LeRoy Neiman died yesterday at 91.
Not only was he the greatest artist of our time, but he was also the last white man in America named LeRoy.
LeRoy lived large. Generations of artists were jealous of him for his success.
And Neiman knew marketing.
Once an interviewer asked him why he always painted the star athletes and not relatable subjects for the common man. LeRoy, chomping on a giant cigar, responded: “You don’t paint the bench, kid”.
Another of the great artist’s sayings, one I’ve always resented, was: “If you don’t have a Neiman hanging in your living room then you are a piece of shit.”
Take a fucking report, Roy. You were the best.
Playboy made him cool
My Neiman was stolen by a piece of shit.
I once spotted him painting on the sideline of a University of Florida football game. I told my buddy, “Hey, there’s Leroy Neiman.” He said, “Spock?” I told him that he was a fucking idiot and we went back to watching the game.
That story ended exactly as it should have. Well said.
Farewell, Thomas Kinkade of the 1980s.
If he never did one painting, he’d be famous for that foot long stash.
I have a Neiman. Rejoicing that the guy finally kicked it. Went up in value today.
Only artist in my house. Fuck all the rest