25 years after his death, Bob Ross is still inspiring painters.
Bob Ross, A Perfect Winter Day, 1993, oil on canvas.
Images courtesy of Bob Ross Inc.
Bob Ross. Just hearing the name of the late PBS art instructor takes me to a two-bedroom house in a small Nebraska town where my grandmother lived after the death of my grandfather.
Gran began painting in her 70s. After I mowed her lawn (one of my summer chores through high school), I often went into the house for a glass of water. On occasion, this peculiar guy named Bob Ross would be on her television painting at breakneck speed some glob of trees or swoosh of sunset. Gran began keeping an easel in her living room not far from the television. Not long after she started painting, I noticed her easel held a canvas thick with happy trees surrounding a warm cabin. Ah, I realized: The odd, fro-headed, soft-voiced fellow on PBS had inspired her to pick up her new hobby. Her painting wasn’t good, but it was much better than anything I could do. Still is.
As the summers passed, I realized the unfinished paintings on Gran’s easel were improving. She explained that she still enjoyed painting with Ross, but she had also started taking classes from a well-known artist in town. When I graduated college, she gave me a painting I had complimented years before. I was genuinely thrilled. Now, 20 years after Gran passed away, that painting still hangs in a prominent spot in our home—not just due to its sentimental value, but because it’s a beautiful, deeply nuanced piece of landscape art. This treasure would not exist without Bob Ross. Thank you, thank you, Mr. Ross.
I tell this story to explain why a guy who would rather go to the dentist than an art exhibition was so thrilled to hear that the first-ever East Coast exhibition of Bob Ross paintings was opening at the art center just down the road in Purcellville. I quickly realized I wasn’t the only Ross fan: exhibition tickets sold out quickly. I finally got one for a weekend in early October.
When I arrived at the Franklin Park Arts Center, about three dozen people stood in line outside the building. The man taking tickets directed me first toward a small theater showing a short documentary on Ross’s life and career. I already knew most of his story: Ross started painting during his 20-year career in the U.S. Air Force. The process of painting peaceful scenes brought him needed peace and joy. He felt compelled to pass that feeling onto others. An admirer convinced him to start his own art supply company and teaching career. Not long after, Ross tailored his teaching style into a 30-minute television show that first aired in Indiana in 1983. Ross was a better artist than the done-in-30-minutes paintings from his show, The Joy of Painting, would suggest. At one point late in his military career, he was making more money selling art than he was from his job. He was also a good businessman; his company was worth about $15 million when he passed away at my age, 52, in 1995, as another victim of lymphoma.
I was guided from the small theater into a crowded gallery where 24 original paintings from the 1993 season of The Joy of Painting hung on the walls. The landscapes were even less impressive up close than they were on television. Sure, they were made in haste and simplified for his audience of beginners. Still, I became bored after a dozen paintings. I scurried past the remaining 12.
Then I spent a half hour listening and chatting with people as they passed from painting to painting. I heard neither praise nor condemnation of the works’ quality. Instead, it was mostly fond reminiscences. “I remember this one!” several people exclaimed as they came upon an image. Over and over, the same sentiment emerged: Seeing the 24 Bob Ross paintings wasn’t about seeing great art. Ross was a great teacher who gave countless people around the world a new hobby. He inspired people to create and instilled in them the joy of creating. In my grandmother’s case—and probably thousands of other cases—he was the reason a fine artist discovered art. And that’s more than enough.
With his talk of happy accidents rather than mistakes, he also was, and still is in rerun and remembrance, a calm in the storm of an increasingly crazy world.
I felt refreshed as I left the gallery. There was a unique beauty in Bob Ross, and those 24 ugly paintings had reminded me of that beauty.
This article originally appeared in our February 2020 issue.
