Happier Than A Pig In Mud

Remembering Our Friend, Jimmy Tidwell

(The lovely lady pictured next to me in that slide show at Ford Field is my best friend Kayla. And if you're wondering why we're wearing a bunch of brightly colored friendship bracelets, it was because it's a Thing to do at Taylor Swift concerts--make and trade friendship bracelets. I made somewhere around 85 to trade, and did trade/gave out all but 10 of them while we were there. The cutest interaction I had was with a child, who nervously came up to me and asked me to trade bracelets. She gave me a hot pink one "cause it matches your dress," and I don't think--between that and all the compliments on Jimmy's painting--I've ever had a better pre-concert experience.)

Over the last couple of weeks since Jimmy's passing, I've had a lot of time to think about how I wanted to write this blog post.

It's hard enough writing about someone you've known all you life, but it's objectively harder to write about someone so beloved that you personally don't know well yourself.

Luckily, I had the pleasure to talk to a couple of Jimmy's best friends about their friendship with such an amazing, well-known artist, and got to know Jimmy a little bit better.

The interviews I conducted were far from anything Barbara Walters would have done--but that's my style. I prefer, when I have to put my Journalism cap on, to conduct things at the pace of the person I'm interviewing, and allow the memories and thoughts to come naturally. It's an easier conversation that way, and there's less pressure on the person being interviewed to think of things to talk about (which I know can be hard when put "on the spot," as it were).

I also wanted to wait some time for the grief surrounding those that lossed a close friend or family member (if they are reading this) to boil down into a sort-of happy rememberance. There's a quote from actor Andrew Garfield, where he said, "I hope this grief stays with me because it's all the unexpressed love that I didn't get to tell her" in regards to the passing of his mum. There's also the quote from the TV Show WandaVision, "What is grief if not love preservering?" And I like to think about those quotes whenever someone passes, because it helps dull the pain ever so slightly and turn it into something easier to carry around with you.

I've always had an interesting relationship with grief, because it takes on many forms. And out of each time I experienced it, I've found that's it's only through time and ability to process it that makes it go from a sad, aching pain to something bittersweet you can live with. And that is mostly why it's taken me the time it has to write this post.

But the time has finally come, and I think it's just about the time where that melancholy turns bittersweet.

The first person I interviewed was Becky Mullins, who has known Jimmy since she joined the MAL years ago. She spoke fondly of him; describing him as one of the first people at her first MAL meeting to greet her and make her feel welcome. "And he did that with pretty much everyone who joined the league," she went on to say.

"Jimmy was my best painting friend. He always made people believe that he was their best friend too. He was always smiling and happy--he loved painting. And he always encouraged kids too, by letting them come up and paint. 'It doesn't matter,' [she remembered him saying.] 'painting's never finished till it hits the ground.' And that was because his paintings would always fall down!"

"We would always paint at the park," Becky went on remembering, her spirit lifting as she continued to talk about her fond days of painting with him. "And Gary [Grudes] would always take pictures of us. Jimmy would always tell us to 'be there or be square!' One time, Anne [Rouan] and I were painting with Jimmy at a Jazz festival, and this guy came up to ask...mostly Jimmy about the work he was doing. I don't think he wanted to talk with Anne and I, because, you know. We're women or something. And he ended up calling us Jimmy's Posse. Jimmy had a great laugh about that, and Anne and I ended up getting T-Shirts made that said 'Jimmy's Posse.' I still have that shirt to this day!"

Becky also talked about her adventures with Jimmy during the 1812 Steering Committee at the old Battlefield museum on Elm, and how they started an art contest that runs to this day.

"He rarely dressed up," she recalled, laughing slightly. "He was always wearing his signature overalls with a plaid shirt."

But, when he won an award, or had occasion to dress up, he did.

Becky even managed to find a painting Jimmy had of himself in his signature attire, which I thought was too funny not to add. It's what Jimmy would have wanted:

Becky's interview ended on a happy note, as she told me all the stories of the times she spent with Jimmy at their standing painting date in his studio. She talked about how Jimmy loved stories that went along with paintings, describing a time where he drew up a painting about her and her husband camping, their heads sticking out of the tent. She talked about how he was an avid reader as well as painter, and how he actually went to college for art (his father was an art professor too, so it most likely influenced him to paint!). Becky also mentioned that Jimmy was red/green colorblind, but how it never stopped him from being able to paint, and that he alwas knew when a painting was done (something she struggles with, and I know I struggle with when I do crafts occasionally). 

Most importantly, she talked about how Jimmy loved animals. 
"He had 2 dogs," she said, recalling a story that made me laugh so hard I almost dropped the phone. "And two cats. And I'm not a very big fan of cats, so every time the studio cats would come near me, he'd laugh and say, 'she's gonna bite you!' But that's nothing compared to this one time we were in the studio and there was noise coming from this old desk with a cover on it. Jimmy went to open it, and inside we found a baby possum!"

After Becky, I managed to get ahold of Anne Rouan, another one of Jimmy's close friends that painted with him in his studio.

She told me about how she'd known Jimmy for nearly 20 years, and also met through the Monroe Art League when she used to be a member. "Becky [Mullins] was already going over to Jimmy's to paint in 2012, and one day when I was working on a huge project, she invited me to join the two of them. It lasted for 10 years, on and off, whenever we could. Going to Jimmy's studio to paint was one of the happiest times in my life."

She began telling me fond stories of him after that, and pointed out his wicked sense of humor, especially for things that were far into the gutter (for lack of a better way to say it, lol). "I remember this one time, when Becky and I were painting with him in the studio. He used to paint on boards, and would fix the back of the board to paint on it. One day, he offered to let Becky paint on a board, but told her, 'I don't have a primed backside [ready]' jokingly. I loved his sense of humor like that. He was really warm and happy and funny. Like a human ray of sunshine."

"I also have to mention about his cow phase," Anne continued to tell me. "He put cows in all of his paintings. He even did a self portait with a cow in the background. It was probably the funniest thing I'd ever seen him do. Well, other than the time he put a monkey in his painting, just because 'it looked like it needed a monkey.'"

Anne's interview concluded with her talking about how she was writing a song in memory of Jimmy, since playing guitar is one of her hobbies now. When I asked her to describe the song to me, she told me it was going to be faster paced and upbeat; about someone who used to shine, because that's what Jimmy was like. And I think that's a wonderful way to remember him by.

I do hope that this blog post about Monroe legend and MAL friend is one that brings about happy memories and paints a clearer picture of what this beloved artist was like. (Pun absolutely intended.) He was always very outgoing, friendly, and easy to get along with, and had a style that I personally attriubted to the likes of Van Gogh himself. Not just in the way his brush worked on the canvas, but in how fast he was able to paint what he saw. (And Jimmy was fast. He could wip up an entire painting in a couple of hours, and usually did so at local festivals around Monroe--especially the Jazz festival, where he was known to paint the most.)

I just want to give another thanks to the two ladies I interviewed about Jimmy--Becky Mullins and Anne Rouan--and to Gary Gudes, who sent me so many of the photos you've seen sprinkled throughout this post!

Thanks to all of you so much for helping preserve the memory of this happy, joyful, and talented man that many got the chance to meet and befriend throughout his 73 years!

And to anyone else that may need some assurance that you are not alone in missing Jimmy: tell stories to others about your times with him. Spread his laughter and joy and ability to greet everyone like they're a long distanced friend you haven't seen in forever. Keep his memory alive, because that is the secret to immortality; that is the secret to turning the agony and pain of loosing a loved one into a bittersweet, fond memory to carry around with you. 

Tell their story. 

Jimmy loved stories, so make his a good one. 

James "Jimmy" Tidwell

10/22/1949

-

5/26/2023

May You Rest Happier Than A Pig In Mud