The sympathetic black and white photo that appears in the opening pages of the hefty, generously illustrated, informative catalogue that accompanies the show made me pause. Paul Wonner and Theophilus Brown, pictured about a decade before their deaths, are seated close to each other, arms similarly positioned, hands clasped in front of them, leaning forward, their legs casually aligned, comfortably touching, displaying an intimacy of longstanding, their lives and careers intertwined to an exceptional degree, although the precise directions of their creative trajectories were not entirely shared. Brown inclined toward human forms in some semblance of action and interaction; Wonner was acclaimed for his interiors, exteriors, and still lifes.
In the photograph, Wonner looks attentively outward at the viewer, his expression thoughtful, a little skeptical, as if sizing us up—or the situation. Brown’s gaze is directed elsewhere, seemingly engrossed by something beyond the picture frame, a little restive, perhaps, ready to have the session done with. Their heads are incandescent, crowned by the glorious California light. There is nothing else in the picture, except what appears to be a blown-up, softly brushed, serrated silhouette of grasses in the background. The scene
