Sunday Interview with Bruno Zupan: ‘All of my life I painted to amuse myself’

Bruno Zupan’s life is a long love affair.

It’s a love of freedom, painting and his wife of 50 years. He defected from Communist Yugoslavia in 1962 for Paris. There he pursued his dream to become an artist and met the most unlikely of lifetime partners, Jane Ritchie, the daughter of a colonel stationed at Fort Benning. They met in Paris, fell in love, got married and became a formidable artistic team that led him to U.S. citizenship. Zupan paints in short, powerful strokes what he sees, whether it is in Paris, New York, Boston, Venice, Mallorca -- a Spanish island in the Mediterranean Sea -- or Columbus.

In his studio, an oil painting of a street scene in Venice sits next to a night landscape scene of the ballfields under the lights at Lakebottom Park.

Recently, the Zupans sat down with Ledger-Enquirer reporter Chuck Williams in the midtown Columbus studio that sits just off a brick courtyard behind their home in the shadow of the Aflac tower. As Bruno answered questions about his life, career and art, Jane sat nearby, attentive and engaged. At times, she would answer a question or offer insight.

Here are excerpts of the interview, with some of the questions edited for length and the order of some of the questions rearranged for clarity.

You are a child of World War II.

That’s right. I was actually a survivor of Holocaust. My mother was taken to the concentration camps for three or four years, and from time to time they would take me and I grew up with my grandmother. So, as I say, the childhood was completely destroyed -- very poor. My father was shot by Communist when I was 6 years old.

Was he killed?

Yes. At that time it was under Russia, so the same thing that Stalin did, they copied and whoever was against Communism they got rid of. I’m coming back to this background to see why I became a painter.

My mother was desperate for me to be a doctor or engineer. If I couldn’t be a doctor, be a dentist, be a pharmacist, but not a painter. She came from a very wealthy family in Budapest and my father was Slovenian. I was actually born in Slovenia. All of my life I was fighting against institutions and everything else to be a painter.

When did you know you wanted to be a painter?

All of my life. All of my life. My grandmother would buy me colors. I was a very noisy, very loud child and my grandmother would buy me little watercolors and say, “Go in the corner and paint.”

Jane: Shut up and paint.

Bruno: Now my wife says, “Go to the studio. Shut up and paint.” (Laughter)

But what you come out with today is worth a little more than you came out with when you were a child, right?

Yes, but of these things were like a bubbling, you know, to create some kind of personality later on and to realize what you really want to do with your life. My stepfather was an important judge. I thought his life was extremely boring. He suggested maybe I become a lawyer, but you know, I want to be free. I paid for my freedom -- but I am a free man.

How important is freedom to you having grown up under a Communist regime?

It was catastrophic because they didn’t like individualists. They didn’t like creators. Everything was done for the masses. Group thinking. Same thing with the Russians creating social art and making all these statues with their hands up.

The statues we see of Stalin and those today, right?

Right. With the flags in their hands, defending the war, and they are still celebrating those idiots because they don’t have any other glory to celebrate.

When did you leave for Paris?

1962. It was a cold November. I remember I had a suitcase and 20 English pounds hiding in the bottom of my little sports hat.

That’s all you had with you is a suitcase and 20 pounds?

I did speak French, English, Spanish. ...

Jane: No papers.

Bruno: I just wanted to take a chance in my life.

How old were you?

I was 23 years old.

... I didn’t want to serve in the Yugoslavian Army and that another handicap, another reason I’m leaving, I didn’t get along with my stepfather. I didn’t like the institutions. The government was supporting mostly Communist artists. Of course, my father was killed by Communist, so I didn’t have any chance. ... I went with a tour and I left illegally.

What did you do when you finally found your way in Paris?

I was very lucky because in the summer I met some French students from the Adriatic Sea and they say, “If you come to Paris we would like to help you.” So, after spending those English pounds -- in those days you could get cheap hotels for $1, $1.50 -- you know, coffee was like 30 cents. After I spent that, I was walking about three or four days on the streets without a place to live.

At a market selling food, you could stay there all night, with the one coffee that was 20-30 cents. And you have to learn how to drink that coffee for three or four hours, otherwise they would throw you out. You know, it was very cold. I walked by Notre Dame and there was a young man I had met in Croatia. He said, “Hi, where have you been?” I said, “Look, I’m here in France.” He said, “Where do you sleep?” I said, “I don’t have a place.”

I remember some of those bridges; people were sleeping there. That was after the war and the workers were making $60 a month. And he said, “If you don’t mind, beyond that building next to Notre Dame, there is a little room upstairs. It’s a room for the servants and if you don’t mind that the toilet is not in the room -- it’s outside -- and is on the sixth floor.” I said, “I don’t mind.” I walked to that room, opened my suitcase, hang a couple of photographs I had brought of my family and memories, that was the happiest room in Paris. I didn’t mind running up and down stairs buying bread.

How long did you stay in that room?

I stayed about a month and a half. I started painting and I sold some paintings for $30, $40, $50, anything I could survive. I started painting outside and then I met this dealer, Fernand Legros, and he liked my work so he commissioned me to about 40 paintings for $50 each. I thought that I was a wealthy man. But that was later on. I got paid for 20, and another 20, I figured out they had put him in jail because he was selling fake Modiglianis and fake Chagalls, and etc., etc.

Where did your impressionist style come from?

I don’t know why they call me impressionist, but it’s much more modern than impressionist. All of my life I painted to amuse myself. I hate to get bored. I figure out if I get bored, I’m going to bore everybody else. So, in order to paint oils, I get tired of that so I start producing graphics, making serigraphs, making lithographs, going to Chinese inks. If that bores me, I go to watercolors. When I was in Mallorca I was madly in love with the islands. For years, I was glorifying the island. ... I realized the universe is much bigger. And now my latest thing is painting subject which is adapted to completely international appeal. This could be in the middle of Paris, it could be in California, it could be in the ...

It could be over the river in Columbus, Ga.

And it is.

It’s fireworks, by the way, right?

Right. Right. Right.

What painters have influenced your work?

There were many artists I liked. To me, the artist I admired the most in the history of art is (Diego) Velazquez. I go to the Academy of Venice in the Museum and I stand in front of The Pieta (by Titian) which is probably the second, third best painting in the world. I love (Gustav) Klimt because I grew up in that kind of tradition. I was born probably 20 miles next to Austria in Slovenia. At that time the Byzantine art was very important, with a lot of gold. ... So, this was part of my heritage, part of the tradition, because Paris changed me and Columbus changed me, New York changed me, Venice changed me. I just didn’t want to belong to just one place because I realized art is completely international. When people start boxing art -- “This is only American art and we’re only going to collect American art” -- this is fine. Everybody has permission to do whatever they want. But to me, the base was art is international and it belongs to everybody. And there is good art and there is bad art.

Art is its own language?

That’s right. You don’t need to explain. Some contemporary art puts all of this explanation and everything else. There’s some wonderful contemporary artists, but there’s like 85 to 90 percent junk. People who are not able to draw, you know, playing a little bit with colors. They say, “Look, he did this painting with 10 spots of colors. It sold for $50 million. My God, I can do 20 spots of just colors and maybe I can sell it for $500.” It’s so easy to do it.

Is the value of art in the beholder or is the value of the art in the artist?

You know, the real relation with art is with his work. Everything else is public relations.

Jane: Value means monetary value or spiritual value. There are different ways to measure value.

Bruno: When you are here (in the studio) and you’re working, this is a very honest relation. I admire Dalí. I admire Picasso, and I admire some older artists because they were very smart and they earned good living with their art and they were able to experiment and do what they really want. There were some other artists like Modigliani and Van Gogh that didn’t have any sense of public relation and they suffered very badly and died in their 30’s, when they could keep creating more and more for the rest of their lives and give to this humanity good work. Picasso at 50 was still practically nowhere. It went to hell like many other artists. He was very talented and a good showman.

Do you ever think about as an artist the value of your work will likely increase after you are gone?

All of my life, the value of my work is increasing. All of my life and I saw it drastically. But usually after your death everything is different because you cannot produce anymore and the work becomes more rare. And it takes time to put things in their place. You see, today we are glorifying some youngsters who are 20-30 years old and their work is already in 50 museums.

It’s not right. It takes time. You know at the Louvre they didn’t take any living artists. Maybe Toulouse-Lautrec was the only one, etc. Time will explain everything. I wish if Picasso saw his painting being sold for $180 million -- he did very well but he never saw that kind of price in his lifetime. Or Francis Bacon or Klimt or the rest of them.

It’s a fact of life in your business that the value of art increases after an artist dies, right?

Jane: No, it is not. It is a fact of fashion. ... There are so many artist that are virtually worthless today, And in their day they were famous and the top dog. Now, the fashion has changed. It depends on the collectors, and the trends, and the museums, and this and that, and the price at auction. It is all such a controlled world.

Bruno: Everything today we call art; somebody turned potatoes upside down and put it in oven and he became artist. (Laughter.) There was a guy in the circus throwing knives and he called himself artist.

What is art to you?

Art is a very creative process between the person and his work -- extremely creative process.

But you see everything is involved. You don’t paint by just pouring the oil on the canvas. It’s an idea. ...

Your life experience comes to this painting. If you don’t use some music, if you don’t use some poetry, you get more stingy, you lose the whole conception. To put in the proper way, it’s also a religion -- a very strong religion -- something that you believe in, not only what you’re doing, but in yourself and your possibilities. But, if you fall in love with yourself, you fall in serious trouble, then you don’t progress. So, being unhappy, discontent with the things you do, you do the best that you can but at the end saying “I can do better” keeps you going.

You’re 75 years old. How is the artist today different from that kid that landed in Paris?

Very different. I have much more experience. I saw the reality with opened eyes. I was a dreamer all of my life and didn’t like using the childish approach to life because I believed the most beautiful smile is from children. There is nothing polluted in their minds. And all of this influence your progress, all of this influence your next painting.

Where did you and Jane meet?

Bruno: In Paris.

Jane: I went to Paris for my junior year abroad. The fifth day there I ran into him.

Bruno: I was whistling “Georgia On My Mind” and painting.

Seriously, you were whistling “Georgia On My Mind?”

And she said, “I’m from Georgia.” That’s the biggest mistake she ever made.

Literally, you were whistling Georgia On My Mind?”

Yes.

Where did you hear that song?

In Croatia. What happened is I used to go to club of journalist in Zagreb. They had a lovely club and you can have a meal for less money than outside restaurant. And they had a jukebox and I remember playing that over and over until they told me I was going to break the record.

When she said she was from Georgia, what did you think?

I start calling her Georgia. I never heard the name Jane before, so to me she was a Georgia.

When did y’all start dating?

Jane: Then.

So, how long did it take y’all to get married?

Six, seven months.

Jane: Nine months.

You move pretty fast.

Well, I would do anything to get her. I was playing guitar and singing Russian folk songs, love songs, anything.

What was it about Jane that attracted you to her?

... She was very, very beautiful, very attractive. It’s some kind of instinct that we were going to spend many, many years together. She wasn’t the type of girl you meet and you want to take her to your house. She was the type of girl you wanted to have a conversation with. She was the type of woman you wanted to be good friends with.

So, it was an immediate attraction?

Right.

So, you left and came to the States and left her in Paris, right?

No, she was here with her parents, and her dad was a quartermaster at Fort Benning. I was a painter with long hair and no money.

Jane: A Communist hippie -- a passport-seeking Communist hippie. (Laughter)

So, he won your dad over right away, right?

Jane: Did you ever know my dad?

No, I did not.

Jane: Most people in Columbus remember my dad. He retired here and was a teacher at Jordan High School for 20 years. ... He was big, and he was loud, and he was bossy.

Bruno: I remember him when I came here, he was telling Gen. Skelton that “my daughter married some artist from a Communist country with long hair and a Jewish grandmother. My God, I hope he can paint my fence.”

Do you remember the first time you saw Columbus, Ga.?

I thought I was at the end of the world. It was so hot. It was July and August when I lived here. I was painting on the screened porch just sweating. We didn’t have air conditioning.

And this was ...

1964, going into 1965.

And y’all were dating or married?

We were married. I stayed in Boston to do some paintings and I had my first exhibition in Boston College. The professor liked them so much he said, “Maybe you could work as my assistant.” I couldn’t stand the cold weather there, and of course she was living here.

So, I went back to New York and my sponsor gave me a big exhibition in his luxurious apartment and he started selling my work to Red Buttons and all of these important movie stars. So, I collected some money and finally I came here to meet my father-in-law, and it was a shock for him, me, her and everybody else -- the whole street.

What do you remember about that meeting with your father-in-law?

(Long pause) Well, he was very loud. He took me to the electrical switch: “On and off, off and on. You don’t waste electricity.”

Jane: Bruno’s English was not great.

Bruno: He took me to Fort Benning. He was shopping for food and he offered me Scotch at a bar and then he said, “Do you want another drink?” I said, “Another Scotch.” He said, “That’s too expensive, have a beer.” So I had a beer.

He said, “I’m going to the barber to cut my hair a little bit, would you like to accompany me?” And I said, “Sure, I’ll wait for you.” They were cutting his hair and he said, “Why don’t you trim your hair a little bit?” To please him, I did that. Before I knew it, I was scalped. I came home. She was fixing crabs, my favorite meal. This beautiful porcelain plate. She saw me and she dropped everything on the floor and I was so hungry I was picking them up. And that night my daughter was born. She went right to the hospital and Natasha was born.

So, you have very fond memories of this place.

Columbus is like a mother to me now. So, many people were sponsoring me and they were kind to me. I had a fine museum show here. Last year, SunTrust Bank gave me a show at the Museum. Including her parents, the nicest people like the Leeburns, the Turners, Dexter Jordan, like Bowers, like Sanders, they were very fond of my work and sponsoring me and giving me possibilities in the beginning so I can do what I do now.

Jane: This is an important detail, because that financial support from Columbus allowed him not to be forced into signing a contract with a big gallery. If they represent you or if you sign a lifelong worldwide contract with them for a pittance, they take the money.

So, Columbus gave you freedom?

Part of freedom because I was also showing in Greenville, Columbia, Washington, D.C. I had 25 exhibits in Washington, D.C. But Columbus was always icing on the cake.

How does a guy from Communist Eastern Europe become so popular in these wealthy collections in the deep South? How did your work find its way into that niche?

I don’t know. People like my work and I spoke my language with my paintings.

If you look at your work, it could be out of a window or along a riverbank, and it could be Venice or Paris, or Columbus, Spain, or New York City, or Boston. You look through here, your work represents where you are. Do you just look around you?

Wherever I am, I’m looking for beauty. If I am here, I’ll find beauty here. This little garden, the top of the trees, by the river. I used to work with Gerry Bosch and Mary Passailaigue. We would go to the small town of Perry, Ga., and I would paint the old Baptist church there. Or we would go to Pine Mountain and paint some of those barns, Callaway Gardens. As I said before, beauty is everywhere.

You have a painting here of Lakebottom Park. It’s a night ballgame scene. That’s everyday life. You see beauty there?

Jane: It is fantastic. We go for walks there in the evening. That light is magical.

Bruno: You have to be familiar with the subject. ... To paint the one rock, you have to know the mountain. You have to be very much familiar with the temperature, the wind, with everything else to achieve that. This park is not always the same. You go there now and it’s all green and you don’t see very much. But let’s say November, December, you look through those trees, it’s a totally different scene, especially with the light coming from behind. There was another painting I painted of the little creek there.

How many paintings have you painted in your lifetime?

Maybe 4,000.

Jane: 4,208. I number them. You have to have an inventory.

How many are still in your possession?

Maybe 250, 350, including what is in the galleries. Many of them I didn’t want to sell, some I couldn’t sell, so now I’m getting older and I’m thinking about forming some kind of foundation and donate 50 or 60 works to some institution before I pass away.

Your stuff is all over the world?

More or less. I just got a sponsor in Hong Kong and I did some paintings about five times bigger than this (pointing to the one he was working on).

Will it sell in China?

He spotted my work in Boston. All of these people who are sending their children to Harvard and MIT are visiting Boston, and of course they go to galleries and museums.

When you are in different places in the world, do you tell them Columbus, Ga., is one of your other homes?

Yes.

What do people say?

Many times they say, “Where is it?”

Jane: It’s fascinating. There’s nothing more fascinating to a European than Alabama. They love the sound of the word.

You come back here about once a year now, right?

I share my time between here and New York. I have a studio and an apartment in New York. I will stay here for two months, then I will go paint in New York for a month or two, then I’ll be back here.

So, you haven’t painted your best work yet?

No. It’s always the next one.

Of the 4,208 paintings that you have painted, do you have a favorite?

Well, I’m attached to some of them because of a certain time or certain moment in my life. But as I say, my favorite one is always the last one.

What is the feeling when you sign your painting?

That it is mine. It belongs to me.

But you are about to sell it?

So, I have to make a living. You make your living writing, Joe (Paull) makes his living taking photographs, and I make my living being a painter. And many times I am like a tailor -- everybody owns my suits.

When somebody buys one of your paintings, do you still feel the ownership of it?

Yes. Yes I do.

So, they are renting it from you?

Right. I feel like it’s still mine. It’s a big pleasure that someone appreciates what you do. ... Every artist wants to be recognized. As I say, it’s a double pleasure. Sometimes you feel guilty that somebody buys your painting after you have so much fun doing it.

Are you more creative in Venice or in Columbus?

It’s the same everywhere. In Venice, I’m obliged to paint what I see. Actually, here I’m more creative because once you are there in the landscape, you cannot change anything.

Jane: It’s just like a discipline because it’s so architectural. It’s like a study of perspective, color, reflection. Here, it’s a calming down period.

Bruno: Like here, I can put that spot over there or if it’s too heavy on the left side, I can put something on the right side. It’s very painful because you don’t see the end of the painting. During the process you are always doubting. Sometimes you see the landscape, many times you already see the way it’s going to be before you finish the landscape. So, if I lived there all of the time I would be bored to death. If I go there for a month and do some discipline drawing, watercolors, and then I move to another life.

You and Jane are very much a team, are you not?

Yes, we are.

What’s her role on the team?

She writes catalogs, books. Many times she inspires me.

Jane: He’s hardly ever opened an envelope.

Bruno: She runs everything.

Does that allow you to be more creative?

It gives me much more freedom.

Jane: Artists are different. That’s a basic thing. A natural-born artist is a different animal. The brain operates in a different way; it does not occupy itself with bills. (Laughter.) The energy is spent so thoroughly on a creation of a painting.

Your daughter is following in your footsteps.

She is different as an artist.

Her style is very different from yours?

Jane: She was always painting from the age of when she could hold a pencil; she was always painting.

Bruno: Extremely well educated. She graduated from Yale and she went to the National Academy of Fine Arts in New York. Because at Yale, for two years they made her draw on cardboard boxes. So, you pay all of this tuition and everything else hoping your child will walk out of the institution as a good craftsman, which is very interesting. How in the world are you going to compose if you don’t know the notes? So, her drawing was very weak so we had to send her to the National Academy in New York to teach her how to draw. Now in the Art Institution, many of the artists walk on the streets and they don’t know where to go.

Are you proud of her work?

Very much.

You’ve earned a handsome living with your skill.

I didn’t think of that. I was so busy painting. Many times, things are coming to me and I don’t think of it. As I say, it’s a secondary thing. It gives me freedom. It gives me a lot of possibilities to create what I want. It’s very, very difficult without the money to buy a $200 tube of paint.

You see, some of those colors are the finest colors in the world. I want people to have the finest of everything. This canvas is prepared especially for me. I order my paper from Japan.

What would your father-in-law think if he could see y’all now?

He became my very good friend by the end. He would introduce me to his officer, “This is my son-in-law, a famous artist.”

So, he would not be surprised by this?

Before he died, he already knew it. He was very pleased. But you know, I can’t guarantee anything. Security in life doesn’t exist. You know, that’s why many people work all of their life for security and so they can eat. But the best security you can have is yourself and believe in what you can do, especially when you know what you want.

Does that go back to how you were raised and where you were raised?

No, it came with life. It came with slopping with life with the good times, the bad times, disappointing times, success, fiascoes.

You are 75, almost 76. How much longer do you keep doing this?

I would like to die with a brush in my hand. I need it; it’s a necessity. It’s almost like a medicine. Last week after the Boston show, it was so exhausting and extremely successful, and I was resting for about five days and I was getting mad. I didn’t know what to do so I started painting again.

What do you do to relax? Do you play golf or tennis?

In Europe it’s different. I go into the little cafe. I sit and take newspaper in to read to stay informed of the day-to-day happenings. And in the summer we both like to swim. Going to Paris and going to museums, to galleries. But I don’t know much sport. I’m very active in swimming and walking, but I was bad in soccer, maybe a little bit pingpong.

What is your favorite place in the world?

That is the most difficult question. I’m still looking for it.

Will you know when you find it?

I hope so. I hope so. When I’m here, I like to be here. When I’m in Mallorca, I like to be there. And when I’m in Albuquerque, I don’t ask for fish, I ask for what they have locally. When I’m in Mallorca, I don’t drink bourbon -- I like bourbon here. It’s adapting yourself to the place where you are.

Is that why your work has been successful -- your ability to adapt?

That’s one part of it. The second part is I still work six or seven days a week. Maybe that’s why I don’t have a hobby. I was a chessman as a young man going on tournaments, but at the age of 13 or 14, I stopped playing chess. Now, I can give you a solid game in the cafe but nothing more.

What is your favorite spot in Columbus?

By the river. I love to go there. I love to see the river. It is my philosophy: You see the river going by and can go with it, or you can stay on top and look at it. ... Every river I saw has life -- a different kind of life.

Bio

Name: Bruno Zupan

Age: 75

Job: Artist

Home: He has homes in Columbus, New York, and Mallorca, Spain, and spends time at each.

Education: Graduated from the Art Institute of Zagreb, Croatia; pursued higher level studies at the Academy of Fine Art Instruction in Zagreb for two years before he decided to defect from Communist Yugoslavia to live and work in Paris in 1962. In Paris he took life drawing classes from the Grande Chaumière Academy.

Family: Wife of 50 years, Jane Ritchie Zupan; daughter Natasha, who is also an artist

This story was originally published May 23, 2015 at 8:07 PM.