Vincent Smith - artist's Smith's portrait of the late financial wizard Reginald Lewis becomes first African American mounted within Harvard Law's distinquished - achievers

American Visions, June, 1999 by Sharon Fitzgerald

"This is the largest group I've seen here on a Saturday morning," a regular visitor to Harvard Law School commented last fall. Lawyers from the class of 1968 had gathered that weekend to celebrate the writ of passage handed to them 30 years before. Their collective tweediness did not conceal the hardy crimson glow of achievement and belonging that they possessed.

Presiding from this lecture hall's front wall, close to the ceiling, were ponderous portraits of venerable, wigwearing barristers suited in red. One leaned against a mantelpiece; one was seated in a chair; another sat poised at a desk, quill pen in hand. Ornate frames situated them duly within the past, detached from the room's modern touches--its blackboard, podium and microphone, and two television monitors.

The visiting alumni appeared comfortable. They may have sweated here before, but today they were unharried in these surroundings. Besides, their capacity for nonstop wheeling and dealing notwithstanding, upbringing demanded that each bide his time.

This moment belonged to the late financial wizard and investment attorney Reginald Lewis--a classmate who had seized the corporate spotlight--and to Lewis' portraitist, the artist Vincent Smith. Placed upon a wooden pedestal to the right of the podium was a large canvas, covered with a white sheet. The Lewis family had made a $3 million gift to the university, and Lewis' portrait would that day become the first of an African American mounted within Harvard Law, among the other distinguished achievers.

Prior to the unveiling, representatives of Harvard, Lewis' widow, Louida, and Vincent Smith addressed the assembly. "I knew Reggie for 10 years," Smith said. "Five of those years were before he became wealthy. He told me that he loved to spend time in my studio. After the high-tech world of business, he would come in, take his coat off and discuss all sorts of things.

"Then I picked up the paper one day and saw that he'd taken over the world. I thought, This is not the Reggie that I know. After he got big, he called up and asked me, 'Aren't you sorry you didn't paint me now?' But you can't rush the muse."

As the Lewis family gathered around the portrait, preparing to go public, their faces offered no clues about which aspect of Lewis' personality had been committed to canvas. Smith's expression, while just as mysterious, whispered a number of tales. Heavy, mysterious lids shielded eyes both curious and knowing. His frame suggested a wiry restlessness in youth that had evolved into an easygoing, purposeful canter. With a swatch of kente cloth or one quick switch of his hat, he could become an enduring sage, a streetwise bohemian, or an urbane prince of a fellow.

On this day in Cambridge, Smith was both friend and creator. No drum roll sounded as each Lewis family member grasped a small portion of cloth and prepared to uncover the painting. Nevertheless, a mood of expectation pulsated among the assembled alumni, almost becoming audible.

"Ta ta, da da," sing-songed Mrs. Lewis, in a voice filled with both pride and loving memories. In one breath, the portrait was revealed. The hush that followed stopped just short of a gasp. Lewis' arrival this day was just as it had been during his lifetime: They hadn't seen him coming. In vivid, fearless, uncompromising colors, artist Vincent Smith had surprised this audience by conveying the brilliant, assertive, individuality of his multimillionaire friend.

Smith's "Portrait of Reginald F. Lewis" is a textured, exuberant array of oils that dares to convey an African- American man of power. The colors embraced by the black liberation movement work distinctly with strong yellows, rich purples and pinks, lime greens and azure blues. The patterns--streaks of drapery, a mottled suit, checkered stained glass--create movement and hold the viewer in constant surprise, while sculpted forms keep the focus on Lewis' humanity.

Once the formal presentation had ended, Mrs. Lewis thoughtfully discussed the painting's meaning: "There is so much in it. The colors are strong. There are symbols--[Smith] got our daughters in; there are African sculptures, an Ashanti tie.

"The stained glass is important, because [Lewis] was spiritual. He is not in a blue suit, because he was not that type of man. He was a Renaissance man--a man of spirit and color and imagination."

As others milled about, Smith paused to survey his creation within its new context. "I am not a portrait painter; I am an expressionist," he said.

Vincent Smith has spent much of his 69 years experiencing the world on his own terms. earned his college degree at age 50, having returned to school years after his art career was underway. Having dropped out of school at 15 ("I was a good student, but I got into trouble"), he pursued the kinds of adventures that parents fear and their children dream about. At 16, he spent the summer as a hobo. "Did you ever see the movie Nothing But a Man, with Abbey Lincoln and Ivan Dixon?" he asks. "Well, he lived in boxcar and worked on the railroad. That's what I did."