John Little, the artist whose brush captured the grit and charm of Montreal’s working-class neighbourhoods and the people who lived there, has died.
Little, who was 96, died in his sleep on Monday night.
In interviews, two of his close friends described him as a brilliant painter who ignored art world trends and focused on what he cared for most: the people and the communities he loved.
Terry Mosher, a cartoonist for The Montreal Gazette and a close friend of Little’s — also his godson — recalled how, as a boy, he would watch Little work in his downtown studio. At the time, Mosher’s family lived above where Little lived with his wife.
He would sit in the studio, talk sports and watch Little toil over canvases, surrounded by mementos and magazines, the smell of linseed oil in the air.
They grew close and, though he didn’t know it at the time, Mosher believes those conversations in the studio influenced him to begin his own career as an artist. Even today, Mosher’s studio looks much the way Little’s once did.
Little was born on Feb. 20, 1928. He took to art early, studying in Montreal and New York City. But school “wasn’t that important to him,” Mosher said. “He just wanted to paint.”
He also wanted to experience the vibrant heart of the city. His friend, the gallerist Alan Klinkhoff who wrote a book about Little, said Little haunted the New York jazz clubs, would sneak into cabarets on St-Urbain Street before he was of legal age and enjoyed long nights in downtown bars, surrounded by people.
“He loved the vibrancy and the guts of life of the city centre,” Klinkhoff said.
As a young man, he worked as a draftsman at his family’s architectural firm where he perfected his keen eye for structure, but, after he met his wife, Lorraine, on a trip to the East Coast, he decided to take up painting full time.
He devoted his efforts to capturing the things he already knew he loved: street scenes and working-class neighbourhoods in Montreal, Quebec City and in the Quebec countryside.
He painted neighbourhoods that were changing, even disappearing, Klinkhoff said. Cities across North America, and Montreal in particular, were tearing down neighbourhoods to build highways and high-rises, forcing people out of urban centres and into suburbs.
Some of those neighbourhoods remain immortalized in Little’s paintings: the rowhouses of Le Faubourg à m’lasse, which was razed to build the Maison Radio-Canada; the backyard rinks and family homes in the Sud-Ouest borough where today there are tall, glass-clad condos and a highway.
His paintings earned him success; today some of them sell for tens of thousands of dollars. Critics admired his eye for light and ability to represent the chill of winter.
But Mosher thinks his success also came from his work’s universal appeal. He painted images that spark memories in most Montrealers.
Little painted several covers for Maclean’s magazine. One, published in 1959, shows men and women seated on their balconies, watching a baseball game in the distance at the old Delorimier Stadium, which is now gone.
The 1959 cover is a painting that, to Mosher, represents the exact kind of scene Little enjoyed: a slice of working-class life — and a sprinkling of sports. He could talk about baseball for hours.
But Mosher said he will most cherish the intimate sketches Little made for his family and friends. While in New York, Little dabbled as a cartoonist, and he would send personalized caricatures to loved ones.
If Mosher was heading to Paris, say, Little would send him a sketch showing Mosher wearing a beret — if he was going to Maine, the sketch would show Mosher and his family sitting at a crab shack.
“Real personal treasures,” Mosher said. They’re reminders of Little’s dependable personality and the love he showed those he was close with. “It’s a real loss for me because he isn’t there anymore,” Mosher said. “He was just somebody I could confide in and also he made me laugh. He was one of the funniest people I ever knew.”
“This one really hurts. I’m going to miss him dreadfully.”
Mosher said Little was a devoted husband and a loving father. He is survived by his two sons, Brian and Roger.
His wife, Lorraine, whom he loved dearly and was rarely apart from, died in 2016.
Little did practically no interviews throughout his career, Klinkhoff said. He was self-effacing and presented a shy exterior; he would deflect conversations away from himself and his paintings, preferring to make jokes or talk sports.
“Those people who know him will remember that aspect of him, his sense of humour,” Klinkhoff said. “He was just wonderful, wonderful company.”