A Pop Icon Is Remembered for His Humor and Kindness

During their 30-year working friendship, Sidney B. Felsen, a co-founder of Gemini G.E.L. printmaking studio, helped Roy Lichtenstein produce some of his most famous and influential graphic work. The artist, who died Monday of pneumonia at 73, is remembered here.

My friendship with Roy Lichtenstein began in 1968, when he came to Gemini to create his historic series of “Haystacks” and “Cathedrals” based on Monet’s Impressionist paintings. From the moment Roy arrived, it was clear he was a great collaborator. He made each of us who worked with him feel that we were a vital part of the art itself, and he endowed us with pride and a feeling of accomplishment.

Roy came to Los Angeles to make art, most often at Gemini, and beyond his many prints and multiples, our city is fortunate to have a monument to Roy’s work in the form of his giant mural in the CAA building in Beverly Hills. Roy loved coming to Los Angeles to work, and I felt the appeal was the relaxation and ease of our city, compared to New York, where he grew up and lived, combined with the glamour of the movie industry.

Coupled with Roy’s astonishing ability to create great art was a certain aspect of predictability. He arrived at the workshop at 9 and left at 5; he worked Monday through Friday and (almost) never on the weekends. Lunch was from 1 to 3 and it would always include one margarita with no salt.

Unlike other of Gemini’s artists, whom I always schedule in approximates (say, “next spring” or “next autumn”), with Roy you could make a date on May 14, 1994, for him to arrive on Feb. 1, 1995, and he’d arrive on Feb. 1. He came to Gemini every two or three years, always in February, and he’d stay four to six weeks. He arrived fully prepared with sketches or collages for the images he would create in our workshop.

Roy lived a very complex, action-filled life, and yet he never seemed perturbed. He appeared to do everything effortlessly. Roy Lichtenstein was an industry, and yet if I called with a question, he’d answer the phone himself and call back the next morning with the answer. Perhaps one of Roy’s pressure outlets was his low-key sense of humor. It was constant, it was steady, it was a particular “hum” that was always there. His observations of ordinary things and events made us smile, and his humor coyly appeared in his art.

For all of his success, Roy was shy and self-deprecating. One of my fondest and funniest memories of Roy is of an event at which we were honored together at the White House. In 1995, Roy and Gemini collaborated on an edition of prints to be placed in U.S. embassies around the world.

The imagery was an abstract music design with a vertical orientation. For the presentation to the president and first lady, the print was placed on an easel, draped for a dramatic unveiling but clearly oriented horizontally. After President and Hillary Rodham Clinton each spoke eloquently for 10 or 15 minutes and as the print was unveiled, Roy made a simple speech: “No one got sick, and no one screamed, so I guess it’s all right.” He generously never mentioned that his art was displayed on its side.

Roy and his wife, Dorothy, were married almost 30 years. He loved her very much, and he was always proud of her; they were a spectacular couple. Roy would often say, “I’m so boring, and Dorothy brings excitement into my life.”

I don’t think Roy was boring, but Dorothy did bring excitement into their lives. They lived an active social life all the time, but especially in Los Angeles. It was not unusual for them to spend time with Steve Martin, the Winklers, Sean Connery, Michael and Judy Ovitz, Doug Cramer, Dan Melnick or Michael and Jane Eisner. I think Roy always appreciated the way Dorothy planned much of his life.

Roy had two sons, Mitchell and David; he was very instrumental in their growing-up years and remained much involved with both of them throughout the years. He supported them in any way they chose to live their lives.

For Roy, there was always a need to work, and it was very strong. Dorothy would talk about their annual trip to Captiva Island, Fla., at Christmastime. She would bring her swimsuit and books to read; Roy would bring his sketching pads.

There was a certain seriousness about the way he approached making art, whether it was doing a painting, drawing, sculpture or print, and it carried through to peripheral items, such as designs for jewelry, dishes or the hull of an America’s Cup boat. In recent years, Roy studied and played the saxophone with similar intensity and dedication. My wife, Joni, and I saw him perform one evening for an appreciative audience in a small cafe in Manhattan.

Roy fit in comfortably with virtually everyone in the art world. The closest friendship he had with any other artist was probably with Ellsworth Kelly, and the closest friendship he and Dorothy had together was probably with Bob Rauschenberg. Paul Waldman was a tennis buddy and a longtime good friend of Roy’s, and there are many other artists and collectors who undoubtedly feel they’ve lost someone very dear to them.

If there is anything about Roy beyond the art he created that deserves to be part of his legacy, it is his kindness. I believe it came from the heart; I don’t think it was just because he couldn’t say “no.” He gave a tremendous amount of his valuable art to raise funds for political, art world, medical and many other causes, plus I witnessed more than once as he helped individuals and old acquaintances who were in need of money.

Roy’s death is a great loss to the world, for the monumental art he created and the human kindness he practiced. I miss him already.