The Passing of Clark Walker
It is sad news to report, but artist Clark Walker passed away last month at the age of 84. Clark was the subject of my 2009 book I Just Make People Up, though I had not seen him in-person for some time. My understanding from those who were closest to him was that he did not want a funeral or memorial service. He was survived by his one sibling, a sister who I heard about and wrote about but never met.
Clark Walker never got the attention that he deserved as an artist, and just about anyone familiar with his life and career would agree. He showed a natural aptitude from a very young age, cultivated it as best as he could as he grew up, and made a career with it locally. That career lasted from the 1950s through the 2010s, when the arthritis in his hands inhibited his ability to work. His style is easily recognizable, and his figures’ faces and expressions are remarkable for their loneliness.
That was Clark the artist. Clark the person was another matter. My experience with writing about Clark in the 2000s, when he was in his mid- to late 60s, was tenuous, on again and off again. When we began our interviews in January 2004, Clark was basically playing a game because he didn’t believe I was serious about actually writing a book, then getting it published. Once he realized that it was really going to happen, his insecurities took hold— what would people say about him, once the book was out there? I gave him opportunities to pull the project back, even after it was contracted; before the publisher NewSouth Books had invested in printing, etc., I could have asked to revoke the contract. There were possibilities for turning portions of my text into a long magazine article, or maybe a couple of shorter ones. No, he said, I’d done too much work, he wouldn’t ask for that now. But Clark remained nervous, and even went through short periods when he wouldn’t speak to me. To put his mind at ease, during the collection of art for the color plates, Valerie Downes and I went to the homes of every person whose painting Clark wanted to be included. We made sure that the plates would be representative of how he wanted to be remembered as an artist.
Once the book was finished and published, we had a strong showing at the release event, and Clark was proud and glad. His art flew off the walls that night, and the book was well-received. But we hit three snags after that, and all proved to be significant. First, he had agreed to autograph 500 limited edition copies, and the task proved difficult with his arthritis. He regretted saying yes to that. Second, there were people who wanted to know from Clark why their painting had not been included, and third, there were people who urged him to believe that I had cheated him by not paying him. Clark and I talked about money several times during our process, and he insisted that he did not need to paid. If the book did well, the interest in his paintings would increase, he said. I didn’t expect any money from his art sales, and he never expected any money from my book sales. Unfortunately, there have been people in Montgomery who encouraged Clark to regard me in uglier terms, as a person who didn’t understand which paintings to include and who exploited him for monetary gain. He and I talked about those people, what they said, and what they wanted him to feel, but Clark and I never once fought or argued. Years later, the times that I went to see him in the nursing home, he had a copy of I Just Make People Up on his nightstand, displayed upright so the cover’s bright colors stood prominently against the blandness of his room.
Clark Walker and I started out as friends and neighbors, and it makes me sad to share that the business of producing a book about him did not improve our friendship. Ultimately, he was proud of I Just Make People Up, and so am I. The world needed for Clark Walker to be written about, his life and work demanding a retrospective that could stand as a testament. On the one hand, I’m thankful that he didn’t believe I was going to actually write and publish a book, because he was his real self during those “ramblings.” I’m also thankful that he was a kind enough person to allow the project to go forward even when he was nervous about its effects on him personally. But everything has a cost, and in this case, that cost was our friendship, unfortunately. After the publication, we just couldn’t be good friends like we were when we were just two guys having drinks on a porch at some party. He and I never said that to each other, but we both knew it. I had crossed a line into that private territory that Clark didn’t want breached, though he had invited me into it . . . Later, he simultaneously wished he hadn’t and was glad he did. There’s an old saying that takes some form like “nothing was ever the same after that,” and the sentiment applies to our friendship. We had shared something intimate – not sexual or romantic, but deeply personal – and neither of us really knew what to do or say next. All I can say, now that he is gone, is: I will miss Clark Walker very, very much, and if you never got to know him, you missed something really special.
The image above is of Clark and I signing copies at Capitol Book & News in early 2009.
