Joseph Csatari: An American Realist

Artist and illustrator Joseph Csatari possesses an innate ability to put his heart and soul into his paintings, often capturing the spirit of life and patriotism in his works. Csatari calls Norman Rockwell "my hero and the person I most admire," and the late artist's influence is evident in his work. (Csatari worked with his mentor for more than 8 years and took over Rockwell's role as official artist for the Boy Scouts of America in 1977.)

As a boy, Csatari's passion for art was apparent as he steadfastly re-created Saturday Evening Post covers painted by his hero. He studied art at the Academy of Arts in Newark, New Jersey, and also attended Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York. In 1953, he was named art director of the BSA's advertising department, a position he held for 22 years. He also served as art director for Boys' Life magazine, a position Rockwell himself held at the beginning of his art career. In 1977, Csatari embarked on life as a freelancer illustrator and artist.

To help capture the true nature of America and Americans, Csatari turns to his neighbors and friends in South River, New Jersey. His ability to stay in touch with his roots and the people around him is what draws our attention to his paintings. His work has appeared in the Saturday Evening Post, Boys' Life, Reader's Digest, Field & Stream, Outdoor Life and McCall's. Csatari's advertising art includes work for Nabisco, Stern's Miracle-Gro, and Chef Boyardee, among others. His paintings have been made into two commemorative U.S. postage stamps, collectible plates and figurines. He is also a book illustrator, having painted the covers of more than 100 books, many of them young readers books. An accomplished portrait artist, Csatari has been commissioned to paint the portraits of actor James Whitmore, First Lady Betty Ford, Sanford McDonnel, Thomas Watson, Anne Baxter and Archbishop Theodore E. McCarrick.

During his career, Csatari has received many prestigious honors including several Awards of Excellence in Editorial Art Directing from the Society of Illustrators, New York. Csatari is now concentrating his efforts on fine art in watercolor, oil and pastel. He lives and paints in South River, New Jersey.

To say Rockwell had a profound influence on my life is an understatement. I had chosen a job with the Boy Scouts of America over another position because I thought someday I might get the chance to meet the BSA's official artist. But my love for Rockwell's work began long before, when I was a boy copying his Saturday Evening Post covers. In high school, I took the Famous Artists correspondence course because Rockwell was a featured illustrator. Later, in art school, while studying an original Rockwell in the museum where I swept floors, I noticed a loose bristle stuck in a heavy stroke of paint and I plucked it out and put it in my wallet.

The bristle was still in my wallet as I pulled into the driveway of Rockwell's Stockbridge, Mass., home and parked in front of the red carriage-house studio with its picture windows and skylights welcoming in the northern sunshine. A sign near the door said, "Artist at work, please do not disturb." But a note on the door told me to go inside; he would be out in a minute.

In his studio I felt like a kid in a candy store. The shelves and walls were covered with colorful artifacts and mementos from his world travels--African masks and spears, helmets, carvings, paintings, and books. His bent brass bucket that he used for an ashtray was on the floor an arm's length from his chair. On his easel was a huge painting of the Apollo 11 space team, 23 heads in all, everyone from astronauts to technicians. It was awesome. I took in all the sights as fast as I could; I knew he would be walking in soon. And that thought sent the butterflies aflutter in my belly.

Quickly, I looked for the "100 Percent" sign I had heard he painted in gold letters on his easel, telling a friend once, "That's what Norman expects from Norman." But it wasn't there. Instead, dangling from the ceiling on a string was a plaster angel holding a paintbrush. Norman caught me starring at it when he came in, and he pointed to it. "I need all the help I can get," he said.

We laughed and shook hands. His face glowed through a cloud of white smoke chugging from his ever-present pipe. Edgewood tobacco. I'll never forget that smell.

That was the beginning of an eight-year professional relationship with the master illustrator that grew into a wonderful friendship and even stronger admiration for the man.

People often ask me what Rockwell was really like. Well, that's easy, because one needs only to look at his paintings to know the man. His characters were reflections of himself in his created world. He was kind, gentle, unpretentious.

I can tell you I wasn't nervous after we met. "So, Joe, do you think the heads on this picture are a bit too warm?" referring to the possibility that there was too much red. He asked the question the way a neighbor leaning over the backyard fence might ask about the weather. Later, I found out that he often asked visitors their opinions of what was on his easel. After all, he reasoned, he was painting for them.

The first day in Stockbridge I was treated to lunch at his country club with some stately New England gentlemen. We drove over in Norman's old green Chevy, and on the way he told me stories about how the Boy Scouts of America gave him his big start in the business.

As he spoke, I could see in the old man the image of the gangly 18-year-old, with portfolio in hand, climbing the steps to the Manhattan office of Boys' Life Editor Edward Cave. That day in 1912, he walked out with his first commission: illustrate a story for the fledgling magazine, plus make pen-and-ink drawings for Cave's Boy Scout's Hike Book. Not long after that day, Norman was made the magazine's chief illustrator and art director, for $50 a month. Norman produced oil paintings for the magazine covers, charcoals and pen and inks to illustrate the stories.

The early experience he gained at Boys' Life was a springboard to commissions for The Saturday Evening Post covers. And that's something Norman never forgot. Indeed, one of Norman's all-time favorite commissions was the annual Boy Scout calendar. From 1925 until 1976, he did 50 Scout calendar illustrations for Brown & Bigelow, the St. Paul, Minn.-based calendar publisher. It was my job on Norman's last seven Scout calendars to come up with the themes and act as his art director.

On one of my early visits to Stockbridge, I took a walk over to the Old Corner House museum to see some of Norman's most famous paintings while he took his traditional pre-lunch nap and five-mile bike ride. Every day at 11 o'clock, Norman's wife, Molly, would knock on the studio door to remind him to take that break. "If I didn't," she said, "he'd probably work through dinner."

At the museum, I entered a room that held Norman's Four Freedoms. I remember feeling as if I were in church, but in an instant the reverence was broken. On ladders above me painters were slapping white latex on the ceiling and spattering the paintings below. I sprinted back, and dripping with sweat, burst into Norman's studio and told him. He took a long, thoughtful puff of his pipe, then smiled and said, "Gee, Joe, maybe they'll improve 'em."

You'll notice much of the characteristic Rockwell humor is missing from the great body of the work he did for the Boy Scouts. It was always the Boy Scouts of America's philosophy to be portrayed as wholesome, somewhat serious. Maybe Norman's shying away from humor in his Scout calendars had something to do with the stiff requirements Chief Scout Executive James E. West set down for him early in his career. West expected perfection. The Scout figure must represent American boyhood at its very best. Boy Scouts with well-scrubbed faces must be shown in immaculate uniforms.

These may be some of the reasons why Norman was hesitant when a truly comic scene happened on us during a photo session in his studio.

We were posing Boy Scouts playing band instruments when in walked little Hank, one of Norman's favorite local models, wearing a Scout uniform that was three sizes too big for him. Now Hank thought he looked just fine, but the rest of us broke up. We recognized the scene's potential -- a Cub Scout tries on a big Scout uniform; he can't wait to become a Boy Scout.

The idea was dropped that afternoon, but only until the next morning when Norman called me at home: "This idea of switching the subject may sound crazy but it has such a strong message and appeal," he said. "Do you think we can sell the Scouts on it?"

The national office loved the idea, so we scrapped the original theme. Can't Wait became one of the best-loved calendars he had painted for the Scouts.

On the last two Boy Scout calendars Norman painted, his illness sometimes kept him out of the studio. So, often I would drive up to Stockbridge to work on some minor parts of the painting--the boots, hats, and insignia on the uniforms.

Painting on the same canvas with the man I idolized as a boy was the biggest thrill of my career. And I have to admit, I spent hours painting on those boots and hats. I wanted to make them perfect, and besides, I wanted to sit in his chair in his wonderful studio as long as I could.

The 1976 calendar, Spirit of 76 was the last painting Norman did for the Boy Scouts of America. He died on Nov. 8, 1978. Following his death, the Boy Scouts of America gave me the honor of taking over the commission in the Rockwell tradition.

Now, when I sit down at my easel with a new Boy Scout calendar to paint, I remember all the things Norman taught me. He's still an inspiration to me.

One time on a visit to Norman's studio, I asked about his 1959 calendar Tomorrow's Leader. I told him I recognized that the Scout holding a compass in the painting struck the same pose as Michelangelo's "David."

"Yes, I used the pose," Norman said. "When you copy, copy from the best."

I guess I had the right idea when I was a boy.


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