Dalí, Picasso, Warhol, O’Keeffe. Hemingway, Dickens, Twain. These are artists and authors who only need one name for recognition. They are titans of creativity who created some of the most memorable pieces of artwork and literature ever. Period. The word legend is grossly overused, but these seven hold that title when others fall short.
This group of creative wonders also share another unassailable trait: they loved cats.
Hemingway had a thing for six-toed (aka, polydactyl) cats and his cats’ descendants can still be found at the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum. Unsurprisingly, Mark Twain gets the award for the best names of his over thirty cats: Sour Mash, Bambino, Sin, among others. He even rented cats during his travels to continue enjoying their company while on the road.
Hemingway
Picasso and O’Keeffe had a thing for Siamese cats. Warhol named all of his cats Sam. Dalí opted for an exotic pet ocelot named Babou, which he would bring to fancy restaurants. Dickens had a beloved deaf cat named Bob and, when it died, he had one of its paws made into a letter opener.
Picasso
O’Keeffe
The point is that some of the greatest artists of the past two centuries loved cats and by golly, I do too.
What is it about cats that attracts artists?
Some argue it’s their independent spirit. Cats tend to be rogue, isolated creatures that act as if they’re good with or without you in their presence. They allow you to pet them and if you take it too far, their claws and hiss will let you know.
Others say it’s the duality of cats that allures the creative types. Cats are docile and downright lazy for much of the day, but often, when night comes, their wild nocturnal instincts come alive and they rove about in the shadows, typically making a racket.
I agree to some degree with these sentiments, but overall, I think it is the overall air of mystery that cats convey that is their most enchanting trait. You never quite know what a cat is thinking, yet they seem to know something important. They exude confidence, and I think we creatives hope to soak in some of that unflinching boldness when it comes to our work.
Years ago, we had a cat named Hank, and he was the coolest little tabby you could imagine. He would bask lazily in the sun on the floor of my studio while I painted or opt to go ramble around outside in the rocky terrain of Colorado. I taught Hank to shake. Baby Ivan taught him to love babies.
But eventually, the indoor/outdoor Hank opted to drop the former and remain the latter, forever roaming the foothills of the Rockies where he may still be to this day (prolly not).
Hank
Since Hank, we have fostered cats and sadly brought them back to the shelter when it was time for us to hit the road again. Our kids joke that they are going to have whole wings of their future houses devoted to pets since our vagabond lifestyle is not conducive to owning pets. Orin, especially, is a lover of animals, and we have told him “no” about a thousand times when it comes to getting a pet.
Well, this year is different. We have committed to more extracurriculars for the boys (football, basketball, hockey, guitar, piano, and travel baseball, to name a few). We also bought a new van for our art festival needs, and it was a big investment for our business. As such, we won’t have the time or cash flow to take our usual European extended vacation. This means we’ll be home for most of the year. And that means it was time to get some kittens.
Thi8s sentence lo8oks like tti8hs because 8one of our brand new kittens is climbing on the keyboard as I typer and it in’ lav .*********Hks name is Hobbes and , along with his brother Calvin, they are tfllng the voc n our sou84ls and making us all ooohhh and ahhh a at every t0urn.0.
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Calvin (gray) and Hobbes (tiger striped)
Cats are the best.
The presence of a cat does wonders, and I’ve seen it with my paintings. The Bookseller was a large painting I completed last year, and it depicts a book vendor lounging in the doorway to his shop, entranced in the book he has propped up on his (of course) long legs. It is based on a guy in Morocco, and I wrote a whole blog about him.
As I was painting that piece, I was finishing up but could sense that something was missing from the overall feel of the painting. It didn’t quite capture the experience of encountering a shop in a Moroccan medina. I closed my eyes and recalled our time in Tetouan and Chefchaouen eons ago. The smells were the first to come to me: fish, dust, spices, cats. Cats! Of course! That’s what was missing. What goes better with a good book than a lazy cat? Aha!
The Bookseller
I painted the snoozing black cat into the scene, and immediately, the whole painting exuded a certain warmth and comfort. That’s what cats can do, and that’s what they are currently bringing to our family.
Long live the cats!