Arts and Letters

It was my great privilege to meet Abe Rattner in the early days of my Paris sojourn. He was a warm, loyal friend from beginning to end. Easy to get along with, très sympatique, generous and understanding. In contrast to his explosive, dynamic canvases, he himself was mild and complacent. But within him raged a volcano which poured forth endless fire and flame in his work. He was a completely sincere, dedicated artist. He worked like a slave, giving all of himself and a little more to boot.

Meeting him for the first time no one would suspect that he had trained as a pugilist in Philadelphia Jack O'Brien's boxing academy. Once aroused—especially over an injustice—there was no stopping him. He didn't get angry—he became a tower of wrath. Much has been said of Van Gogh as a colorist. In my opinion Rattner was all color, all fire. That same intensity and integrity which drove Van Gogh mad, enabled Rattner to turn out a production which rivals Picasso's in its way. In truth, he surpasses Picasso by his never failing fervor and ardor. He never did anything with the left hand, so to speak. He never endeavored to show how clever he might be. No, he aimed to move people, move them to the guts.

It goes without saying that he was a technician of the first order. He remained a student all his life, as a master should. He was also the essence of truth. I recall attempting to learn something about the water color medium from him. (I had absolutely no talent.) It wasn't long before he informed me that I had better not take lessons, that I should just go it on my own. Far from discouraging me, his words only inspired me to continue making water colors. Had another painter told me what Rattner did it might have annihilated me. But Abe was always encouraging, always seeking the best in others.

I mentioned his pugilistic ability. Of course this had come about as a means of protection from violent anti-Semites. Left to himself he would not hurt a fly. Though Jewish, there was nothing of the so-called religious Jew in him. He practiced his religion outside the temple. He was what I call a 101% Jew, or you might say a universal spirit.

Each time he tackled a canvas it was with heart and soul. His canvases, however bold in technique, however riotous in color, always reeked of meaning. Nothing was ever done glibly. He was earnest in everything, which did not mean he lacked a sense of humor. Only in his case what is called humor was always transformed into joy; the joy of life!

That is what attracted me to him in the first place. That and his perseverance. For he did not have an easy time of it climbing to the top. I doubt very much that even to this day he is fully appreciated in his native land. Though it was the war that brought him to France it was the spirit of art which abides seemingly in all Frenchmen that kept him there most of his life. At least in spirit. If it had not been for the second World War I believe he would never have left France.

Like so many great artists past and present I believe his day will come in a future epoch. He is not popular with the masses and to the irreligious Jew his fervor smacks too much of the Bible. (Yet what more wonderful characters can one ask for than appear in the Old Testament? Beside them the figures in the New Testament seem pale and often unreal.)

No, reality for Rattner was not what passes for reality today. Though he was a man of his time he was nevertheless of the future more than the present. Which is simply another way of saying—“a man for all time," bless his soul!