As a young man my father, Paul N. Massing, was an art student in Buffalo NY. He studied anatomy, lettering, drafting, painting, and drawing. Since early childhood he had a natural gift. He could draw accurate portraits of people with feeling. He also had a very technical mind. These talents served him well throughout his life.

Raising a family forced him to apply his talent to the field of chemical engineering. As the sole breadwinner he was a reliable, hard-working man who met all his responsibilities. Dad provided his children with a healthy, safe, and comfortable environment. He was also a mature and passionate artist.

His art was his passion and he somehow found time to “crank it out” as he would say in his jazz filled basement studios in the houses of our youth. We lovingly honored his solitude when directed. My siblings and I were amazed by his sporadic production as deadlines loomed for his annual outdoor art exhibitions in the Buffalo/Niagara region where he exhibited. We all grew up attending the Allentown Art Festival, the outdoor show in Lockport, and the Lake Chautauqua Outdoor Art Festival.

My attention growing up was not centered on artwork like my older brother Peter. He had the gifts of drawing and painting that I lacked. My interests seemed to fall on the more technical side. I loved art and enjoyed our trips to the Albright-Knox Art Museum. I loved the outdoor festivals where we met all of dad’s creative cronies and became free range kids. My first trip to visit ArtPark in Lewiston, NY was with my dad. We had a great time. His interest and enthusiasm were on full display as we visited the artists’ site-specific work scattered around the park. They were all available to answer questions and impart their knowledge to the visitors of the park. That first visit with my dad changed my world. My understanding of art changed when I realized that art could be anything. A pile of dirt moved from one place to another could be an artwork. I attribute that experience and the next three summers that I worked there as an intern as transformative.

Seeing other artists’ work and listening to jazz were transformative for dad. He was always inspired by seeing work up close; we often talked about the creative impulse. In the following decades our exchanges through the mail of exhibition notices, catalogs, and invitations fueled our discourse. I was moved to find all the ephemera that I sent to my parents over the years carefully saved and contained in a couple of boxes after dad passed away. Throughout our lives my brother Peter and I enjoyed dad’s enthusiastic support of our endeavors as artists and teachers. We had a great mentor in the house. Our father gave us creative fodder to chew on and digest. Thank you man.

– Jack A. Massing, November 2020, Houston, Texas