About Jon

Artist and professional illustrator, JON HENRY, was a native of Philadelphia, a rhythm guitarist, writer and photographer.  He attended the Philadelphia College of Industrial Arts and studied with Philadelphia artist Abe Hankins, and in New York City, at the New School and Robert Motherwell's studio.
Jon was a member of the Camino Art Gallery (1959-61) and Art Director for Grey Advertising, both in New York City.  He was also a freelance artist producing many hundred record album covers and book jackets for RCA and Verve, as well as a typeface for Chartpak called "Abigail" (one of the "Velvet Touch Winning Faces" of 1988).  In addition, he did work for Polaroid and IBM in Boston.
A prolific artist, he has had solo exhibits in New York, Philadelphia and San Francisco, and has paintings, collages and prints in hundreds of private and publc collections, including the Brooklyn Museum; the New York Public Library;  the Albright Knox Museum in Buffalo, N.Y.; and the Baltimore Art Museum.  In 1973, he produced an abstract mural (4' x 160') in the Student Center at the State University of New York (SUNY) at Albany.  During a 10-year period at SUNY, he also produced multi-media productions including, "The Cry of Jazz" for the Department of History, tracing the evolution and growth of jazz.
A Gainesville, Florida, resident from 1987 until his death, Jon was an active participant in the local art scene, exhibiting at the University of Florida Art Department, the Thomas Center Galleries, the Center of Modern Art, and the Artitorium.  He participated in numerous Florida art festivals including the Spring Arts Festival and the Downtown Arts Festival."
​   - Description taken from the Art in City Hall flyer (May 7-July 11, 1990)
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His Work

"Color shapes placed at random are consciously and spontaneously developed, modified or eliminated, until an exciting balance and interplay between negative and positive areas occur.  I try to express visually what Whitney Balliett said about jazz, 'the element of surprise.'"
Abstract Expressionism
Photography
Jazz Jackets
Collage - Woodcuts - Murals
Multi-media Productions
Trash as an Artform
Reminiscences of New York City Life
Graphic Arts
"Color-in" Books of abstract art 
Postcards w/humorous graphic commentary on the art world
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"Treasure Chest.. 1926" by jon henry
 I received a set of oil paints for Christmas.  A small set, the size of a cigar box.  Where to hide it from the big boys?  Not the cloak room with all the bins like narrow urinals that circled the room, each bin full of clothing hanging on hooks; galoshes and skates at the bottom; games and caps on the top shelf -- all out in the open.  There wasn't a square foot in that room that remained unnoticed for five minutes!

Maybe the kitchen?  We didn't eat there anymore.  Since the administration building was built we all ate in the large dining room; the kitchen remained untouched, unused.  All the cabinets and drawers were still full of pots and pans, tableware, dishes, napkins and napkin rings.  The only thing ever taken from the kitchen were the table knives.  The handles were black-taped so they wouldn't shine at night.  They gripped better too.  The napkin drawer seemed good, quiet, nothing to rattle.  I put the paint set under a pile of napkins.

Everyday after school the cottage was usually quiet, everybody was outside playing.  I would open the drawer and take out the paint set.  It was the one thing that really belonged to me.  Everything else we had was interchangeable -- like the handed-down clothing we got from the Baptist churches, always mended and clean, but never really yours.  As you grew or the clothing shrank, it would go to the next smaller boy and you would be promoted to the next larger size.  The games and toys, bats, balls, gloves, were community objects and were accepted that way.  Whoever got it first owned it for the rest of the day only.

I sat on the floor by the napkin drawer and opened the paint set.  A dark brown wooden treasure chest with a golden latch.  Gently raising the latch and lifting the lid, I saw about twelve slender silver tubes of oil paint all in a row with strange words printed on each label.  Burnt sienna, flake white, ivory black, cobalt blue (Blue de Cobalt), terre verte, chrome yellow, Vandyke brown, Crimson lake.  I picked up one tube, unscrewed the metal cap and lifted the cork disk.  Crimson lake, a shiny deep red; I touched it with a finger and smeared it in the palm of my hand.  It became a brighter red and what power it had, a little dab could cover the whole hand!  I noticed a strange odor too.  I better get this off!  A dash to the bathroom; a  ball of toilet paper rubs off most of the paint.  I brought some paper back.  Two little glass bottles, side-by-side in their own compartment -- purified linseed oil and spirits of turpentine.  I unscrewed the tops and smelled them.  Another compartment, a low tin cup with a strange double bottom.

The front compartment had long-handled brushes -- "Red Sable, Winsor & Newton" printed on each handle.  I painted some scribbles in the air.  Then I noticed, latched under the box lid, a wooden board with a hole in it.  I wondered what it was for.  I heard the noise of some boys coming in the back.  I latched the box closed, put it under the napkins and closed the drawer.

Tomorrow, I'll open some of the other tubes!
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