An artist of restless imagination, Robert Rauschenberg indulged his creative spirit, refusing to stick to one medium, or even to one discipline. For him, there was no conflict between painting and photography, between sculpting a piece and designing a stage set, only a myriad of opportunities to create.
That's what I admire most about Rauschenberg's abundant body of work -- his exuberant display of artistic freedom. It overflowed from his famous collages and multimedia ''combines'' and from the seemingly disjointed, over-the-top images one could never finish appreciating, whether they appear on canvas or a dancer's body.
''Every time I see a Rauschenberg, it feels new,'' says Miami art collector Richard Shack who, with his wife Ruth, owns 10 of the late artist's works, including a Stunt Man series and a Veils piece from the early 1960s. ``You can't get tired of the old Rauschenberg.''
Rauschenberg died in his Captiva home-studio Monday night at 82, and for those in South Florida who knew him, collected his work, benefited from his philanthropy and admired his efforts to preserve Florida's environment, his passing invites reflection.
''I will certainly miss him. He was a prince,'' says Bonnie Clearwater, director of the Museum of Contemporary Art in North Miami, which featured a retrospective of Rauschenberg sculptures in 1996.
FABULOUS FORM
''He was our second show after we opened the museum,'' Clearwater says. ``He was in fabulous form, and he was incredibly gracious during the opening. He signed catalogs the entire evening and was basking in the glory and all the admiration people were showering on him.''
At Miami Art Museum, where Rauschenberg also exhibited, his acrylic on copper painting Untitled has been installed at the entrance of the plaza-level galleries in his honor. The work was donated to MAM by Rauschenberg's friend and fellow artist James Rosenquist in memory of Sheila Natasha Simrod Friedman.
In 2005, MAM presented a New Work exhibition of Rauschenberg's Scenarios series, based primarily on photographs taken by Rauschenberg in Captiva.
''Rauschenberg was noted for his infectious enthusiasm and for his willingness to take risks and push boundaries,'' says MAM director Terry Riley. 'His eagerness to explore `the gap between art and life' in an astonishing variety of forms and media made him one the most influential artists of our time.''
Last year, the Museum of Contemporary Art in North Miami included Rauschenberg's costume designs -- leotards and tights silk-screened for the 2000 performance Interscape -- in a retrospective on collaborations between choreographer Merce Cunningham and contemporary artists.
''Rauschenberg, Merce Cunningham and John Cage were forging something new when they began collaborating,'' Clearwater says. ``[Rauschenberg] was one of first artists to cross into dance, music, theater, performance.''
Rauschenberg's ties to Florida, however, predate the area's museums. He had lived in Captiva since 1970.
In 1979, Rauschenberg collaborated with Leon Rosenblatt, art director of The Miami Herald's Tropic magazine, to create artwork for a cover. The image was vintage Rauschenberg -- a composite of photographs, typography and washes of color that brought the magazine national attention.
Three years later, Rauschenberg was awarded a $100,000 commission to illustrate a large, leather-bound adaptation of Marjory Stoneman Douglas' The Everglades: River of Grass for the new Downtown Cultural Center, but the grand dame of Florida letters didn't like Rauschenberg's artwork and nixed the deal.
''He takes pictures of things and then cuts them out and rearranges them in what they say is a fresh and exciting way,'' she told a Herald reporter. ``And I found out they don't plan to use the whole book. They want to . . . make photographic hash of it. . . . I'm not going to allow my book to be cut up and used as a sampler. . . . ''
HIS PHILANTHROPY
Douglas, however, would have approved of Rauschenberg's low-key philanthropy.
Diagnosed with a reading disability as a child, Rauschenberg funded a program for art teachers to work with children with learning disabilities at The Lab School in Washington, D.C. In Captiva, he bought land, not because he planned to use it but to keep it from being developed.
Last January, I was lucky to have been in New York at the opening of what will probably be remembered as Rauschenberg's last show of new work.
It was opening night in Chelsea, and I might have missed Runts, a series of 16 paintings created in 2007 that was being exhibited at PaceWildestein gallery, were it not for the commotion caused by the bright flash of photographers rushing to capture a figure emerging from a black limousine.
It was Rauschenberg, dressed in a black velvet jacket and orange shirt, smiling as he made an entrance in his wheelchair.
The gallery was packed, and a parade of stars from the dance and art worlds -- among them choreographers Trisha Brown and Merce Cunningham -- marched before Rauschenberg to congratulate him and wish him well.
Artist Chuck Close greeted him with a kiss on the forehead. Cunningham parked his wheelchair next to Rauschenberg's and the two held court.
Rauschenberg smiled all evening.
The scene was surreal, a collage, like one of Rauschenberg's works.
I stood there for a long time, mesmerized, unable to ask a question or offer a greeting, before I remembered the art. At that moment, all I could see and appreciate was a man, surely near the end of his time, relishing his life, a man full of joy.
