Down a gravel path in the South Capitol neighborhood of Santa Fe sits the home of artist Ford Ruthling. Little has been written about the man that doesn’t focus heavily on his house and gardens; his adobe enclave is festooned with the sort of local architectural and decorative touches—furnished portales, nichos, santos, brightly colored “outsider” art and assemblage—that charms visitors into thinking Santa Feans live in a fantasy world. Ruthling is well known for his oil paintings of Native American pottery, some of which became a series of U.S. postage stamps in 1977. He also used an embossed painting technique, for which he stamped designs in tin and then inked and pressed the tin to create images, many of which feature religious iconography and themes.
Interviewing Ruthling these days is something of a challenge. He is getting on in years, and his short-term memory has suffered. He met with Pasatiempo in connection with the retrospective of his work opening at The Owings Gallery on Friday, Dec. 23. We settled in his comfortable living room, in front of a crackling fire, and were joined by gallery manager Laura Widmar, family friend John Edwards, Edwards’ 4-year-old daughter, Kristin, and two small dogs, Choo-Choo and Tina.
“Did you ever marry?” I asked.
“Did I ever marry? No, but I am married to Robert, if you want to call it that—we never have. I’m gay. I don’t know if you know that.” Robert Mason, with whom Ruthling has lived for many years, walked through the living room later in the interview; he had just come from hearing a morning concert of classical music.
“What do you want to know? Ask me anything,” Ruthling said.
“That’s all very apparent, and I shouldn’t have to answer that question. She’s asking me very perplexing questions,” Ruthling said to Edwards.
“Well, normally when you give these talks, you say, ‘This painting is about me and my brother,’ or ‘This one’s about my grandmother.’” Edwards tested Ruthling’s blood sugar, explaining that he can get short-tempered if it’s low. It was; we broke for chocolate. Ruthling asked Kristin for a hug and teased her about what might be inside her plastic cup. “Are you drinking coffee?” he asked. “Milk!” she shouted.
“Was it good?” Widmar asked, her tone skeptical.
“We go through about two gallons a week,” Edwards said. Ruthling said he was exaggerating.
In 1954, the Ruthling boys joined the Air Force. After Cadet Corps training in San Antonio, Texas, Ford was assigned to a squadron in Presque Isle, Maine. He served as a radar interceptor officer, seated behind the pilot in a plane known as the F-89, or Scorpion. He made deep and lasting friendships in the Air Force and escaped what he came to consider the harmful, dominating influence of his mother. It is perhaps strange that his mother was close friends with Pamela L. Travers, the author of Mary Poppins, which Ruthling insisted was loosely based on his family’s household—though Mary Poppins was published before Travers came to New Mexico.
“He has claimed that,” Edwards said.