Artists inspired by the masters play (and paint) by their own set of rules

‘Tis the season for artwork inspired by a true rite of spring (no trademark required), Masters Golf tournament, presented by your friends at Augusta National Golf Club. I have a new leader at the club, although this is an area of ​​life that really shouldn’t have any ranking system, beauty being in the eye of the beholder and all. What I have to say is that I’m drawn to Masters/Augusta/New Season/Ye Olde Game art that celebrates the joy of it all, along with the enduring charm of golf. Modern life is trying to extinguish it. There are artists, thankfully, who paint a line in the sand with their brushes.

One of my favorites in this category is a Bruce McCall painting that appeared on the cover of The New Yorker on April 11, 2011. The painting depicts a golfer in a tree playing a shot from a ball wedged between a tree trunk and a limb. Of course, two green-clad tournament officials are taking the whole scene by terra firma. A collection of birds has a much better view of it. The point for me is clear: Golf is absurd, and we move on.

Along the same lines, master painter and cartoonist Edward Sorel provided the cover art for it Sports Illustrated Advance issue of Masters dated April 4, 1966. In this piece, Sorel (who turned 97 last month) describes Jack Nicklaus (looking like a cherubic-cheeked assassin), Arnold Palmer (looking a little overworked) and Gary Player (looking small and ready to take off) in a single green jacket. Sixty years later, his unspoken message (as I see it) could not be more timely: There is no need to take any about this very seriously. The eye-opening editorial term for a newspaper’s sports section used to be “the toy department.”

Which brings me to a painting, a new and playful painting, that our daughter, Alina, came across recently walking on a green corner of the world wide web, looking to ease the pain of Tax Day for her golfing father. It’s a watercolor called Chipping Season by a young artist called Liesel Anne Callahan. It describes golf chipmunks somewhere in Amen Corner. One of the things that makes the Masters tournament work is that it has a lot of rules, for players, fans and everyone else, and people are willing to follow them, in the name of decorum and order. One of the things that makes this painting so enjoyable is that the artist needs no rules at all. The golfing chicmunks have their carry bags right on the green. Another group of golfing chipmunks are in a cart, topped with a yellow-and-white surrey, parked dangerously close to the green. The painting itself is a study in green in all its many shades.

I called Mrs. Callahan. “I don’t play golf, but I’m surrounded by people who do,” starting with her husband, she said. She joins him in watching the Masters every year at their home in Lawrence, Kans. Liesel is a fourth generation Jayhawk.

In real life, are golf clubs worn with a green dress or a pink and white striped skirt? No, but in chip season they do. See the golf carts going the wrong way over the Hogan Bridge on 12? You don’t, at least not during the CBS telecast of the Masters. It’s a background moment in Chipping Season.

“I know Augusta has a lot of rules, but as an artist I like to take what I see and make my own rules,” Callahan said.

During the telecast, she saw Amen corner – 11th green, par-3 12th, tee shot on 13th – and made it hers.

The artist’s father is a doctor. Her mother is a musician, organist. Her husband is a runner. They are new parents. They live in a house overlooking a city park. When the Masters is in, Lawrence, some years, is still coming out of winter. Her brother-in-law came up with the name, Chipping Season.

“When I think of an animal that plays golf, I think of chipmunks,” said the artist. “I don’t know why.”

Michael Bamberger welcomes your comments at Michael.Bamberger@Golf.com