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In early September, New Bedford artist and craftsman David Richardson died after long suffering from a respiratory illness. He once told me, as matter of factly as he always was, that his health issues were “his own fault” as he had long been a heavy cigarette smoker. But I do not wish to say anymore about his death.
Instead, I celebrate his life and accomplishments, his friendship and generosity, and his craftsmanship and art.
He was born in 1951 and raised in suburban Rye, New York, 40 miles north of New York City. During the golden era of advertising as exemplified in “Mad Men,” his father was the vice president of advertising for Chesebrough-Ponds, manufacturer of Vaseline petroleum jelly, Ponds beauty lotions, Q-tips and a plethora of other well-known consumer products. His mother was a fashion model and designer in New York City, and a life-long painter.
Richardson’s parents exposed him and his siblings to cultural pursuits at an early age. His mother made frequent trips to Manhattan with her children to visit the Met, the Whitney, MOMA and the Museum of Natural History. Growing up in a house that knew and made art, he was familiar with the work of Wyeth, Dali, Matisse, Warhol, Hopper and the rest of the pantheon.
At 16, he wanted to be Picasso. He wanted to buy a house in the south of France, to fill it with his own paintings (undoubtedly of scantily clad women), and to meet, converse and drink with painters, sculptors, poets and philosophers.
His father called in a favor and arranged for him to work as an unpaid intern under William Vandivert, a former photojournalist for Life magazine who documented some of the horrors of Hitler’s death camps before becoming a commercial photographer. Richardson ran errands, worked in the darkroom and went on location shoots.
Photography was the first medium that he fully embraced. Later — after attending Woodstock with his girlfriend — he went on to study at the Rhode Island School of Design, where his instructors included the famed photographers Aaron Siskind and Harry Callahan.
RISD proved to be a profound experience. In his freshman year, Warhol was invited by the school’s museum to create “Raid the Icebox,” a legendary show from their storied collection. Visitors included the performance artist Vito Acconci and the Swiss photographer and filmmaker Robert Frank. One of his classmates was Mary Boone, who later became a much-respected NYC gallerist. And there were a trio of students starting up a little band called Talking Heads.
After graduation, Richardson took a Kerouac-inspired road trip with his cameras and a few carpentry tools, traveling about in Colorado, California and southwest Mexico before returning to Rye. Bored, he eventually began working in Lynn, Massachusetts, at the Attwill Furniture Company doing antique restoration work, which he described as a “life-long day job.”
He started taking a drawing class in Boston, where he met the man he described as his “most important mentor,” the Japanese artist Kaji Aso.
“Mr. Aso,” as Richardson (and everyone else) always referred to him, taught not only drawing but also painting, calligraphy, traditional sumi-e painting and tea ceremony. Richardson ended up teaching the class for a decade. One day in 1982, a woman came in to take a class. Her name was Jane. They married in the spring of 1983. Mr. Aso was the best man.
Beyond the restoration work, Richardson began making contemporary furniture that often incorporated elements of photography, painting, screen printing, calligraphy, and even the occasional poem. Taking inspiration from classic Japanese tea bowls, which combine the utilitarian with the contemplative, he fused high art and useful form.
“Six Views of the Hozu River” is a fine and handsome example of the marriage of the utilitarian and the contemplative within Richardson’s work, with its pigment stained cherry and maple. It is perfectly functional for storing china or a few choice bottles of liquor and it is a lovely work of art, with its oddly beautiful colors. The gesture drawings on the doors suggest rain hitting puddles and there is a curious overall anthropomorphism.
“Drifting” is a cherry and mahogany side table to which vivid cyanotype prints have been adhered. They include nautical imagery, references to Moby-Dick, a picture of an insect and a poem by Yoko Ono. None of it is necessary but all of it is perfect.
I’d guesstimate that the South Coast has well over 200 painters and printmakers, and a significant number of ceramicists, sculptors, photographers, poets, musicians, fiber artists, and multimedia interdisciplinarians.
But I’m only aware of a few woodworking artists. I wanted to ask others in Richardson’s primary discipline what they think of his work so I reached out to the only two that I know well. Coincidentally, Michael Pietragalla and Scott Currier both have workspaces in the Hatch Street Studios. I made a few phone calls and drove to the old North End factory building for a chat.
All three were contemporaries, very near the same age. Currier had exhibited with Richardson in a small group exhibition of cabinetry some years ago but he didn’t know him beyond perhaps a brief chat at the opening. And Pietragalla didn’t recall ever having a conversation with him. Granted, Richardson did not ever have a studio at Hatch and so their opportunities for casual interactions were limited.
But both knew his work. And both were impressed by his craftsmanship and creativity. Both respected his determination and his long game.
Pietragalla is a true traditionalist woodworker. He makes fine cabinets, chairs, jewelry boxes, cutting boards, kitchen utensils and more. Currier makes a living installing kitchens, but his studio work is outside the box. Using wood and other materials, his work is anything but traditional. The last thing I saw in his studio was a chair made, in part, with a traffic light.
I realized that Richardson’s works exist somewhere between the two of them. Pietragalla’s approach is Apollonian. Currier’s sensibility is Dionysian. Richardson respected order but toyed with chaos, and did it all with a wink and a nod. All three are fellow travelers in their field.
He is survived by his wife Jane, his son Gabriel (also a woodworker and artist), his extended family, and many friends and colleagues. In lieu of a formal service, an exhibition of his artwork will be arranged at a time and place to be determined.
Richardson once wrote the following about his work: “All the joints need to be seamless. The proportions fair and true.”
Somehow, I think that’s true of David, too.
Don Wilkinson has been writing art reviews, artist profiles and cultural commentary on the South Coast for over a decade. He has been published in local newspapers and regional art magazines. He is a graduate of the Swain School of Design and the CVPA at UMass Dartmouth. Email him at dwilkinson@newbedfordlight.org
