Sadly, Bill fell on 2 January and broke his hip. After the opperation he suffered a stroke and  died in Miamisburg, Ohio on January 8th.  I want to organize a memorial of some sort in Babylon, once the weather warms this spring.  He will be greatly missed by his family and his many good friends.  Thank you all.

Bill Hoernel (1915 - 2004)

My father is not a complicated person, and neither is his art. If one were to apply standard labels, I suppose he would be considered a realist. He painted what he loved . . . which included birds, boats, and the natural world. Unlike his wife, Bill was never trained as an artist. By trade he was a sign writer; the pursuit of which gave him an acute awareness of layout and design, as well as an eye for what looked 'right.' As a boy I vividly recall watching him work . . . I would sit silently watching as he sketched a name on some newly varnished transom. The few lines of chalk, and roughly formed characters he began with were but a guide. The alphabet (or type-face), the spacing and the flow of the baseline sprung from somewhere in his mind, and as the work progressed it became apparent that the final product would bear little resemblance to his preliminary sketch. Often a small audience would gather about the boatyard, and at such times I could not help but feel pride in my father's talent. He approached his more creative painting in a similar fashion.

My point here is simple: he didn't 'see' the product in his mind, and he began with only the barest elements with minimal planning or preparation. Such works (signs or paintings) evolved as they were executed; yet they evolved quickly, and with a freshness and clarity that seemed to emerge effortlessly. There is something very genuine about my dad; and about his painting. So -- in a way -- how could his work be considered anything but 'realistic?' But I urge you to consider that this quality in no way suggests a lack of creativity; it is not, however, what might be considered 'cerebral' or filled with hidden meanings. What I mean to say is that it is not the sort of art that has to be interpreted ___ you don't even have to think about it, as it presents itself completely and directly for what it is. That is what I particularly like about it (and about him).

Influences? Yes, there were influences; my mother for starters. And there were other artists, both those whom he knew and those who he only knew of. Of the former group probably the greatest influences were Henner Agnew, Lou Stedman, and Don Eckelberry; of the latter group Homer, Wyeth, and Hooper. But really, his particular creative process did not allow influences to significantly alter what (in his mind) 'looked right.' As with his lettering, he started with a vague idea of what he was working toward. Rarely did he work 'on location.' More often than not, he worked from a photograph.

He took a great deal of photos, and the great majority were not particularly artful or well composed. But every once in a while he would find one (or an element of one) that stood out for some reason known only to him. From that he would work. What he sketched upon the watercolour paper he so highly valued only resembled the photo taped to his work table; it would evolve like the chalk lines on the transom of an expensive yacht.

As I say, his work is not intellectual . . . but neither is it naive or lacking in either craft or creativity. Surely, it is not modern art; if pushed for a label, I would consider it post-modern . . . but not in the sense that most folks use the phrase. There is no purpose behind its generation, or the incentive for undertaking it; it is non-pragmatic. A considerable part of why this is so lies in the fact that he never set out to become 'an artist' . . . he is an amateur in the truest sense of the term. He never sought to make a living from it, but an artist is a very large part of what my father has become.