard about an eccentric
and colorful little man somewhere up above
Altadena, and perhaps also something about the
ìpaganî celebrations ó
latter-day hippie gatherings,
----- I
supposed that were held there. Legend, as I was to
learn, had it that the likes of Charlie Parker and
other jazz luminaries would jam at the ranch well
into the morning. Socialites attended these soirees
along with JPL and Caltech scientists and, as the
story is told, rode around the property on
horseback, naked. Little did I know that I, too,
would be quickly and helplessly drawn into the
loose circle in which Zorthian and his ranch formed
the vital center. So, when early last week I
received the news of his departure, I took it
personally.
-----I
had been encouraged to pay him a visit in my
professional capacity as West Coast director of the
Smithsonian Institutionís Archives of
American Art. It was pointed out that he was over
80 years old at the time and had been active as a
muralist in the government arts programs of the
1930s. Yes, a visit seemed appropriate, even
required.
-----The
truth is that I was totally unprepared for the
extraordinary world that welcomed me at the top of
the winding private dirt road. As I recall, the
view over Pasadena and the L.A. basin toward
downtown was spectacular that day, as it was on the
day of his burial and the memorial gathering at the
ranch attended by more than 300 friends.
----- I
showed up in a blue blazer and tie, standard D.C.
Beltway/Smithsonian sartorial fare. Jirayr was
unimpressed but didnít show his disapproval.
He was entirely charming and gracious. (Zorba the
Greek himself, I thought, as I tried to adjust to
this unfamiliar ó and seductive ó
professional situation. How do I behave?)
----- At
any rate, it soon became clear that my attire was
not only stuffy but inappropriate for the dusty
setting and rough terrain we were to explore during
our guided tour of his property. I removed my tie
and never again made the same fashion error. Far
more significant for my personal growth, however,
was a subtle change in the way I thought about
other accepted conventions and alternative ways to
conduct oneís life.
-----My
hostís enthusiasm for his ongoing project
was infectious. Quickly I understood that his
conception was to create at his ranch nothing less
than an art utopia. Wow! Is this ever cool, I
thought. So that is how I have described his
extraordinary environment ever since. And my
descriptions inevitably are met with an urgent
request to visit. Over the years I have escorted a
number of people, mostly from the art world, to the
bohemia of Altadena.
----- Among
them were two models who posed during the
mid-1960s, both for Jirayr and his great friend
ó and, Jirayr would no doubt add, student
ó Richard Feynman. The models recalled how
years ago one of them had agreed to be a surprise
ó or perhaps a gift ó for another of
Zorthianís friends, with whom she ended up
living. Zorthian as Cupid, as well as
Pan.
-----As
time went by and my forays up the mountain became
more frequent, and under the influence of
atmosphere and setting, I began to think of
Zorthian as the genuine article: an authentic
bohemian. I came to recognize that he was one of
the few among us who was truly interesting.
----- And
slowly I began to understand that his entire life
was being conducted as an ongoing work of
performance art. It seemed that Zorth was showing
us that the process of change ó and the
enjoyment of all that that involves ó is
what matters in life.
-----On
that first visit I was made to stay for lunch, a
typical example of the Zorthian hospitality with
which I was to become so familiar. Having removed
coat and tie, I settled down at the rustic wooden
table in the incredibly cluttered living/dining
room of the small house in which the Zorthians had
lived for years while the various structures slowly
rose around them.
----- Even
more cluttered is the bedroom, which they seldom
used due to their habit of sleeping outdoors. One
or the other assured me that the practice is
excellent not only for general health and
well-being but also for the amorous life.
Love-making at least once a day alfresco all but
guarantees sexual health and vitality.
-----As
we ate our lunch, prepared by Dabney, Zorthian kept
calling for more wine. ìDabney, more wine
for Paul! His glass is empty.î That day I got
my first taste of the energy Jirayr brought to his
social interactions, and the ability he had
ó when he decided to use it ó to make
his guests feel as if they were each someone very
special.
----- It
seemed to me, however, that he reserved his main
attention and charm for the most attractive women
among his visitors. And he was outspokenly proud of
what he imagined to be his special power over them.
He would say to me and other hapless males, those
he viewed as his competition, ìSo, you think
you know about women, huh? Well, you donít
know a thing.î
-----No
amount of deferential reassurance of his primacy in
that arena seemed to satisfy him. And it is the
case that he was surrounded by an impressive and
most comely collection of adoring young models and
nymphs who, dressed only in garlands of flowers,
would dance for Zorbacchus at the annual Primavera
celebration of his and Dabneyís birthdays.
----- What
was in it for Dabney, we wondered, other than the
single concession of a cavorting Pan with pipes
whose furry goat leggings left visible his satyr
masculinity? It always was Jirayrís show,
with others playing supportive roles. Three nymphs,
summoned by Dabney, appeared at the Huntington
Memorial Hospital to try to get a response from
their departing Zorbacchus.
That
first day at the ranch,
my
introduction to what I came to think of as Zorth
Land, I spent the entire afternoon, returning the
next day with my wife and friends. ìDo I
ever have a treat for you!î I enthused.
Another guest was a young woman artist of striking
beauty and sensual appeal who eventually agreed to
pose for him and even joined the covey of nude
nymphs at one of the spring Primavera bacchanals.
----- For
each of his years after 80, another nymph was
added. And almost every year, Jirayr urged me to
convince my wife to agree to join his younger
models (she was 50 when we first met the Zorthians,
and in fact had been an artistís model
herself some years earlier). She seemed amused by
the offer but, with a smile, gracefully declined.
Still, Dabney and other older female friends
continued to lobby for a more mature nymph at the
bacchanal. Their lack of success was a revealing
sign of Zorthianís unyielding and tenacious
attachment to youth. That, no doubt, was a factor
in his longevity.
-----As
it turned out, I did collect the Zorthian papers
for the national research collection. And I also
conducted a series of taped interviews ó
spirited and frequently combative, it will come as
no surprise to those who knew my subject ó
that are available online
(www.archivesofamericanart.si.edu) for those
who might want to pay Jirayr a final visit. On more
than one of these occasions, the basic rule of
avoiding alcohol during such important professional
activity was relaxed (against my better judgment,
of course). ìMore wine, Dabney!î When
in bohemia, I reasoned, do as the bohemians
do.
-----As
we drank wine and recorded for posterity, the
famously competitive Jirayr Zorthian emerged,
testing my ability to remain neutral as he
questioned my intellectual credentials and, or so
it seemed, my manhood as well. Among the many
subjects we discussed and even debated was the role
of nudity (especially female) in large-scale works
that he asserts carry important social messages.
----- For
Zorthian, it seems, the beautiful human body was
indeed, appearances notwithstanding, not merely an
object but a potent means of communication for any
and all ideas, as well as a source of inspiration
and aesthetic delight. In a very real sense, his
nudes are autobiographical, telling more about him
than his subjects. But he is not alone in that
regard.
-----First,
visitors to his crowded studio, cluttered with
large canvases and framed drawings, were often
nonplussed if not actually offended by his
ubiquitous and clinical depictions of the female
body. His focus on female genitalia seemed
obsessive, and, unfortunately for many viewers,
that tended to undercut any loftier aesthetic or
intellectual goals.
----- Jirayr
dismissed such critics as puritans, comparing
American prudery to liberated European views on the
subject. He gleefully offered to share his Zorthian
erotica with those who were interested, and some of
the more surreal examples are quite successful as
works of art. The recent nudes (from the
í90s) are more problematic, characterized by
a crisp, controlled linear style that bespeaks
illustration.
----- The
many narrative works for which Jirayrís
final muse, model Jennifer Fabos, posed tend to be
obsessively focused. Each painting tells a story
expressing issues of concern to the artist or
illustrating events from his childhood. One
noteworthy example, Memory of Youth: French
Teacher, depicts a young red-haired boy outside
a room looking longingly through a window at two
remarkably sexy nude female figures. According to
the artist, the women ó both drawn from
Jennifer ó are intended to represent his
teacher viewed from front and rear simultaneously.
----- The
boy is, of course, Jirayr. And the teacher, about
whom he apparently had sexual fantasies, is the
symbol of his awakening. For many viewers, however,
the autobiographical content of the scene is really
lost in the fetishistic focus on the lovingly
observed details of female anatomy. Whatever their
other qualities, these paintings constitute an
aspect of Zorthianís oeuvre that provides a
textbook example of the male gaze at
work.
I
came to believe that Zorthian and his world
are
all but unique in this day and age. Certainly
Iíve never seen anyone, or anything, else
quite compare. (And it has been my good fortune to
be paid to get to know artists and investigate the
art life.) The exception, I suppose, might have
been Jean Varda ó another pagan endowed with
the life force ó who held court in a
houseboat moored at Sausalito. Both artists, and
especially Zorthian, extended the tradition of
Norman Lindsay, the ìhereticalî
Australian artist who celebrated pagan sensuality
and the liberating power of sex in his
controversial paintings.
-----That
energy ó the sensuality and passionate
enthusiasm that informs the life force ó is,
above all, what kept the diminutive but powerful
artist (he was famously proud of his strength,
inviting everyone to feel his hard calves or
ó in the case of female admirers ó
his thighs) uncannily youthful almost to the end. I
hope the rest of us do nearly as well and learn to
live life as fully. Zorthian was, as I have often
referred to him, the ìlast bohemianî
(whether or not he liked the term; and he claimed
not to). Living the Art Life served Dabney and
Jirayr very well, indeed.
----- The
rest of us, far more timid types, would do well to
pay attention and make the appropriate adjustments
accordingly. Whatever place history and the art
world finally assign to Jirayr Zorthian, and that
judgment will take a while, the man and his zest
for life will not soon be
forgotten.-----Read
more recollections
of Zorthian
by Anthony Ausgang, Lynn Foulkes, Brett Goldstone,
Molly Barnes and Norton Wisdom.
///
The
male gaze at work:
Zorthianís Memory of Youth:
French Teacher
-----The
naked girl leaned back in her chair and scoped out
the crowd. Some of the people surrounding her
returned her look and then turned away, others
stopped to chat, but it was obvious that she
wasnít the main attraction: We were all
looking at paintings of naked women ó
wild paintings leaning against any stationary
object on the patio, some of the images abstracted
into bizarre zaftig contortions, others beautifully
rendered and enticing with their lusty femininity.
These were some of the works of Jirayr Zorthian, a
man who loved the female form, both in the flesh
and on the canvas.
-----The
occasion was the ìCelebration of Lifeî
thrown by Zorthianís family a week after his
passing at the age of 92. The place was
Zorthianís Altadena ranch, a mix of art
junkyard, early-California Spanish architecture and
collapsing hippie monuments. On the fringes of the
property sit dead vehicles from all decades
surrounded by active beehives; at the center is a
large corral holding several horses, and next to
that, the main house and art studio. Some of the
buildings are constructed of telephone poles, and
the beams inside sport glass insulators hanging
upside down.
-----On
the winding road up to the ranch, a finely dressed
group on horseback passed a shuttle van delivering
a number of men wearing red shirts emblazoned
with E Clampus Vitis, members of a vaguely
secret society dedicated to cards, liquor and
occasional philanthropy. They blended into the
eclectic mix of artists, fans and relatives heading
to the patio for a presentation of personal
tributes, music and loose performance art. Nearby,
musicians played Armenian folk tunes in honor of
the man born in Turkey in 1911.
-----The
first person to speak was a distinguished gentleman
who told a story about how a disgruntled artist
once dissed Zorthian by pointing out that he could
hardly be called a ìcontemporary
artist.î Zorthian had replied, ìI
donít want to be contemporary, I want to be
timeless.î The crowd cheered; a caged goose
honked.
-----My
husband had many admirers,î Dabney Zorthian
told me later. ìBut there were a lot of
people that resented him.î Itís easy
to understand why, since Zorthian threw more than
one Bacchanalian binge where he was fed grapes by
naked girls. But such moments of licentiousness
were earned: His artistic output was tremendous. In
one of his studios, I came across a panel that had
been removed from one of his WPA murals from the
í30s; hanging next to it was an energetic
nude from the í90s. The difference in years
and style just amplified his considerable artistic
gift, and that may be what those lesser talents
resented most of all.
Anthony
Ausgang, artist
I
never fucked anyone at the Zorthian Ranch. That
seems wrong somehow. I met plenty of amazing women,
but I never got to run off into the surrounding
oaks for the ìonly emotion.î (For
ìSex is the only emotion,î Zorthian
announced to Kyle, my wife, as he lay on his
deathbed.) Not even when ìZorbacchusî
was presiding at the annual Primavera celebration
did I get lucky.-
-----Zorthian
created ìZorbacchusî for the Primavera
when he was 80, and added a nymph each year to
dance/float around him, tempting him with grapes
and mounds of Venus. He was the quintessential boho
bon vivant. He performed for the elite, yet
welcomed all.
-----ìWhat
is your field of endeavor?î he asked male
visitors. (He avoided the word work, but did
work prodigiously.) ìYou are such an
exciting woman,î he told females. Thousands
knew him.-----His
art was rigorous. At Yale he mastered the historic
techniques of painting. His murals during the WPA
period earned him an honorary rank of colonel.
----- But
his real mastered art was life itself. His life was
a performance. He was on fire. You couldnít
be in a room with him without feeling the intense
heat he generated. Like moths, we fluttered around
this light. At a safe distance it was always a
pleasure, a glass of wine, a vigorous dance. The
closer you got to the flame, the faster you danced
ó or else.
----- He
wrestled life into submission, like the champion he
was.-----He
was a sculptor whose enduring passion became the
construction of a vast complex of Simon
Rodiañlike walls, incorporating dwellings
among the piles of rubble used to construct them.
This biblical backdrop. The Zorthian Ranch. It was
here I met my wife.
Brett
Goldstone, artist
-----To
some, Jirayr Zorthian was an old character who
lived on a ranch in the foothills of Altadena. He
was a bohemian in the true sense of the word. In
the old days he threw wild parties with the likes
of Charlie Parker. He was a good friend of Richard
Feynman ó he taught the physicist how to
paint. Even at 90, Jirayr and his wife, Dabney,
would dance it up at musical happenings many times
a year (always in their colorful attire). But as an
artist he never seemed to get the respect he
deserved.
----- His
early WPA murals were incredible and ahead of their
time. His drawings are some of the best I have
seen. He was fixated on women, as was his spiritual
mentor, Picasso. The last big party Jirayr threw,
he was reclining on a sofa, a wreath on his head
with six young maidens dancing around him feeding
him grapes. He lived the life of the artist, but
beyond the boundaries of the art scene, beyond the
special-interest groups that were and are writing
their own art
history.
Lynn
Foulkes, artist
-----Zorthian
was a sensualist. He really painted the pink. He
was what an artist should be, someone who takes
people out of their mendacity and raises their
consciousness and spirit. And he did it in his life
as well as in his work.
-----He
and Dabney ran a kidsí camp at the ranch in
the summers, and he would instill in these people a
love of life. He covered every stratum ó
youíd see him at the Valley Hunt Club, and
youíd see him slaughtering pigs up on the
hill. He was a fabulous raconteur and a free
spirit; friends I introduced to him felt like
theyíd had a brush with
immortality.
Molly
Barnes, gallerist
-----The
first time I met Zorthian was about 20 years ago at
Caltech, where I had a show up called ìCloud
Chambers,î an artistic vision of physics.
This little guy who looked like Puckís
father walked up to me and said, ìYou
donít know fuck about physics. You should
get your stuff together before you pass yourself
off as an artist or physics enthusiast.î
Wondering who the fuck this guy was, I immediately
attached myself to his side like an
abalone.
-----Another
time, years later, I was performing at Cabaret X,
where the real freaks were. It wasnít a
place anyone would hang out at who wasnít
truly mad, crazy ó in fact, there had just
been a shooting at the front door. And in the midst
of this bizarre scene, I noticed someone holding
court in a corner of the club. It was Zorthian, and
he was lecturing, telling these freaks that they
shouldnít be so focused, they should be more
worldly. Learn to draw! He had everybody
captivated, spellbound. He was the freak of freaks,
and a great leader ó
simultaneously.
Norton
Wisdom, artist-
Respectfully
Submitted
Josie
Cory
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