Drawing a Cautionary Tale

As this year winds down, I’m taking stock on where I’ve come, where I hope to be going, and with whom I’ve so far shared my journey. This was an unusual year, in that Anne and I moved from our home in Mystic (which, parenthetically, is one of two towns in Connecticut not named after a town in the UK, although there are eight other Mystics in the US found in CA, CO, GA, IA, KY, LA, MS, and SD) to one in Amston (the other town name not be found in the UK and the only one in the US). We’re still trying to dig out from under all of the boxes and bits stacked up awaiting placing, donating, or tossing. And all this while maintaining our (blessedly) busy travel schedule to fulfill performing and teaching engagements.

Naturally, our time for communicating—let alone gathering—with friends and family has been scarce during this transition. This situation is exponentially true with regard to acquaintances or people we see on rare occasions. Such is how I would describe Robert C. Nilson. He was a fixture during all the years the Great Connecticut Traditional Jazz Festival took place, first in Essex, then in Moodus, Guilford, and finally Wallingford (apparently, in New England anyway, traditional jazz must remain nomadic to survive). No matter where they relocated the event, Bob Nilson would find it and us!

Bob was not only a fan of the music. He was a gifted artist who immortalized some of the acts he saw in action at the festival. He was one of those ambidextrous artists, executing his sketchings simultaneously with both hands. Not only was his artwork a wonder to behold, him working at his art was an incredible sight as well. He’d have no easel; he’d have his large sketch pad sprawled across his lap with various pencils and pens at hand(s) to spontaneously capture a musician’s essence: not merely their psychical appearance, but the way they approached the music and their instruments.

He was a kind, gentle, generous man who always offered to send copies of his finished work to his subjects. Of course, I repeatedly accepted his gesture with gratitude, and (will soon) have his artwork proudly displayed in Anne’s and my new home.

Why am I writing about him this month? Two years ago, before we packed everything up, I told myself to get in touch with Bob to see if he’d allow me to share some of his artwork with TST readers. I had no way of tracking him down; I tried whitepages.com and other online search sources, and even tried to contact Foster’s Daily Democrat, a paper that did a feature on him in 2018, and the Portsmouth Herald (now operating as Seacoastonline and for which Bob was a contributing artist) via email to elicit help in tracking him down. Neither publication responded.

Then the move happened: things were flung into storage; we spent a year-and-a-half looking for our “feet first” (as in, that’s how they’ll carry us out) home in between our performance/lecturing tours; and we finally emptied the storage units, filled our house, and started sifting.

Among the treasures and trash unearthed this week was a canister designed to hold and ship artwork. The return address on it was “Robert C. Nilson, artist. PO Box XXXX, Portsmouth, NH”. More importantly, there was a phone number! Today, I called it and received the dreaded robovoice informing me the number was no longer in service or had been disconnected. With trepidation, I wrote his name into Google, and besides the two sites I visited in 2023, his obituary faced me on the screen. Bob died in 2024 (at the age of 92, so really pretty good!). The tragedy? The postage stamp on the canister was dated 2004. That’s when I last saw him: at the GCTJF three weeks prior to him mailing the package. He and I were not close friends, but had a good rapport between us, so although I never reached out to thank him, I’m sure he knew I appreciated his generosity. I kept meaning to reach out: “There’s always time,” thought I, as I simultaneously thought, ‘There’s never enough time”: my inner voices acting in opposition, contrasting directly against Bob Nilson’s hands working in harmony.

Of course, none of us ever thinks there’s enough time. The more we believe this view, the truer it becomes. It’s our choice to make time. Had I tried a little harder, I might’ve been able to track Bob down to tell him what a joy his artwork has brought me and anyone who’s seen it over the years. Once I was able to track him down, all it would’ve taken would’ve been five or ten minutes on the phone. I blew it.

I’m keeping the writing here shorter than usual to allow space for some of Bob’s work in the print version of our beloved TST, with hopes that even more sketches will find their way onto the online edition. I’ll end by urging all of you faithful readers to make a resolution that matters for this upcoming year and beyond: don’t wait to reach out and make contact with people who matter to you. You’ll make their day and yours! More next year.

Jeff Barnhart

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Jeff Barnhart is an internationally renowned pianist, vocalist, arranger, bandleader, recording artist, ASCAP composer, educator and entertainer. Visit him online atwww.jeffbarnhart.com. Email: Mysticrag@aol.com