Arts and Letters

The death of Ted Roszak is an incalculable loss to the art world and to his many friends. I feel his loss especially hard, as he was one of my very oldest friends. I first met him when he was a student at the Art Institute of Chicago—over fifty years ago.

I always looked him up when I went to New York and we often kept in touch by telephone. The last time I called him was just before going to England to ask if he knew Henry Moore, whom I planned to meet. His lovely wife, Florence, answered and told me that Ted had died in the hospital that afternoon. I was so tongue-tied with misery that I couldn't even tell Florence how sad I felt for her.

Ted was many times the equivalent of a cum laude student at the Art Institute school. He was a powerful draftsman and an enthusiast for hard work. He wasn't the type to flaunt the trappings of his trade. He was sincere—an artist in his essence.

All his life he needed no ism or cult to justify his work. He stood sturdy in his own convictions and was a true individual. His art was rooted in Chicago and blossomed in New York. His work deserves to live throughout this century and far into the next. Our grief is profound. Our loss is great.