Remembering Ambrose

Blogging from Bruce
May 26, 2008


Memorial Day. The time when we should remember those that have fought for us. Depending on who you talk to or what part of the country you live in, it all began as a day of decoration of the graves of the fallen soldiers of the Civil War. Since I spent quite a few years living in Columbus, Mississippi, I prefer to lean toward the fact that it all began there in Friendship
Cemetery in Columbus.
I spent many a morning sitting in the quietness of that old historic cemetery doing watercolor renderings of the unique tombstones and the numerous stately gnarled cypress trees that dot the landscape. At first it seemed a little strange to me to be sitting out in a cemetery painting but after a while it was just an every day occurrence. No one was there to bother the
budding artists as we sat in various patches of grass sketching whatever caught our imagination. It was very quiet and peaceful and a nice little breeze would find it's way to us. We usually had a snack and some iced cokes (still in bottles in those days!). Mr. Ambrose would be sitting under a big umbrella, occasionally offering advice on something we might be struggling with. To this day I still see cemetery's with a different perspective than most people. And I still hear Ambrose telling me, "you have to see with your heart, Miss Tedford, not with your eyes. Look for the shapes. Squint and paint the shadows. Don't go for the obvious."

His advice did sink in. Ambrose was the head of the MUW Art Department when I went to MSCW in 1971. 'Messy W' was his favorite term for it. He was never in favor of the name change in 1974 though. He called it 'Moo U' but that was better the alternative which would have been Women's University of Mississippi. WOM. Nope! didn't like that one either. He had a really dry sense of humor and at some point became my advisor. I was a student worker in the Art Department office and one day he told me that he didn't like who had been assigned as my advisor and that he was putting me on his list. That was the defining moment for me in college. He rarely took the role as advisor unless he saw some promise in the student. It also
set me apart and the other professors looked at me in a different light and my workload took on a new life. The gauntlet was thrown and I had to rise to meet the challenges. I tried several times to back out of it but he refused. The result was, I learned to paint in the old fashioned techniques as well as learned all the little tricks. He didn't teach by talking. I sat at his
side and watched him over and over. He would watch me and then offer suggestions as to how to improve. I learned to do things by thinking them out and then trial and error. He taught me that some times what looks like procrastination to some is actually working each step out in my head and then doing it right the first time. Years later, we still had a close bond. He told me that he had to pass on some of his knowledge to someone and I was the one he chose at that time.

We stayed in touch for years, talking on the phone a lot. He was a great comfort to me when my Daddy died. He called me and talked to me like I was one of his own kids. Then one day I called and the phone was disconnected. It was a while later that I learned he had died not long after our last conversation. When I think of Ambrose, I remember the stories that he used to tell. He talked of his time in the military. He talked about being in school with Walter Anderson and gave some first hand accounts of dealing with Anderson's mental illness. Can you
imagine taking art instruction from a contemporary of Walter Anderson? It still makes me take pause. When I walk into some of the banks or our State Capitol there are larger than life portraits that have been painted by Charles E. Ambrose. I can spot his technique from a distance.

Ambrose reminded me of a tortoise. He was slow and steady and had a hard shell. He might not be as well known as Andrew Wythe but his works were many and varied. He never sought glory or recognition. He was just what he was. A great artist, a family man of deep religious conviction, a mentor and a dear friend. So on this Memorial Day, I salute you, Mr. Ambrose, and all the other memorable people in my life that have passed on.