Hello, Kathy & David. I, too, am an artist, tho no where so prolific & accomplised as Peder. I work full-time, usually about 50 hours a week, so carving time to paint is challenging. Still, I manage to finish 20-25 per year, & have been part of 4 exhibits the past 2 years & had a solo show this past January-February.
I really didn't know Peder very well. He & my older cousin Bill (aka Billy Hilldreth or HillBilly) were pals & I'd occasionally see them together when I was 11, 12 or so. Later, when I was in school plays entered in the NH HS Drama Festivals, I ran into Peder twice, in the painting studio of the Arts Center at UNH. I walked around, peeking & poking. I think I was 15, & I was drawn by the smells of oils & the like. When I walked into the studio, there was this guy, a student, kneeling on the floor. It was Peder, & he was busy stretching canvases. We got talking, I told him I planned to be an artist, & he said, "Then, hey, you need to learn how to stretch canvas. It'll save you a lot of money." He was doing it to sell to other students, & when I went to UNH I also stretched canvas to make money. I didn't start to paint til 10 years later.
David & I were friends, off & on, through high school & up until when he moved west, following some Yellow Brick Road. We swam in Granite Lake as young teens, skated & "played hockey" on the pond near his parents' house. We were on the Little League team together, & David was cool enough to send me a photocopy of a photo of that team. I framed it & it's in my office, & when people drop by & comment on it, I ask if they can pick me out, that I'm the "best looking kid in the picture". They almost always go straight to Jim Zwicker. David was a year ahead of me in school, in my brother Mike's class, & we were on the HS NH State Class 'S' state championship team in 1963. Actually, MHS won its first championship in '61, & every one through '65, & lost a no-hitter (Teddy Miner) 1-0 in '66. I watched, 'cause my younger cousin (Bill's kid brother) Chuck was on the team. My memory stinks, so maybe it was a 1- hitter, lost 3-2. I know Teddy pitched a heck of a game. Sorry I missed chatting with him at Peder's funeral.
On at least 2 occasions, I went with David to help his Grandfather, Harry Price, rake in the hay, stack bales on the wagon. He always had the best, & the ice-coldest, home-made apple cider. When I was 18 he gave me a jug of his world-renowned hard cider, as payment & thanks for another day in the hot sun slinging hay onto the wagon. I also worked with David at Merrimac Farmers' Exchange in Keene, 6 months in 1970. We had lots of fun times rambling through the hills on SW NH & SE Vermont, jumping into just about every conceivable water hole & river & stream in the area. The best single experience, or the one I remember most clearly, was when David(driving) & I where finishing up what was maybe a 14-hour day, in late March. It was freezing cold & raw & dark, & David had to keep down-shifting & playing magic games with the gears to get it up this steep, slippery hill. I had to climb out of the cab, up onto the top of the cab, & lift up all the ice-covered low-lying wires & branches. I kept thinking I'd get bounced off, or slide off from the ice. David drove great, we got the job done, headed back from Acworth or thereabouts to Keene, then on to Marlborough & sleep.
It was during that time that I saw Peder for what probably was the next-to-last time. He was living in Stoddard, & David & I would drop in every so often when we had deliveries nearby. Or even when we had to drive a few miles out of the way. Peder was working cutting trees, so all the stories about him loving to cut timber, well, they were true. He'd lumber in, all sweaty & grinning, talking about how much fun he'd had cutting down however many trees, cutting them into fire-wood, splitting. & he'd casually show me the paintings he was working on. I wanted to buy one, an Autumn scene in the woods, with large boulders & some trees & the sky poking through. When I saw it, all I could think was, man, I'd sure like to climb up onto one of those big ol' rocks, & just sit there a while, doin' nuthin, thinkin' bout nothing. I mustered the courage to ask him, that next-to-last sighting, if he'd sell it to me & if so, for how much. He said he was asking something like $500 for it, had someone he thought might buy it, but if I'd give him $50, he'd give it to me. He said something like, "I'm havin' a good day today & I'm in a charitable mood, so I might even frame it for you, for free. Well, I didn't have more than $5 to my name back then & so I told him he'd be smart to take the man's $500, thanks for the kindness. Years later I kicked my self, knowing I shoulda struck some sort of pay-as-I-went to buy it.
The very last time I saw Peder, he was early in his career teaching at FPC & showing some of his paintings as part of a group exhibit. I think he had a half-dozen paintings on the walls, & I saw what looked a lot like the one I'd been so smitten with maybe a dozen years earlier. I walked over & looked at it real close, & I commented on how much it looked like the one I'd asked about buying back then. Peder said this was a fairly recent painting, I think he said it was done in Chesterfield or near there. I meekly asked his asking price for the painting, & he said he'd already sold it. Dang! Foiled again.
Although I did not know Peder well, or even sorta well, I knew him through stories David loved to tell of the older brother he so adored. He'd tell stories about when Peder would pick him up & place him carefully on the handlebars of his bike, only to go tear-assing down some backwoods dirt road in Marlborough or into Troy or Jaffrey, bouncing David's brains silly...or tree-cutting exploits, such that I began to think of Peder as the enfleshment of Paul Bunyon, expecting to see some goofy blue ox tagging along behind him.
The one constant thread in my experiences of Peder is that he always, & I mean right from the very first occasion when he & I met (thru cousin Bill), all the way to that last cameo visit during his exhibit...Peder always treated me like I was real. It was common, heck, always has been & always likely will be, that older kids would treat younger kids like they were invisible or toys or just silly little twits best ignored. The first time I met Peder, he asked me how did I like living in Marlborough, & what was it like for me living in near NYC, on Long Island. Y'know, he was the first & the only person in Marlborough that ever asked me that. I always was one who'd prefer to not be in the limelight, but Peder drew me out almost immediately. &, best of all, he actually listened to me. That's what I remember - & will miss - most about Peder C. Johnson, my buddy David's older brother.
I went to the funeral mostly out of friendship with & respect for David. At the same time, I also sorta knew Nancy, sorta remember Andrea, vividly recall times with young Sam, & the few times I saw Betsy I thought she was just about the most beautiful girl (she was still in HS) I'd ever seen. David's Dad & Mom always were wonderful & interesting hosts. He once told me he could teach me how to whistle really good, but after about a half-hour he said "maybe whistling isn't your gift, Tom". His Mom sometimes made hot chocolate for us during our skating breaks, which were frequent. The entire Johnson family was always different, & each was different from the others in their own wonderful & wacky ways. My mother, who's long-retired as a French (& occasionally Spanish) teacher, still mentions Andrea as one of her favorite students, "a special girl, that one".
So, maybe I actually went because of all of the Johnson folks. Growing up in Marlboro(ugh), NH, back in the 50s & 60s, was a really special & enthralling time. As people I knew back then pass on, I am aware that it's like parts of my own personal past have passed on. Peder's passing, well, that's probably the most notable to date. Jim Zwicker's was the most important to me, because we'd share a long & close friendship, followed by a long & painful separation.
When the pastor invited individuals to stand & speak about some "special memory" of Peder, all I could think was the times I've gone to others' funerals & when invited, no one, or maybe only one, spoke. Obviously, Peder impacted many people through the years, in a variety of ways. He touched hearts & minds of grown human beings, many of whom didn't strike me as the sort who'd be easily impressed. Yet, Peder had indeed impressed them, easily & quickly. I could not but feel a touch of sorrow for not having known the man better, given all the wonderful & articulate testimonies. But, I did not know him better.
My heart goes out mostly to David's mother. My kid sister Kathy died 6 years ago this past Monday, & my Mom stills says, "It's not right. A mother ought not outlive her child." I'm sure Mrs. Johnson must be feeling & thinking much the same. It's a pain that can never disappear, but with time it can be less gnawing.
& my heart goes out to David. He's lost a brother, a friend, a hero. Kid brothers tend to look at older brother's (5-6+ years older) as bigger-than-life creatures. A couple parts magic, at least one part overbearing pain-in-the-butt, part charming & gracious, part mean as heck, & always someone to look up to, knowing that he'd be around to toss a baseball around or amaze you with how talented & able he was. I think David's gonna miss Peder a lot, even tho they didn't have lots of contacts over the years. Plus, it means than now David is the Older Brother in the Johnson clan. Maybe he should defer & let Sam take on the role.
Well, folks, this was gonna be brief, howdy & toodles. Guess I figured I needed to share some of my Peder C. Johnson memories with someone who was one of my growing-up buddies aeons ago. I'm real glad I knew I had to be there in the Federated Church that Saturday & I'm real glad I got to at least see David & his family that afternoon. Friendships forged during the tempestuous years of our youth have a way of returning throughout our lives, no matter where or how our paths take us. I got to chat with maybe a half-dozen people I'd known growing up in Marlborough. At one point, at the Community Center, I told my mother that I knew which lady was Nancy, which was Betsy, I knew which guy was Sam because he'd stood up in church & said "a few words"...but, I didn't see anyone who I thought was Andrea. My Mom, who liked Andrea so much, said, "that's because she isn't here." Later, Nancy confirmed that.
Okay, then, goodnight, sweet dreams, take care of yourselves & each other. I suspect that Peder's spirit was hanging out there in Marlborough that day, smiling & chuckling & wishing he could wander off & split some wood.
Take care. Walk gently on the earth. peace & love, etc, Tom Feagley
"Portrait of the Artist," Etching, UNH
Friday, October 10, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The day we said goodbye...
Saturday dawned to lots of activities, and getting ready for the funeral. David and I had to drive back to Marlborough to get changed into our funeral clothes after breakfast at Hisako’s. We all arrived at the church around 12:30, which was early since the service didn't start until 2 p.m. Peder’s son-in-law, Ariel, was getting stuff out of his car when I pointed out something on the church driveway--someone had written in chalk that “God Loves”, followed by five names. Ariel said he had some chalk in the car, so he wrote "Peder" at the end of the list!
The services started out typically, but then the pastor asked the attendees to feel free to share their thoughts on what Peder was to them. Eleanor got up first to tell of a time when Peder was five or six, and was to give a solo at church. When the pianist got ahead of him, he stopped singing, went over to her and said he thought they needed to start over! Many artists were there, and the retired art department head of Franklin Pierce College, where Peder had taught, told of a particular Parents' Day: Peder decided to have a nude model in the classroom. Parents were going through the room: mothers were incensed while fathers came back around to see more! Artist Marty Kane told of a time she and Peder wanted to get a better look at a cliff-side vista; Marty started climbing with Peder after. She said she felt safe with Peder climbing below her, but Peder said he'd never been so scared of falling. Jim later told me that there was another part of the story--that Marty was wearing a skirt! Jim told of the time that Peder painted the amaranths in his yard in Iowa, drawing a large crowd of neighbors. Peder sold the painting to a man in France. When Jim asked if maybe Peder could get it back, Peder said he offered the man a large sum, but that "the son-of-a-bitch wouldn't let me have it!" The services drew to a close, and after the exit from the church we went to the community center. The sun was gloriously shining as we all headed over for more memories and meeting old friends.
After the reception, the family and a few friends went over to the cemetery around 5:15, for the ashes interment. While we gathered, Peder's granddaughter, Ayla, romped among the headstones, totally unaffected (the New England cemeteries are surrounded by stone stiles). So surreal! We started off casually, and then David started singing Tom Waits' song, "Innocent When You Dream", that echoed the vision of Ayla “running through the graveyard”, followed by more memories of Peder. Jim played his recorder selection, and there was a space of free-flowing thought. I remembered Peder and I were wearing Christmas socks the same night we all attended the concert of Sam's kids at Keene State--Peder and I were dressed similarly, causing a smidge of jealousy for David! He still thinks we planned that! That was a sweet memory. All this time, Ayla is still happily going around the headstones, grabbing and waving a veteran’s flag or two (we put them back!), saying, "I love Grandpa Peder!"
Neal initiated the interment by kissing the box of his father’s ashes and saying goodbye. He lowered Peder's box of ashes and dropped the first handfuls of earth. With Mom not being as sturdy on her feet since having her hips replaced, I helped Eleanor remove her shoes since we were on soft grass; I walked with her, and held the bucket of dirt for her. She put a few handfuls in the grave, invited others to partake of the act, and then I walked her back to her spot. Others followed and the ceremony came to a conclusion. Neal and I tried to locate the last flag’s headstone that we had, but had to concede and laid it on a headstone. Oddly, the mosquitoes stayed away, as did the looming rain. It was totally peaceful up there with David’s father, Carl, and his neighbors; now his son, Peder. Mom was funny, telling all in attendance that there was room for twenty in the Johnson plot--all are welcome, family or not!
We went to Sam's afterward for the funeral party--lots of food and drink of all kinds, and packed with family. It was late in the evening when everyone went home. The moon was in full-mode, shining brightly, and highlighted by the appearance of Venus. I said it was a good night for remembering Peder.
The services started out typically, but then the pastor asked the attendees to feel free to share their thoughts on what Peder was to them. Eleanor got up first to tell of a time when Peder was five or six, and was to give a solo at church. When the pianist got ahead of him, he stopped singing, went over to her and said he thought they needed to start over! Many artists were there, and the retired art department head of Franklin Pierce College, where Peder had taught, told of a particular Parents' Day: Peder decided to have a nude model in the classroom. Parents were going through the room: mothers were incensed while fathers came back around to see more! Artist Marty Kane told of a time she and Peder wanted to get a better look at a cliff-side vista; Marty started climbing with Peder after. She said she felt safe with Peder climbing below her, but Peder said he'd never been so scared of falling. Jim later told me that there was another part of the story--that Marty was wearing a skirt! Jim told of the time that Peder painted the amaranths in his yard in Iowa, drawing a large crowd of neighbors. Peder sold the painting to a man in France. When Jim asked if maybe Peder could get it back, Peder said he offered the man a large sum, but that "the son-of-a-bitch wouldn't let me have it!" The services drew to a close, and after the exit from the church we went to the community center. The sun was gloriously shining as we all headed over for more memories and meeting old friends.
After the reception, the family and a few friends went over to the cemetery around 5:15, for the ashes interment. While we gathered, Peder's granddaughter, Ayla, romped among the headstones, totally unaffected (the New England cemeteries are surrounded by stone stiles). So surreal! We started off casually, and then David started singing Tom Waits' song, "Innocent When You Dream", that echoed the vision of Ayla “running through the graveyard”, followed by more memories of Peder. Jim played his recorder selection, and there was a space of free-flowing thought. I remembered Peder and I were wearing Christmas socks the same night we all attended the concert of Sam's kids at Keene State--Peder and I were dressed similarly, causing a smidge of jealousy for David! He still thinks we planned that! That was a sweet memory. All this time, Ayla is still happily going around the headstones, grabbing and waving a veteran’s flag or two (we put them back!), saying, "I love Grandpa Peder!"
Neal initiated the interment by kissing the box of his father’s ashes and saying goodbye. He lowered Peder's box of ashes and dropped the first handfuls of earth. With Mom not being as sturdy on her feet since having her hips replaced, I helped Eleanor remove her shoes since we were on soft grass; I walked with her, and held the bucket of dirt for her. She put a few handfuls in the grave, invited others to partake of the act, and then I walked her back to her spot. Others followed and the ceremony came to a conclusion. Neal and I tried to locate the last flag’s headstone that we had, but had to concede and laid it on a headstone. Oddly, the mosquitoes stayed away, as did the looming rain. It was totally peaceful up there with David’s father, Carl, and his neighbors; now his son, Peder. Mom was funny, telling all in attendance that there was room for twenty in the Johnson plot--all are welcome, family or not!
We went to Sam's afterward for the funeral party--lots of food and drink of all kinds, and packed with family. It was late in the evening when everyone went home. The moon was in full-mode, shining brightly, and highlighted by the appearance of Venus. I said it was a good night for remembering Peder.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
ONCE AGAIN (a Cypripedium poem by Peter Warren)
for Peder
1
Drinking Rheingold
we drew our naked classmates at UNH
posing them
in Modigliani poses
to find those poses
anatomically
impossible
2
You photographed them too
My only camera was my
Brownie Bull’s-Eye
from age twelve
3
You married Khin
moved to Commonwealth Ave
in not far Boston
where I haunted the shops
in Copley Square
looking for books
on that same Modigiiani
In Jeanne Modigliani’s
Amadeo Modigliani
4
he wears a corduroy suit
with corduroy vest
& looks much like you
You found your own
courduroy vest
with its own
courduroy vest
& were our Modigliani
I was jealous
5
In Iowa I remember
you rushing in to Kenney’s
looking for a drinker’s foot
for the painting
you were painting
in your studio
ten miles
out
6
You were married to Peggy then
& I was still a virgin
& probably jealous
again
7
We lost a lot of track
after Iowa I Montanaed here
so far from your
New Hampshire & Hong Kong
You taught at Franklin Pierce
in Ringe
8
I at Eastern Montana
in Billings Married Sandi & Dawn
I’ve forgotten
your third wife’s name
It’ll be
in the obituary
9
I died in 1987
& was brought back
You died in 2008
& were not
& I wonder if I should
be jealous
once again
1
Drinking Rheingold
we drew our naked classmates at UNH
posing them
in Modigliani poses
to find those poses
anatomically
impossible
2
You photographed them too
My only camera was my
Brownie Bull’s-Eye
from age twelve
3
You married Khin
moved to Commonwealth Ave
in not far Boston
where I haunted the shops
in Copley Square
looking for books
on that same Modigiiani
In Jeanne Modigliani’s
Amadeo Modigliani
4
he wears a corduroy suit
with corduroy vest
& looks much like you
You found your own
courduroy vest
with its own
courduroy vest
& were our Modigliani
I was jealous
5
In Iowa I remember
you rushing in to Kenney’s
looking for a drinker’s foot
for the painting
you were painting
in your studio
ten miles
out
6
You were married to Peggy then
& I was still a virgin
& probably jealous
again
7
We lost a lot of track
after Iowa I Montanaed here
so far from your
New Hampshire & Hong Kong
You taught at Franklin Pierce
in Ringe
8
I at Eastern Montana
in Billings Married Sandi & Dawn
I’ve forgotten
your third wife’s name
It’ll be
in the obituary
9
I died in 1987
& was brought back
You died in 2008
& were not
& I wonder if I should
be jealous
once again
REMEMBERING PEDER By Sandro Russo
I feel privileged to remember Peder's life in so many special ways, and hope that I can always keep all the beautiful memories and treasures of our friendship alive.
I first met Peder in the spring of 1999, while he was working toward the big project of painting views of the historical town in Sicily where I was born. Therefore he was staying in town for several weeks. From our very first meeting thanks to a mutual friend, his personality revealed many interesting sides. I felt quite honoured that he was the first foreign artist that I know of to appreciate the beauties of my town. That initial meeting and conversation was the beginning of a sincere and deep friendship.
While he was in Sicily we had lunch or dinner together almost every day, and I truly enjoyed his company. He was indeed a person that I could talk to about anything, and there was always a great sense of humour underneath. He told me often how flattered he was that people in my hometown appreciated and respected his work as a painter. He often emphasized to me how important “respect” is in life. Not only his work and warm personally defined the term “worth'' (or being worthy of something), but his life was also a remarkable example of what respecting other living creatures should be all about.
There are two significant incidents in those days when Peder was in Sicily that I cherish and believe are representative of his sensitive nature and nobility as a person: When he heard that I was a concert pianist, he showed much interest and appreciation for it, and he would often come to my apartment to hear me play the works I was studying in those times. Often I would have private recitals in my home, and I was delighted to invite Peder. I remember that after I performed a major work by Chopin, the B minor Sonata, he made some impressive remarks after the very powerful last movement and he had a request for me: he asked if I would play again a portion of the work, and I thought at first that the movement he might have in mind was the volcanic Finale. But then he said that he'd like to hear again the beautiful slow movement of the piece (the Adagio), and I was surprised at his request. That proved to me the profound soul that he was, and how noble and inspired his musical taste was. If Shakespeare's quote
“The man that hat no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, strategems, and spoils” has any relevance to our existence then Peder had to be the one who was fit for any good thing m life.
The other significant incident that stands out in my memory of our friendship has to do with an audition I played for in the spring of 1999. The audition took place in Palermo, and that morning Peder went with me and my dad to hear me play for this event. I felt I played very well. and Peder, too, believed in a good result. However I heard from the organizers of the competition that they gave the top award to a pianist whom I didn't deem qualified to get such an accolade. My temperament said to me that I shouldn't accept my award, which was to attend a two-week master-class in Cambridge, England. I still remember how I was venting to Peder about this during a lunch we had with a mutual friend, and how he was trying to make me see things in a more rational and less emotional way. He was able to teach me a lesson in diplomacy in the highest sense of the word, explaining to me why accepting the scholarship would be a good idea and an excellent opportunity for my career. He also encouraged me to write directly to the British professor who, after my brilliant audition, decided to arrange a special concert for me during the master-class. I never regretted going to England for this event, and for some reason I don't think that anybody but Peder could have succeeded at convincing me to go.
His generosity and sense of support continued when I moved to the United States in the winter of 2000. When I arrived to NY, Peder made sure that I had a piano to practice on and even gave me a car. He would come to my concerts whenever he could, and his presence was always a gift to me. I regret in many ways that here in the States we didn't have the same opportunities to get together, as we did in Sicily, to have those precious conversations mainly because of the distance between our homes.
Peder reminds me of what I feel whenever I listen to the great masters of piano playing: there isn't only much to admire in their art; we should study their performances and learn from them. I have indeed learned a lot from what Peder did for me, and try to be a messenger of his genuine passion and feeling about life, people and the arts.
His goodness and generosity will always inspire me.
I first met Peder in the spring of 1999, while he was working toward the big project of painting views of the historical town in Sicily where I was born. Therefore he was staying in town for several weeks. From our very first meeting thanks to a mutual friend, his personality revealed many interesting sides. I felt quite honoured that he was the first foreign artist that I know of to appreciate the beauties of my town. That initial meeting and conversation was the beginning of a sincere and deep friendship.
While he was in Sicily we had lunch or dinner together almost every day, and I truly enjoyed his company. He was indeed a person that I could talk to about anything, and there was always a great sense of humour underneath. He told me often how flattered he was that people in my hometown appreciated and respected his work as a painter. He often emphasized to me how important “respect” is in life. Not only his work and warm personally defined the term “worth'' (or being worthy of something), but his life was also a remarkable example of what respecting other living creatures should be all about.
There are two significant incidents in those days when Peder was in Sicily that I cherish and believe are representative of his sensitive nature and nobility as a person: When he heard that I was a concert pianist, he showed much interest and appreciation for it, and he would often come to my apartment to hear me play the works I was studying in those times. Often I would have private recitals in my home, and I was delighted to invite Peder. I remember that after I performed a major work by Chopin, the B minor Sonata, he made some impressive remarks after the very powerful last movement and he had a request for me: he asked if I would play again a portion of the work, and I thought at first that the movement he might have in mind was the volcanic Finale. But then he said that he'd like to hear again the beautiful slow movement of the piece (the Adagio), and I was surprised at his request. That proved to me the profound soul that he was, and how noble and inspired his musical taste was. If Shakespeare's quote
“The man that hat no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, strategems, and spoils” has any relevance to our existence then Peder had to be the one who was fit for any good thing m life.
The other significant incident that stands out in my memory of our friendship has to do with an audition I played for in the spring of 1999. The audition took place in Palermo, and that morning Peder went with me and my dad to hear me play for this event. I felt I played very well. and Peder, too, believed in a good result. However I heard from the organizers of the competition that they gave the top award to a pianist whom I didn't deem qualified to get such an accolade. My temperament said to me that I shouldn't accept my award, which was to attend a two-week master-class in Cambridge, England. I still remember how I was venting to Peder about this during a lunch we had with a mutual friend, and how he was trying to make me see things in a more rational and less emotional way. He was able to teach me a lesson in diplomacy in the highest sense of the word, explaining to me why accepting the scholarship would be a good idea and an excellent opportunity for my career. He also encouraged me to write directly to the British professor who, after my brilliant audition, decided to arrange a special concert for me during the master-class. I never regretted going to England for this event, and for some reason I don't think that anybody but Peder could have succeeded at convincing me to go.
His generosity and sense of support continued when I moved to the United States in the winter of 2000. When I arrived to NY, Peder made sure that I had a piano to practice on and even gave me a car. He would come to my concerts whenever he could, and his presence was always a gift to me. I regret in many ways that here in the States we didn't have the same opportunities to get together, as we did in Sicily, to have those precious conversations mainly because of the distance between our homes.
Peder reminds me of what I feel whenever I listen to the great masters of piano playing: there isn't only much to admire in their art; we should study their performances and learn from them. I have indeed learned a lot from what Peder did for me, and try to be a messenger of his genuine passion and feeling about life, people and the arts.
His goodness and generosity will always inspire me.
FOR PEDER JOHNSON, 16 August 2009
Peder became a friend in 1960, when we were both very hungry at UNH very early one morning. Peder drove the two of us the 65 miles from Durham to my parents’ house in Franklin. My father, awakened by my knocking, opened the door and asked, “What the hell are you doing here this time of night?
My father understood right away, though, about our being hungry. After all, like all our parents: he had lived through the Great Depression. He just told us to be quiet, eat what we wanters and turn out the lights when we left. We ate quietly, eggs and bacon and cheese and toast and jam. Peder loved to eat good food. I have no idea what we talked about going back and forth to Durham. Knowing Peder, though, there wasn't too much talking. That suited me fine.
Later, in the l970s, Peder and Peggy often put me and sometimes Heather up in their mountain-top house, when Annie and Lisa were pretty small and Rammy the goat ruled the yard. Peder painted some but mostly we sanded the driveway or played endless dart games in the studio. Peder usually won. I do remember him struggling with what I think was his first landscape---it was a scene out the window of what the rest of us ended up calling the Scissors painting: “ How do the trees get connected to the ground?'' He figured it out soon enough. I don't know if either Peder or Peggy realized they were saving my life.
By the 1980s, both Ann and I had real jobs. The company I worked for in Harvard Square bought a big painting of Peder's I could see every day at work. A senior MP commissioned Peder to paint some big canvases from an apartment he had in South Boston. Others at work also bought his stuff. He was a hit where I worked, and I was very proud to know Peder, a proud, talented, committed, and determined artist among us.
We lost direct touch with Peder when we moved to London in 1991. We did get an occasional letter with a couple of prints of his latest work. And one painting or another of Peder’s is in every photograph we took of ourselves and our friends in the flats where we lived in those years abroad.
I regret not reconnecting with Peder in earnest when we came back to the States in 2004. But Peder traveled all over the place, both physically and mentally. It was always hard to know where he was.
Peder did leave a legacy. He left a lot of art for us to ponder. The painting here, Beard Brook, is one of my favorites. I hope you will look at it today. I’ve said to others, but really wanted to say to Peder: “This is as good as any painting of its kind I have seen anywhere in the world.”
We will always miss him, but Peder is still with us.
Sid Seamans
My father understood right away, though, about our being hungry. After all, like all our parents: he had lived through the Great Depression. He just told us to be quiet, eat what we wanters and turn out the lights when we left. We ate quietly, eggs and bacon and cheese and toast and jam. Peder loved to eat good food. I have no idea what we talked about going back and forth to Durham. Knowing Peder, though, there wasn't too much talking. That suited me fine.
Later, in the l970s, Peder and Peggy often put me and sometimes Heather up in their mountain-top house, when Annie and Lisa were pretty small and Rammy the goat ruled the yard. Peder painted some but mostly we sanded the driveway or played endless dart games in the studio. Peder usually won. I do remember him struggling with what I think was his first landscape---it was a scene out the window of what the rest of us ended up calling the Scissors painting: “ How do the trees get connected to the ground?'' He figured it out soon enough. I don't know if either Peder or Peggy realized they were saving my life.
By the 1980s, both Ann and I had real jobs. The company I worked for in Harvard Square bought a big painting of Peder's I could see every day at work. A senior MP commissioned Peder to paint some big canvases from an apartment he had in South Boston. Others at work also bought his stuff. He was a hit where I worked, and I was very proud to know Peder, a proud, talented, committed, and determined artist among us.
We lost direct touch with Peder when we moved to London in 1991. We did get an occasional letter with a couple of prints of his latest work. And one painting or another of Peder’s is in every photograph we took of ourselves and our friends in the flats where we lived in those years abroad.
I regret not reconnecting with Peder in earnest when we came back to the States in 2004. But Peder traveled all over the place, both physically and mentally. It was always hard to know where he was.
Peder did leave a legacy. He left a lot of art for us to ponder. The painting here, Beard Brook, is one of my favorites. I hope you will look at it today. I’ve said to others, but really wanted to say to Peder: “This is as good as any painting of its kind I have seen anywhere in the world.”
We will always miss him, but Peder is still with us.
Sid Seamans
FOR PEDER JOHNSON
What can I say about Peder? He was a natural magnet for our love. We adored him because he was so completely himself. And he was an artist. As I said to Ackley, I can still smell the memory I have of his oil paints. I loved watching him work, talk about his work, the work itself. His enthusiasm was a drug for me. He was the first real artist I ever knew, and thinking about it now, I realize that he helped me find the courage to go the route I went.
He's the first of our group to go - that group that connected at UNH in 1960. Or at least when I connected. There is no more important and formative time in my life than those few years when we were reinventing everything from art and music to political protest. The stand Peder, Norman and I took against ROTC is one of the proudest moments of my life. And one of the loneliest. I remember Peder's weird, barking laugh when he told up that a posse of jocks and fraternity neanderthals were hunting us that Thursday night after we picketed the afternoon drill. I still don't know if that was true, but I definitely shared Peder’s sense of drama and totally went with it.
I miss him. I look at his magnificent canvas of the west side of Manhattan looking south from the George Washington Bridge every day, and I always imagine his focused, self-contained artist energy working on that pedestrian-inaccessible part of the bridge for 2 weeks during a hot August in 1986 to get the first draft of the paintings and I always wonder how the passing motorists experienced his mumbling, cackling, physically active self-absorption. I know that I wouldn't have been able to take my eyes off him.
I miss him, but I've always missed him. Just as I miss all of you. I'm sorry I'm not there today. We don't see enough of each other. I love Peder, I love his memory, and I love the community that you have created to celebrate his memory.
Thanks, Andy Robinson
August l6, 2008
He's the first of our group to go - that group that connected at UNH in 1960. Or at least when I connected. There is no more important and formative time in my life than those few years when we were reinventing everything from art and music to political protest. The stand Peder, Norman and I took against ROTC is one of the proudest moments of my life. And one of the loneliest. I remember Peder's weird, barking laugh when he told up that a posse of jocks and fraternity neanderthals were hunting us that Thursday night after we picketed the afternoon drill. I still don't know if that was true, but I definitely shared Peder’s sense of drama and totally went with it.
I miss him. I look at his magnificent canvas of the west side of Manhattan looking south from the George Washington Bridge every day, and I always imagine his focused, self-contained artist energy working on that pedestrian-inaccessible part of the bridge for 2 weeks during a hot August in 1986 to get the first draft of the paintings and I always wonder how the passing motorists experienced his mumbling, cackling, physically active self-absorption. I know that I wouldn't have been able to take my eyes off him.
I miss him, but I've always missed him. Just as I miss all of you. I'm sorry I'm not there today. We don't see enough of each other. I love Peder, I love his memory, and I love the community that you have created to celebrate his memory.
Thanks, Andy Robinson
August l6, 2008
ADDIO PEDER
Peder
you were an original
you colored your world
with landscapes
and portraits of beauty
you painted your world
with panache with passion
you captured on canvas
what it is to be so intensely alive
that one cannot live
without art
Manet and Masaccio and Franz Marc
were your brothers
and the artists
of Altamira and Font de Gaume
talked to you
Peder
you were an original
from the Temple in Agrigento
from the night streets of Amsterdam
and the desperate hunger for love
- you even painted a dachshund there -
from the studio of your genius
you gave the world
vernissage after vernissage
Peder
you were an original
not for you
the dull lifeless joyless
corridors of convention
not for you
the stupid chase
for power and position
for money and image
for you
the effulgence of feeling
the call of creativity
the idea that I am alive
I’m alive
to paint
to sculpt
and to find love among the briars
Bravo Peder
amd addio my friend
Don Burness, Ringe, 14 August 2008
you were an original
you colored your world
with landscapes
and portraits of beauty
you painted your world
with panache with passion
you captured on canvas
what it is to be so intensely alive
that one cannot live
without art
Manet and Masaccio and Franz Marc
were your brothers
and the artists
of Altamira and Font de Gaume
talked to you
Peder
you were an original
from the Temple in Agrigento
from the night streets of Amsterdam
and the desperate hunger for love
- you even painted a dachshund there -
from the studio of your genius
you gave the world
vernissage after vernissage
Peder
you were an original
not for you
the dull lifeless joyless
corridors of convention
not for you
the stupid chase
for power and position
for money and image
for you
the effulgence of feeling
the call of creativity
the idea that I am alive
I’m alive
to paint
to sculpt
and to find love among the briars
Bravo Peder
amd addio my friend
Don Burness, Ringe, 14 August 2008
Robert Marshall shares his thoughts about Peder’s life as a dear close friend of over 40 years.
This is very hard to accept.
We're all sad to lose a man of such talent, such capability and charm, a man of such intelligence and creativity, an intrepid traveler and adventurer possessed of panache, savoir faire, and sang froid. So many beautiful traits made up his character. We’re all sad that he should be so suddenly taken away before he'd achieved many of the things he’d planned, and before we had enough fun with him.
A year and a half ago, after the death of my brother, I specifically instructed Peder not to predecease me. I had fervently wished that I would not have to live this day.
I loved Peder like a brother for 46 years.
We met when I was 16 and decided to be a painter, and I saw a painting in progress in a ground floor apartment of that brick tenement off Main Street in Durham. An artist! I felt oompelled to introduce myself, but as I approached the door I remembered that I was a high school lad and the people inside were oollege students, and I was overcome with shyness and turned away, but the floor happened to be very squeaky, and Peder opened the door to see who was pussyfooting in the hallway, and invited me in.
Soon I was sharing a tiny studio space over Grant’s Store on Main Street with Peter Warren, later displaced by Moody. I was anticipating that the two Peters and I would go on to enjoy a basically post impressionist lifestyle and eventual fame.
Meanwhile my parents adopted Peter and Khin, and our house became a kind of annex for Peder and Khin when they lived at Forest Park. The morning Neal was born, Peder called for a ride, being carless, but both parents were out in their cars, and Khin rode in a snowstorm in a police car to Exeter Hospital.
Peder was married but not entirely domesticated. A woman once said during Peder’s salad days, “You don’t marry Peder.” But women are brave, and gave Peder the children and grandchildren whom he loved so much. And may you - Neil, Anne, Lisa, Banjoh - be greatly comforted by the affection and esteem in which Peder was held by his many friends.
In the years that followed I hobnobbed with Peder in Boston, Chicago, Mexico, Iowa, New York, NH. For a while Peder considered me his bridge to the hippy culture. I seem to recall tripping together one night, perhaps later getting in my car and driving at 100. Or was that another occasion?
Eventually we became something like The Everly Brothers -- many of the women who had inspired them had decamped, but they’re still together.
We often discussed opening a diner in our sunset years, Bob and Pete’s, breakfast and light lunch, but we realized it wouldn’t have worked once we both went deaf. We saw each other usually weekly for the last several years, except when Peder was abroad, but communication was increasingly a matter of guesswork.
The man I knew at 21 and the man I knew at 67 was the same man. Some thought he seemed a bit diabolical in his youth, but later his visage was overtaken by benevolence,the Ben Franklin look he had when his hair was long and he wore spectacles, then we had the Al Pacino raising of the eyebrows, possibly related to his deafness.
Apart from his inclination for romance, when on occasion he may have been more successful than was good for him, Peder was entirely a Romantic.
He was a true Romantic, and throughout he was true to himself and his vocation. It he had garnered all the hallmarks of success, it would have been merely icing on the cake for him, for Peder was a man of imagination who carried his riches within himself.
As a Romantic he may have been sometimes impractical in his conceptions and plans, but Peder lived beautifully, always following a vision that had the appeal of the heroic, the adventurous, the exotic, the idealized.
Let’s face it, the cliche “incurable romantic” does spring to the lips.
Small wonder he was greatly beloved by all of us.
He would not have been nearly as bitter at having his life cut short as he would have been grateful for his life, as we now must be.
Heaven knows what the next sharings will bring in Peder’s name.
We're all sad to lose a man of such talent, such capability and charm, a man of such intelligence and creativity, an intrepid traveler and adventurer possessed of panache, savoir faire, and sang froid. So many beautiful traits made up his character. We’re all sad that he should be so suddenly taken away before he'd achieved many of the things he’d planned, and before we had enough fun with him.
A year and a half ago, after the death of my brother, I specifically instructed Peder not to predecease me. I had fervently wished that I would not have to live this day.
I loved Peder like a brother for 46 years.
We met when I was 16 and decided to be a painter, and I saw a painting in progress in a ground floor apartment of that brick tenement off Main Street in Durham. An artist! I felt oompelled to introduce myself, but as I approached the door I remembered that I was a high school lad and the people inside were oollege students, and I was overcome with shyness and turned away, but the floor happened to be very squeaky, and Peder opened the door to see who was pussyfooting in the hallway, and invited me in.
Soon I was sharing a tiny studio space over Grant’s Store on Main Street with Peter Warren, later displaced by Moody. I was anticipating that the two Peters and I would go on to enjoy a basically post impressionist lifestyle and eventual fame.
Meanwhile my parents adopted Peter and Khin, and our house became a kind of annex for Peder and Khin when they lived at Forest Park. The morning Neal was born, Peder called for a ride, being carless, but both parents were out in their cars, and Khin rode in a snowstorm in a police car to Exeter Hospital.
Peder was married but not entirely domesticated. A woman once said during Peder’s salad days, “You don’t marry Peder.” But women are brave, and gave Peder the children and grandchildren whom he loved so much. And may you - Neil, Anne, Lisa, Banjoh - be greatly comforted by the affection and esteem in which Peder was held by his many friends.
In the years that followed I hobnobbed with Peder in Boston, Chicago, Mexico, Iowa, New York, NH. For a while Peder considered me his bridge to the hippy culture. I seem to recall tripping together one night, perhaps later getting in my car and driving at 100. Or was that another occasion?
Eventually we became something like The Everly Brothers -- many of the women who had inspired them had decamped, but they’re still together.
We often discussed opening a diner in our sunset years, Bob and Pete’s, breakfast and light lunch, but we realized it wouldn’t have worked once we both went deaf. We saw each other usually weekly for the last several years, except when Peder was abroad, but communication was increasingly a matter of guesswork.
The man I knew at 21 and the man I knew at 67 was the same man. Some thought he seemed a bit diabolical in his youth, but later his visage was overtaken by benevolence,the Ben Franklin look he had when his hair was long and he wore spectacles, then we had the Al Pacino raising of the eyebrows, possibly related to his deafness.
Apart from his inclination for romance, when on occasion he may have been more successful than was good for him, Peder was entirely a Romantic.
He was a true Romantic, and throughout he was true to himself and his vocation. It he had garnered all the hallmarks of success, it would have been merely icing on the cake for him, for Peder was a man of imagination who carried his riches within himself.
As a Romantic he may have been sometimes impractical in his conceptions and plans, but Peder lived beautifully, always following a vision that had the appeal of the heroic, the adventurous, the exotic, the idealized.
Let’s face it, the cliche “incurable romantic” does spring to the lips.
Small wonder he was greatly beloved by all of us.
He would not have been nearly as bitter at having his life cut short as he would have been grateful for his life, as we now must be.
Heaven knows what the next sharings will bring in Peder’s name.
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