Neighbor Featured Artist #10: Albert Gaines

An Old Friend Remembered Through a Legacy of Smiles


By now you’re probably aware that I define artists more in terms of their persistent creativity than by their source of income. The artists who can make their sole, sustaining livelihood from the sale of their work are rare indeed. For that reason, the folks who inspire and challenge us because they devote such time and talent to endeavors that don’t buy the groceries or pay the mortgage are even more deserving of praise. One such artist was Albert White Gaines.
Since he rarely used his full name, from here on I’ll refer to him as Al. He has passed from the restraints of life so this column is a welcome opportunity for me to introduce him to you. The homage I wrote to Barbara de Saussure related to her contribution to my move to Northeast Tennessee. These words for my friend Al speak more to the reasons I identify as an artist myself. Quite simply, he brought artistry to everything he did. One of his great gifts was making the same perspective seem possible to those around him.
In one respect, Al Gaines was one of the most prolific artists that can be imagined. As a teacher of English, history, and drama, his creations, his students (myself among them) number in the thousands. As one of the originators of the Advanced Placement program in Tennessee public schools, his work will always continue to prod young people to think more creatively and understand more deeply. His classroom at Hillwood High School in Nashville was a sought after destination. Students had the option of choosing a pillow on the floor or a perch in the window over the confines of a desk. Discipline was rarely a problem for this man, whose lesson plans resulted in a riveting performance rather than a dry recitation of facts. There was a muscular quality to his teaching – from a man who adored football and who’d broken quite a few bones doing stunt work, Shakespeare became something that transcended tights and ruffled collars to take on boldness, flesh, and substance.
The artistry of the classroom as well as that of the live theater is both an immediate and fleeting experience. It exists in the moment of its making and afterwards really only continues in memory. It is fortunate, as you can see from the images accompanying these words, that Al didn’t confine himself to insubstantial creation. I first saw his work as a sculptor thirty years ago, while still a student in his AP English and AP European History classes. 1978 was notable for snow in Middle Tennessee. There was so much of it that we went to school only two days during January. For Al, this was a mere inconvenience. We all received a phone call reminding us that the year-end AP exams would not be rescheduled because of bad weather in Nashville. Classes would meet at his house to make up for lost time. I don’t remember the material we covered at those adventurous sessions, with most of us gaining our first real experience of driving in deep snow. What I remember is the pool table in the garage covered in plywood, on which rested a diorama of a Civil War battle – entire armies each individually sculpted by Al Gaines. His medium was “milliput”, a molding compound that hardened unfired after mixing. The figures, shaped and painted in detail, were not pressed from molds. Each was an individual born from Al’s energetic creativity. This was an art he would practice until the very end of his life.
Sculpture wasn’t enough, however. A few years after graduation, I had the opportunity to do a show, The Fantasticks with Al (in which I met gallery director James-Ben Stockton!). At the final cast party, he presented us all with pastel portrait/caricatures depicting us as we looked performing our roles. I still have the piece but I acquired something more valuable from that experience than original artwork. My teacher became my friend. While still continuing to challenge, encourage, and inspire, he also elevated me in his own estimation to a peer. In addition to being an honor, it was major milestone in growing up.
There were other shows over the years. When James-Ben: Studio and Gallery opened its doors in Franklin, Tennessee, one of the first artists to join the roster was Al Gaines. As always, his artwork came out in wonderful explosions of creative fun. The gallery was populated with hockey players, clowns, dragons, elephants, and unicorns; sleuthing hounds, flappers, Mardi Gras revelers, and angelic squirrels. At one point Al came in the back door concerned at the absence of a pair of wreathes, left over from two Christmases past with their greenery long since turned to hues of copper. “Please put them back up. I’d been meaning to paint them.” Up they went and shortly thereafter they were immortalized in watercolor. Later, Al asked to do some murals on the walls of the gallery entranceway. Soon there was a tribute to Van Gogh’s Starry Night, painted against a bright yellow background with a gleeful child flinging stars from a bucket into the sky.
Al returned to teaching after retiring but battled in his last years with a body somewhat scarred from being the agent of his lifelong enthusiasm. One of the few regrets of my move to Greeneville is that commitments here kept me from making the trip back to Nashville for his memorial. After speaking with his wife Martha, I felt the need to be present in spirit. As the service began, more than 250 miles away, I went up to the garden of the Dickson-Williams Mansion and gave him a send-off of Impossible Dream. Since this column will appear in the first week of the New Year, I’m glad to have the chance to wax a little nostalgic. But Al left behind a rather potently living body of work. Among many other things, he created his own unique version of “unforgettable”.
The work of Albert Gaines is proudly and lovingly shown in Greeneville at James-Ben: Studio and Gallery Art Center.