William Ritschel (1864-1949)

Live! Breathe! Eat! Paint!

Point Lobos by William Ritschel

It was difficult choosing which legendary California landscape artists to include in “The Artist Colony.” There were so many fabulous painters in Monterey during the 1920s. 

Many of these California landscape artists were Bohemians and certainly William Ritschel was one.  Without regard for what people might think, he was often seen perched on Carmel’s cliffs wearing only a loin cloth as he painted. That detail of his character reminded me of the artists I knew in the Sixties. Propriety be damned. Just Paint.

I also chose Ritschel because his vibrant palette would've been appreciated by Sarah. She was a Modernist, breaking away from traditional palettes and smooth brushstrokes, which she found boring. For Sarah, clouds were not clouds but white sheets drying on a clothesline. And the waves splashing and falling against the coarse, jagged rocks were raindrops in vibrant shades of orange dripping down a crimson wall.

Here is the scene where Sarah meets William Ritschel at his exhibition at Hotel del Monte's Gallery:

The interloper followed her to the next canvas, a dramatic seascape of Point Lobos. Tension. Disharmony of nature. Frightening but compelling. She imagined herself falling over the edge of the precipice into the agitated waves and being smashed against the impenetrable rocks.

She heard a voice and turned around to find Sirena saying, “So, you two found each other.”

“Not yet,” said the interloper. Sarah met the jovial eyes of someone who appeared to be an elderly statesman dressed in a formal black suit and a rather stiff white collar that propped up his long neck. His bushy dark brows met above a distinguished nose. His barrel moustache was dark like his brows, but his thinning hair and grayish beard made him look older.

Later when Sarah is alone with Sirena:

Sirena took Sarah’s arm and led her over to another Ritschel painting, “Incoming Tide.” Sarah studied the stormy, deep blue hues of the surf, powerfully expressed with swirling green and blue brushstrokes that seemed to rise up and hold their positions like warriors while their comrades ahead attacked the granite rocks.

They both took champagne from an offered tray. Sirena lifted hers to Sarah’s and quoted what Ritschel had written on the wall above his paintings. “Live, breathe, eat, and paint!”

“Yes,” said Sarah, clinking Sirena’s glass, “what better life could we ask for?”