Transcript for the Piece Audio version of Fighting With My Dad

HOST INTRO: Solitude can give an artist peace and freedom. But solitude can be addictive. And just like any drug, too much of it can damage the artist and the people around him. Producer Richard Paul has seen this happen with an artist who’s as close to him as you can possibly get, his father Bob Paul.
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What do you say about this guy – my father? An accomplished graphic artist – successful enough to put three kids through college. A man who no one trained.

[DAD: I taught. Myself. How. To do it.]

A man whose art helped sell the N-B-A and Canadian lottery tickets. And who paints watercolors so vivid, you’d swear you’re looking at a photograph. A man whose self regard and professional success have created such a monumental self-confidence that he doesn’t feel he has to care what his clients think. He’s so good, he knows they’ll be back.

[DAD: You ought to hear me talk to some of these clients. They’re hysterical. Because no one would DARE talk to them that way. I tell ‘em things like “What are you wasting my time for?”
RP: You say that to a client?
DAD: Oh absolutely. Absolutely. More often than not I laugh at these guys right to their face and sometimes they respect that!
RP: And what happens when they don’t?
DAD: When they don’t, you find another client. (laughs)]

But despite all this faith in his talent …. When it comes to his art, my dad is surprisingly level headed about what he can accomplish.

[RP: Do you consider yourself an artist?
DAD: A schmeerer. An artist is somebody who can take a blank canvass take something out of his head and paint it. I paint what I like. But I’m not passionate. My idol was Vincent Van Gogh. That’s a painter. That’s a painter. I look at Renoir. And he worked alone too. Most of these guys did.]

I hope you caught that last part. Because it’s a key thing to say about my dad. He is a man who works alone.

[DAD: I don’t care what other people think about me because it’s not important. And if they don’t get it – like YOU don’t get it about who it am – then – you know – I’m sorry you don’t get. But it’s not interfering in my life any way.
RP: What if nobody gets it? Then where are you?
DAD: Who cares? Whose interview is this?! Is it your interview or mine?! See you got that look on your face. You’re starting already. (FADE AND LEAVE UNDER)]

My dad has always had two dreams. And for most of his life he’s been living them out. He always wanted to work in advertising and he always wanted to do things his way.

[DAD: I have always wanted to work by myself. I don’t know why. Probably because I was an only child um – bdlum, bdlum why did I want to work alone? I don’t know! ]

Whatever the reason, he never quite fit in at his first job in a small ad agency.

[DAD: No matter what I did their attitude was: They knew more than I did. I would come along and say, “Well why don’t we try this?” “No! No! We can’t do that. What do you guys think?” Oh boy! And I got so sick and tired of that that I decided I had to be on my own.]

Since then, starting in the attic of the house I first grew up in, he’s lived life his way.

[RP: Do you see any downsides to working the way that you’ve worked all these years?
DAD: Yeah. Sometimes my work turns out for the moment to be more important than
my family around me. And some of my family members are not willing to accept that.]

But if my dad was absorbed in his work. He wasn’t exactly ignoring us. In fact he was teaching us his lessons all the time. In our house, advice wasn’t just offered. It was more like a hose was stuck in your ear and someone turned on the advice spigot. No , I received lessons from my father that I learned all too well. It’s why – for years – I had no trouble expressing my opinion.

[DAD: Virtually everybody in the top echelon of business is stupid.]

But why I had such a hard time expressing any positive emotions.

[DAD: You know it’s like people say (puts on a voice) “I love you. I love you.” And then you say, “OK you love me. What else you got?”]

And why I grew up utterly confident that whatever I was doing was the right thing.

[DAD: If they don’t like your work, fine! They don’t like me, I don’t care about that either]

I learned from him all of the things that made me who I am. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve ALMOST been fired … the hours I’ve spent learning anger management. Today I work alone.

[DAD: Are we gonna discuss your childhood or my career?]

Though unlike him, I don’t like it. I miss being able to walk over to the next cubicle and ask, “Can I run something by you?” When I see my dad these days – which isn’t often – we always seem to have the same fight.

[RP: Why is that?
DAD: Oh I know why. But I
RP: Why?
DAD: Oh I know why!
RP: Why?
DAD: You have no patience.]

Worst one we ever had was on the George Washington Bridge. I wanted to get out of the car and jump. I was working for a university at the time and he was all over me – “They don’t respect you!” “What are you working for someone else for?” I told him I did it because it made me happy. To which he said, “Ah! There’s more to life than happiness!” (PAUSE) See for my dad, independence trumps EVERYTHING else. Even having other people appreciate what you do. I asked him about watercolors. They are so good, people used to buy them right off the wall of a fancy restaurant in Connecticut. Until he stopped letting them.

[DAD: (exhales) it becomes a hassle. I don’t know what to charge for them. Because I really, really enjoy them too much.]

So today HE’S the only one who gets to see them. They line the walls of his houses in Connecticut and Vermont, his office, even his garage. But, believe it or not, they bring him no satisfaction. I know because I asked him if the paintings – or anything he’s done artistically – makes him feel satisfied creatively.

[DAD: I dunno. I can’t answer a question like that.]

Wait a minute. A 56 year career with NOTHING you can point to as the most creative thing you’ve done? What about that painting of the old barn with the glorious, angry sky …. That’s so real you can almost smell the rot and feel the humidity and the danger? Or the one of mom, looking into a window? That one’s so lifelike I literally had to walk right up to it and look at the brush strokes to realize it wasn’t a photograph. What do you mean there’s nothing that stands out?

[DAD: It’s never really been that important. That’s something you have to understand
RP: What hasn’t been?
DAD: Trying to create the most successful thing for yourself.
RP: Is trying to create the most creative thing for yourself not important?
DAD: You don’t understand. You’re interviewing ME! My life is based on what I’m working on now. If it’s good and it’s some of the best stuff I’ve done, that’s OK. If it’s some of the worst stuff I’ve done that’s OK too. That’s hard for you to understand. But when you work by yourself that’s a rationale that you evolve and develop.]

Here is someone with nearly complete creative control … who has never compromised but who has never achieved anything he’s proud of. Sort of amazing. But I guess it makes some sense. If you go through the world believing there’s more to life than happiness, then you’re willing to forfeit even satisfaction for independence. My father has given me many things. I have his “eye” and his business acumen. He gave me tenacity and he taught me the value of a dollar. And while I do value my independence, I’ve learned one more lesson from my father. If you go through life pleasing yourself without thinking of others, in the end you risk living with the empty feeling that really you’ve pleased no one at all. I’m Richard Paul.

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