The Perfect Watercolor

Jim Hamil (1937-2022)

Foreword: 

The year is barely half complete, and Kansas City has lost several well-known artists. I wished I could have spent time with all of them, but I consider myself lucky for getting to know Jim Hamil in the latter years of his life.

Many thanks to Alex Hamil for helping me with some facts for this memoir, and thanks to Melanie Werner for helping set up the meetings with Jim as I got to know him through our visits.

 The Perfect Watercolor

A memoir of my time spent with Jim Hamil

by Gregory E. Larson

          It’s always sad to lose someone who’s had an impact on your life. Jim Hamil was one of those people. Before I knew him as a friend, I would find time on a cold, rainy Kansas City night to slowly turn the pages of his “Return to Kansas” book that he and his wife, Sharon, published. It is full of paintings from all around the state in which I’ve lived my entire life. His watercolors were complex and I spent long hours thinking how he constructed them with color washes and details.

Print of watercolor of "Plaza Carriages"

          We first met in 2013. I bought a print of one of his famous Country Club Plaza scenes – one with the horse-drawn carriages in the nighttime snow – and had him sign it for me. When Jim discovered that I had worked at Hallmark as an architect, he briefly shared the story that in 1961 he gave Dwight Eisenhower a watercolor lesson in the private penthouse apartment in the main Hallmark Headquarters building, while overlooking the downtown skyline.

          When I discovered that the event had never been documented, I was determined to write a magazine article and get it published. He agreed to have me come to his house and interview him about the Eisenhower experience.

          Being a process-driven person, I developed a long list of questions, thinking that I would get all of the pertinent information in one meeting. I was so wrong. He took me on an adventure. We spent several sessions at his house, and I realized I was a better person for listening to Jim’s stories and advice. With each question on my list, Jim would backtrack and tell me several anecdotes that would eventually lead to the answer.

          The best part of the time spent with him was walking around his house, which was overloaded with paintings on the walls and stacked against the walls and furniture. He had a story about every painting, especially the ones he painted plein-air style, or outdoors on-site. I was amazed at how he was able to capture farm scenes with animals and the always changing weather. Some of his best paintings have the Kansas storm clouds reflecting the sunlight while the thunderheads are billowing upwards.

          In 2017, I started doing watercolors – something I hadn’t done in 40 years. I took some Kansas City Art Institute classes. Some of the paintings looked pretty good, so I decided to show them to Jim. His one sentence response was classic mentoring. He cut right to the issue, without “beating around the bush.”

          He said, “Greg, I really like your compositions and style, but all you need to do is put more pigment on the brush.” His comment was worth all the classes I had taken. I rushed home and went right to work on the watercolors. From that point on, the paintings took a significant leap forward in quality.

          Upon hearing that Jim had passed away, on January 14, 2022, I stopped to reflect on our friendship. With tears in my eyes, I thought back to those visits when Jim was full of tales. I dug through my stacks of art and found an art print he had given me and remembered the story behind it.

          On one visit, Jim seemed to have more energy and wanted to take me to the lower level of his house. He said there was much to see downstairs. I feared that he might trip and fall as we worked our way down the steps, but he did fine, conversing all along the way.

          He found a stack of prints, pulled one out and said, “Here, take this. I want you to have a print of this painting I did while on a sailboat in the Caribbean (St. Maartens, 1983). It’s titled Under the Jib." He talked about artists always wishing they could improve their paintings. In the artist’s mind, there is always something in each painting that isn’t quite perfect. He told me he was given the opportunity to sail on a wealthy Kansas Citian’s boat and decided to do a plein-air painting while on the deck. As he talked, his eyes began to twinkle and I could feel his energy.

"Under the Jib" 1983 watercolor painting by J.R. Hamil

          “This is one painting where everything seemed effortless. The selection of color, the brush strokes – it all went down as I wanted it. Since the boat was moving through the water, I had to visualize how the white water was to look in the painting.”

          I couldn’t imagine how one could effortlessly paint on-site in a moving boat, but if anyone could do it, I’m sure it was Jim. He continued, “It was amazing. I couldn’t believe that every brush stroke was exactly as I wanted. It was a rare moment that I’ll always remember. When I thought I was finished, a splash from one of the waves hit the watercolor paper and created a bloom spot. I decided that made the painting even better because it came while I was on the deck of the boat.”

          To me, his comment about the “perfect painting” is part of the essence of a life well-lived. There are moments in many professions, from scientists to athletes, and from artists to attorneys. It is a “sweet spot,” sometimes at the apex of a career, when experience, talent, and opportunity create a moment in time when the professional becomes one with his/her profession. It all comes together so well that it seems effortless. A perfect painting . . . a perfect race lap . . . a perfect closing argument in a trial.

          Jim had a storied career as a professional artist, and he accomplished so much. I am glad he shared the story of the “perfect painting.” It was created on a day when he was outside, at peace with his task. He made me feel like I was right on the deck of the boat with him, sensing his joy of that moment.

          The hours would melt away as Jim shared his life stories with me, and I will have great memories of the time spent with him.