Remembering Bill Rasdell

This blog was originally given as a tribute speech by Harrison Center Board Member and friend of Bill Rasdell, Trent Cowles, at the William “Bill” Rasdell Tribute held on February 2nd, 2023.

On a First Friday in 2003, I wandered into Bill’s basement studio at the Harrison Center, drawn in by the sounds of Tito Puente and Wes Montgomery music, the smell of incense, the soothing artwork, the offer of Cuban rum, and most memorably-smiling, hospitable Bill welcoming me into his domain.

I immediately connected with Bill and his art, bought an impressionistic piece featuring flowing ballet dancers, and began a journey of getting to know Bill and the stories behind each piece I bought. His work reflects, first, his tremendous eye for perspective and getting just the right shot, and second, his ability to tastefully enhance the work with digital tools. His art is tasteful, accessible, honest, and pleasing to the eye. Through the years, I’ve framed and given away more pieces than I have kept to share the joy and beauty of his work.

Over the years, we became close friends, quite the odd couple. Me from a small town in southern Indiana, and Bill, who grew up in the big city of Indy. He told stories of his family’s restaurant around 30th and Michigan Road (which is now MLK Boulevard). He had lived in New York in the 1970s, was a pioneer in digital art, and was a global artistic explorer. He had a natural ease, a non-demanding confidence, and was simply comfortable to be around. He had the ability to connect, relate, communicate, and accept anyone’s input while not changing his own mind about what he believed to be true. Despite differences in our backgrounds, our friendship grew, a testament to the ethos of the Harrison Center, a place of connections.

Bill’s work has been over my mantle and displayed in most every room of every home I’ve inhabited since I walked into his studio over 20 years ago. Knowing the story behind his work provides meaning, depth, and joy every time I see each piece.

Although I’m very sad that he’s gone, the works help me remember the many meaningful moments we spent together.

I learned much from Bill. When I commissioned a piece for him to create over 30 of to give to people who had contributed to the community, I liked the shot but not the framing. I somewhat fearfully and carefully recommended a change to the way the pieces were framed. He reacted with acceptance and grace rather than artistic pride, which taught me a valuable lesson in how to receive other’s ideas on my work positively rather than defensively.

For the artist in all of us, a lesson from Bill. When I asked him how he became a successful artist, he said he ‘had game.’ A term I didn’t expect or fully understand-so I looked it up to mean “game is to have skill, to have the spirit and willingness to get involved in the action.” That explained Bill. He built his skill and then applied the relational character he had developed throughout his life, at his mom‘s restaurant growing up, in his neighborhood, in Harlem, in Cuba, and in the emerging art scene in Indy-to seize opportunities by connecting with art buyers, with patrons, with grantmakers to help spread the message of his art, never for him to live an extravagant lifestyle, but to fund cultural artistic trips to Cuba South Africa, and east Africa. The ‘game’ he applied was highly skillful, in art and relationships, in furthering the depth and reach of his art. His lesson for the artist in all of us is to up our game, to build our skills, connect, relate, and seize opportunity, to jump into the center of activity to make things happen.

Bill and his wife Marcia were complementary and accepting of each other. She was an organized, steady banker, and Bill a free-spirited, artistic dreamer. He told me after she passed that they went to sleep every night holding hands. Those close to him know that he struggled to be in their house alone after she passed.

I’ve saved text messages from him as prized possessions. In October, he sent a message saying, “just a shout out to say hey! love you my brother.” I replied that I loved him too. Then on November 18, I got a text that said, “When you want to hear something crazy—gimme a shout!” (Exclamation point smiley face) I replied ‘sounds interesting I will call you in the next few days.” I got busy and tried to call him three days later and left a voicemail. By the weekend, I got the news that I tried to call him too late. How I regret not calling him back immediately for one last conversation. Yet I’m thankful for the many meaningful and memorable moments we shared together. The lesson for me, and possibly all of us, is to immediately make the call when a friend reaches out.

A few words that describe valuable artwork are rare, unique, honest, and original. These same words describe how Bill became a most valuable friend; he was truly rare, unique, honest, and original. We can aspire to make our lives works of art, as Bill did, by being unique, honest, and original.

The Harrison Center is humbled to receive a memorial gift of $25,000 from Trent and Amy Cowles to seed the William A. Rasdell Education Fund to support artists. If you would like to contribute to the Willliam A. Rasdell Education Fund to help artists thrive and succeed as Bill did, you can do so by visiting our donation page and selecting 'Willliam A. Rasdell Education Fund' in the Initiative section.