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Raymond Davidson, a Remembrance
Filed under: In Memoriam Tagged: art, baseball, covers, in memoriam, poetry, Raymond Davidson, spots
Paul Kocak writes:
His New Yorker covers of the 1970s are quintessential reflections of urban complexity distilled to a serene and sober simplicity. A Zen focus of particularity, here and now. His spot drawings for The New Yorker, signed “R. Davidson,” celebrated Manhattan archways, doorways, a flowerpot on a windowsill, a wrought-iron fence. Raymond Davidson died just after midnight on July 7 at Tara Home, a hospice at Land of Medicine Buddha in Soquel, California. He was creative almost until his very last days, self-publishing poetry and reflections sprinkled with his pen-and-ink line drawings.
We met in the 1980s; he worked at Doubleday, I at Random House. Creativity was, in his view, a spiritual wellspring. He urged me to write haiku poetry as a spiritual exercise. I did.
In those years, fans of the New York Mets often saw a man with a long gray beard and glasses, wearing a seersucker jacket and bow tie, sitting in owner Nelson Doubleday’s box, right next to the Mets’ dugout. He was painting watercolors of the Mets players. These were exquisite depictions of light and shadow and color; balletic celebrations of form and grace and movement. They are gems.
They are New York.
They are Raymond Davidson, Brooklyn-born of Norwegian immigrants more than eighty years ago.
When the woman at the hospice told me of Raymond’s peaceful death, she said he looked like someone in an El Greco painting. Yes, majestic and heavenly.
She said he was “easy to love,” a fitting signature to his life and work. Raymond Davidson easily loved the ordinary right before our eyes.
I easily loved him like a father and a brother.
Paul Kocak
Syracuse, New York
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Other writing by Emily Gordon
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- Feature: Rea Irvin: visionary art director, man about town, and New Yorker founding father (for Print)
- Report: Learning to read with comic books--that are edited by Françoise Mouly (for Print)
- Interview: Designer Eleanor Grosch (for Print)
- Proposal: a better-designed Metrocard (for A Brief Message)
- Review: Charles Addams: A Cartoonist's Life by Linda H. Davis (for Newsday)
- Review: King's Gambit: A Son, a Father, and the World's Most Dangerous Game by Paul Hoffman (for Newsday)
- Review: Does a New Republic redesign mean a change of tune? (for Print)
- Interview: James Surowiecki on what's next for the wisdom of crowds (for Assignment Zero)
- Report: Eustace Tilley spruces up for The New Yorker's website redesign (for Print)
- Feature: Muslim immigration iconography in the Netherlands, and an interview with Ayaan Hirsi Ali (for Print)
- Micro-essay: on saving time through inspiration (for A Brief Message)
- Review: books about various New Yorker cartoonists by Liza Donnelly and Iain Topliss (for Newsday)
- Profile: screenwriter and novelist Joe Keenan (for Newsday)
- Review: The Complete New Yorker (for Print)
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Comments
A beautifully written memorial to what feels like a beautiful man.
It suddenly occured to me to google Raymond today, who I have wonderd about for years since I lost contact with him in the ’90s. How strange to be compelled to do that three days after his death. He was a good friend to me in his crumdugeon way. We met when I returned to UC Santa Cruz to finish my B.A. after a long absence. As a chronic procrastinaor and dyslexic I had difficulty sitting down to write the needed papers. On many ocaisions Raymond sat at my early Macintosh and wrote as I dictated Academic drivel. He kept me going. I don’t think I would have graduated without him.
I miss you Raymond
I met Raymond about 5 years ago. His was an inspiration to me as a much younger artist. He taught me ‘creativity’ not fame and money is the true heart of an artist. He self published many fascinating books which he gave away free to his friends.
I was Raymond’s neighbor for three years.
Raymond created ceaselessly.
Drawings, stories, poems…
Mostly I remember him sitting in his room, listening to classical music, and drawing.
I will miss Raymond’s charm, and wit. A slow, lugubrious wit; drawn out, and unfolding like a Faulkner tale.
But, I am very glad he introduced himself. My world is richer having known Raymond Davidson.
- -
Okay,
Father Luke
Raymond was “one in a million”. While he pretended to be a curmudgeon, he was soft and sweet on the inside and very engaged with the outside world. His wit and humor were second to none and no matter how hard he tried to shock and provoke, it was impossible not to love and him. He will be deeply missed by all!
I met Raymond 18 years ago in Santa Cruz, Ca. and he insisted on mentoring me and encourage me to continue to create. I wrote many songs and poems, always sharing them with Raymond.
He never critized, only offered suggestions on how to improve. He and I were close friends to the end of his days. I visited Raymond at the Land of medicine a day or two before his passing. He was resting peacefully in the most loving enviornment. I was glad to know that he was spending his last hours there.
I have many wonder memories of Raymond and many of his books to remind me of the man with the long grey beard. Raymond, you gave me more than you could ever know.
I met Raymond(Never RAY) in Santa Cruz about 18 years ago. He insisted on mentoring me. He encouraged my creativity. He told me I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. He told often of wanting to stop but no matter how hard he tried the words and images continued to pour out of him right up to the end. I visited Raymond at the Land of Medicine in the Santa Cruz mountains a day or two before his passing. He was resting peacefully so I left him a drawing and a few farewell words. He was an incredible friend who gave me more than he could ever know. I miss him.
I am so saddended to learn about the passing on of my dear friend and sponsor Raymond. Raymond exemplified and taught me the true meaning and value of living a simple, modest, unattached life and I will always love him for that.
Thank you Raymond for showing me how to be noble and wise without being prideful and egotistical. I only pray that I am able to live and hopefully pass down a fraction of what you gave me to another.
My memories of you and our times together will live in my heart forever.
With Love,
Your Friend-
Bill Hinton
Raymond Davidson was my great uncle. I only spent time with him when I was very young and lived in Brooklyn. I now wish I had the opportunity to spend more time with him as I learn so much more about his life. I used to look in the New Yorker just to find his drawings.
Raymond’s life touches me daily. His look at peoples around him, his immortalization in pen and copy, and his true smile will ever be alive. Santa Cruz and all whom got the chance to have time this artist are blessed and forever filled with joy only Raymand has to offer… Love and Happiness Joy to he Joy to she Joy to all… William Sharar Muir
I stop here now and then, as if at a tomb, or at a serene and flower-laden memorial garden. Reading the comments here fills me with a mournful gratitude, but an overbrimming thankfulness just the same.