Architecturally, the Western History Reading Room of the Denver Public Library is one of the most elegant locations in town, with its Michael Graves-designed wooden “derrick” holding the center space and the book shelves and seating areas radiating out from that, like wagon wheel spokes, or like the panels on a windmill’s wheel.

Through the summer of 2009, there will be a special, very appropriate selection of artworks encircling the space as well. The DPL is hosting “Denver Artists Guild Founders: Fifty Two Originals,” an exhibit of wildly diverse works created by an influential group that formed in 1928-1929. As stated in the exhibit materials produced by the DPL and the show’s curators, Deborah A. Wadsworth and Cynthia A. Jennings, this group “believed deeply in the redemptive powers of art, and in the joy of the creative process.” Part of the Guild’s own statement of purpose states that their goals were “to encourage the practice and appreciation of the fine arts and to promote the highest professional standards in original art.”

That sounds great, but talk is cheap. The trick is that this group delivered, and sixty years later, they still do, as evidenced by this show.

Some of Denver Art Guild’s members had strong careers that have carried their names into our own era. Gladys Caldwell Fisher’s sculptures remain (her “Rocky Mountain Sheep” grace the original main Post Office downtown); Laura Gilpin made a strong name for herself in photography; Vance Kirkland’s reputation has grown steadily, bolstered by the museum that bears his name; Charles Waldo Love’s dioramas at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science are a core strength in that facility; John Edward Thompson’s decorations remain at St. John’s Cathedral, and Allen Tupper True’s murals can be found throughout the city. Some founding members moved on, to become better known – or court obscurity – in other parts of the country. As the Depression took hold, some by necessity disappeared as professional artists, which means that some of these artists, despite their gifts, are now largely forgotten. This exhibit brings together work by all of the founding members, providing a snapshot view of the wealth of talent working in Denver in the late 1920s, contrary to old stereotypical beliefs that Culture didn’t exist west of the Mississippi (references to “fly-over country” are sad indications that such ideas haven’t really vanished).

As Wadsworth and Jennings point out, over half of these fifty-two artists had trained in Europe (six were born there), and an equal number in studied in New York City. They traveled widely, and were aware of and influenced by the contemporary artistic movements of their time. Hints can be found here of Impressionism, Cubism, Expressionism and Abstraction. The Denver Artists Guild exhibited as a group at the Denver Art Museum, and had a seat on the DAM’s board. Yes, voting representation of local artists at the local art museum (which was, after all, founded by local artists, via the Denver Artists’ Club in the 1890s) – what an intriguing concept!

While the works included are by the 52 founding members, the individual pieces date from varying eras in each artist’s career, and inclusion has been based (at least in part) on availability, rather than showcasing the strongest pieces by each artist. “Wish-lists” notwithstanding, curators can only show the works they can locate.

In the realm of the totally subjective, I’ll mention a few of the stand-outs.

“Frozen Pond” (1918, oil/canvas) by Albert S. Bancroft (1890-1972) is pristine like a crisp winter day: You can nearly smell the cold air. The detail in this small work has that same sense of heightened clarity, and comes across as an example of photorealism as a result.

There are three strong lithographs here by modernist Arnold Ronnebeck (1885-1947), two NYC cityscapes and one western landscape, “Rain Over Desert Mesas” (1931) that captures the moodiness of weather and the expansiveness of the land. It’s a quietly powerful piece.

The large “End of Summer” (undated, oil/canvas) by Louise Emerson (1901-1980, better known now as Louise Emerson Ronnebeck – the curators list the artists under the names they held at the time the Guild was founded) is one of the treats in this exhibit. Two girls curl up together on their seat in a train, sleeping, as they pass through a desert landscape. Back to college after a summer spent helping on the family ranch? Heading home to the southwest following a big-city vacation? The viewer gets back-story speculation along with the masterful visual treatment: it’s a grand painting.
There’s a just-right “Landscape” (undated, watercolor) by Grace Church Jones (1868-1959) that captures the softness of the hills unfolding themselves into the distance, punctuated by a few trees. The sense of place – rolling plains, perhaps an unseen creek – is evocative despite the apparent simplicity of the piece.

I first saw John Edward Thompson’s still-life “Green Thermos Jug” (1943, oil/canvas) several years ago and am glad to find it again here. Thompson (1882-1945) is one of the bigger names in this group, which might make this arrangement of mundane objects seem a bit trivial. Instead consider all those dusty old classical still-life paintings that center around a somber ewer (probably full of ale, milk or cider), ensconced among fruits and vegetables, symbol of bounty and a rich pastoral feast. To the modern eye, isn’t a thermos jug the new equivalent? The newer 21st century thermos looks a bit different than this post-WWII model, but it’s still the thirst-quenching thing we tote along on picnics. Thompson’s painting is formal and very traditional in composition, but true to his own era in terms of the objects he chose to portray.

Estelle Stinchfield (1878 - 1945), Still Life 1930, oil on canvas

These are just a few of the hits, and there’s plenty more good stuff in this show, including photographs, magazines, exhibition catalogues and children’s books from the period. Given the traditional materials, formal presentation, thoughtful display and elegant frames, the chosen works feel appropriate and totally “at home” in their Reading Room setting. This is a great show for anyone curious about Denver’s cultural identity in earlier times. Anyone who simply wants to enjoy a strong and very viewer-friendly art exhibit: Here it is.

On a final historical-update note, artists’ associations are alive and very well in Denver. Among just six of the city’s co-operative galleries (Core, Edge, Next, Pirate, Spark and Zip 37), I counted roughly 180 full and associate members, and these are just the galleries that I’m aware of or for which I could find membership figures. While these groups are sometimes (foolishly, mistakenly, perhaps arrogantly) given short shrift in their hometown press, they’ve been the proving grounds – where artists can be nourished, grow and mature – at the heart of Denver’s art community for over 30 years.

Oops, scratch that “30 years”: That’s just the era I’m familiar with. Denver’s art-associations go back much farther, to the Denver Artists Guild’s founding in 1928 and beyond. They clearly express the willingness of artists to choose community over competition, to band together to create their own opportunities, to create a culture in which all can flourish. This exhibit provides new context with which to view the city’s modern artistic vitality. “Denver Artists Guild Founders: Fifty Two Originals” is a rich, intelligent and welcome exploration of our artistic roots.

Art grows well here. Let’s appreciate our heirloom plants.

B50 Note: Long time Colorado resident Renna Shesso is a writer and independent researcher whose work focuses primarily on art and spirituality. She is the author of Math for Mystics (available from Amazon.com), and can be reached through her website, rennashesso.com.

Of course, it wasn’t really theirs to claim, as it had been deeded to the plains tribes in the 1851 Fort Laramie Treaty, but Larimer made a deal with William McGaa, who had founded the town of St. Charles earlier in the year. McGaa would give up his rights to the city, and Larimer would give him whisky and name a street after him. It was a good deal all around (though the city leaders eventually took away McGaa’s street). Then on April 6, 1860, Denver merged with Auraria, located just across the creek – and the price of the deal, no surprise, was a barrel of whisky.

In the first two years of the city’s existence, 100,000 people came across the plains to Denver in search of gold. Of those, 75,000 would leave disappointed. In the past 150 years, Denver has pulled its ass out of the fire any number of times. Whether it was the flood of 1864 (or 1965), the silver crash of 1893, the great depression, the oil bust of the eighties, or countless other struggles, Denver and the people who live here have reinvented themselves through community, art, and story.

Over the course of the upcoming season we will offer up our favorite 150 different expressions of the city, its neighborhoods, people, and culture. All media whether in image, text, or video will be published. Along the way, we’ll be offering up some opportunities for getting together to share some new stories and some whisky too.

We hope that you will join us in celebrating Denver’s past and present, and in building our future. We welcome your input and your thoughts. If you are interested in submitting content to be part of the buckfifty, visit our how to submit page for more information.

Jay DiLorenzo is a photographer at the Colorado Historical Society. He produced this story in conjunction with “The Italians of Denver” exhibit in 2007.

For more stories produced by the Center for Digital Storytelling and the Colorado Historical Society visit milehighstories.com.

The Muddy’s idea began in 1975 as the brainchild of Joe DeRose. It started as a debating club for a few graduate students from Colorado University. They found a place in an old downtown hotel that was on the lower end of its declining years. It was a marriage of convenience—cheap rates, poor students. Too soon, urban renewal broke up this union, forcing the students to scurry about fifteen blocks up into north Denver, where they reopened.

The place quickly morphed into a bookstore that couldn’t support itself. In desperation they added coffee, then pastries and sandwiches and finally an old manual lever espresso machine. Although the birth canal had been strange, what emerged was a full-fledged Coffeehouse, “Muddy Waters of the Platte Inc.” It spent the next ten years surviving on a month-to-month lease, under the mainstream radar and against all odds.

It became a wildly successful “Bistro of the night,” open from seven in the evening until four in the morning, seven days a week. Along with the bookstore-coffeehouse, it added The Slightly off Center Theater, all in the same building. Now there was a place for Music, Plays, life-drawing classes and the piece de resistance, Muddy’s “Summers of Jazz Concerts.”

Muddy’s hosted all of the governors of Colorado and all of the Mayors of Denver from when it opened until it closed its doors in 1997. However, that was only a small part of Muddy’s patina, because it also caught the tail end of the “Beat” generation. Pontifical greats like Ken Kesey and Alan Ginsburg railed against man and machine in our confines.

Jack Micheline headed a list of great poets who spoke their lyrical prose on Muddy’s stage. Both the known and the unknown poet mixed pentameter and hexameter for all who would listen and then strode out the doors leaving their ambience behind.

What made Muddy’s worth writing about was not only who came and went, but also what happened to people while in its ethereal grasp. The real importance lay in its ability to expose people to each other by gently mixing together the grist of their characters, laying bare what was and wasn’t known about each other. It forced us to look at ourselves through the eyes of our contemporaries, some of whom had dared to live outside that damned mainstream box; showing us that social oxygen exists everywhere.

-excerpted from “Muddy’s Chronicles” by Bill Stevens
muddyschronicles.net

Author Bill Stevens will be signing copies of his new book, “Muddy’s Chronicles: Secrets of the last Great Coffeehouse” on Sunday, Dec 21 at 2 p.m at the Mercury Café. Admission is Free.

Mercury Café
2199 California Street, Denver
303-294-9258
www.mercurycafe.com

Growing up in the 1960s, I always thought the Haneys must be rich because Mary Ann Haney had a playhouse in her backyard that matched her house and one year the Haneys took Mary Ann, myself and one other friend to both Elitch’s and Lakeside for her birthday. Elitch’s has moved off of 38th and Tennyson, but Lakeside is still up at 46th and Sheridan and looks pretty much the way it looked back then. There were lots of rides, but the one thing I absolutely loved was the Fun House.

Outside the Fun House, there was a cackling woman and when you entered the Fun House, whiskey barrels bumped up against you, knocking you left and right, and just as you got past them, there was a roller floor to throw you off balance. It took some concentration to get through the entrance; you could fall down! Inside the funhouse were huge slides that you’d climb up to the top of and slide down, but the coolest ride was the spinning wooden disk. It must have had a thousand coats of wax or varnish on it.

It was a huge wooden disk on the floor and it changed speeds, so sooner or later it threw you off. There was nothing to hold onto when you rode on the disk, and when it threw you off you would slide across the floor around it. Even when I was eight, I thought this seemed kind of dangerous, which made it even cooler. I tried to master the disk all that day and every year I got to go to the Fun House, but never prevailed. Eventually they closed the Fun House because of liability concerns.

The Disk in the Lakeside Fun House, circa 1940. Photo by Harry Rhoads, courtesy DPL Western History and Genealogy Department.

Inside the Fun House at Lakeside. Photo courtesy DPL Western History and Genealogy Department.

In 1948, modernist architect Richard Crowther moved to Denver. Crowther gained international fame for his cutting-edge passive solar energy designs. His own home on Madison Street included a solar heated swimming pool, and the warmth from the pool also heated his home. Crowther also built several energy efficient homes in Denver.

As soon as Crowther came to Denver, Lakeside contacted him to jazz up the park in the Art Deco style and he built new ticket booths and renovated the Lakeside Ballroom. Another great Crowther addition to the Denver landscape was the Cooper Theater on Colorado Boulevard. The Denver Cooper was one of three designed by Crowther. The other two were in Omaha and Minneapolis. Crowther’s theaters were designed to highlight the new Cinerama technology with their spacious, sleek-lined design, cushioned seats and curving risers.

The Cooper Theater on Colorado Boulevard (from a 1964 postcard)