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the art of synergy

How Three Santa Fe Couples Make It Work—Creatively and Interpersonally

Devon Jackson

Contreras, Bavarian Toy Festival, oil on canvas, 30 x 40"

Are artist couples more special because they’re both working artists as opposed to one being an artist and the other a dentist, a masseuse, a banker? (Who knows?) Are these same-field relationships easier or more difficult? I.e., do they get along swimmingly, like contemporary painters John Currin and Rachel Feinstein, or end up more like Elaine and Willem de Kooning? (No data on these questions either.) Maybe our fascination for artist couples stems from the almost schadenfreude-like conception that these people have such huge egos (huger than the average bear’s) that the relationship can’t possibly survive. And yet these three Santa Fe couples have not only endured but endured well. And have seemingly enhanced their respective partners’ growth creatively as much as personally.

The mere longevity of these relationships—professional and personal—makes them noteworthy. But just as compelling is the role geography, or, more specifically, Santa Fe has played in their mutual success: Might they have lasted as long as they have if they were New York or Los Angeles artist couples? After all, despite being the second-largest art market in the country, Santa Fe’s hardly the pressure cooker of New York or L.A. Herein, a look at how these three couples have made it this far.

Susan Contreras & Elias Rivera

Given that it was “lightning bolts when we first met” (according to Rivera), back in 1981, it’s no surprise that Rivera and Contreras continue to emit sparks—for each other, in their paintings—today. Rivera, 72, is a New York–born Latino of Puerto Rican descent; Contreras, 57, came from a jet-setting Scottish mother and a Mexican father. “That’s real important for us,” says Rivera, “that we’re both Latin.” Another factor: Although on different journeys artistically (Contreras had switched from photography to painting when they met, while Rivera has remained a master portraitist throughout his career), “we’re both storytellers, figurative painters,” says Contreras, “and that’s important, too. It’d be hard if one of us were a landscape painter. And if I hadn’t made my career, there might’ve been a problem.”

Among the many things they share (love of art, love of each other’s work, collectors), they also give each other feedback. “I respect Susan’s eye and her honesty,” says Rivera, “and we know that there’s never an agenda—it’s all about the work. The professional part of our lives never gets in the way.”

Contreras, Studio Door, oil on linen, 54 x 42"

Trust, though, is crucial. “There’s a sense of comfort if you respect somebody’s work,” continues Rivera, who taught Contreras plenty about paint but in return rediscovered his subject matter (the people of Oaxaca and Guatemala) through Contreras. “Otherwise, you live a life of lies or constant battles.”

Rivera, Reflections of Time, oil on canvas, 48 x 36"

From mutual respect comes mutual support. “The biggest thing we get from each other is the confidence and the inspiration to continue,” says Contreras. “If you’re an artistic person, you do question yourself sometimes. We’ve grown so beautifully.”
“And this has been a very fertile environment to grow in,” adds Rivera. “New Mexico’s been so blessed to us.”

Jim Asher & Joe Anna Arnett

In 1984, when Asher and Arnett first met, through an art dealer, in Scottsdale, Arizona, he was just reestablishing his career and she was just beginning hers. She’d made the leap into fine art after almost a decade as the art director for New York’s high-powered Young & Rubicam ad agency—relocating to Santa Fe because “there was no question that a woman can be an artist here; it’s a real job,” says Arnett. “People here don’t question you about your ‘real’ job when you tell them you’re an artist.” Asher had been in Santa Fe for two years, having lost all his galleries after developing an allergy to turpentine and being forced to switch from oils back to watercolor and gouache.
Clicking instantly (“Sparks flew when we met,” says Asher), “we combined our objectives, we built our studio together [in the house Asher bought, which they still live and work in today], we never assumed we’d be anything but a good team,” says Asher. “Loving each other’s work was never in question. Many people told us not to get married—that it’d be competitive. That’s what they thought.”
Not that there haven’t been trying moments. “We get a lot of ‘Do you do paint, too?’” laughs Arnett. “You have to be very grown up about it and in realistic control of your ego. You either accept it and deal with that or you’ll be less. I guess we’ve been lucky. Those times when the ego came up, we got over it.”

Asher, Silver Day, Grand Canal, watercolor, 12 x 16"

It also helps that they not only love and support each other but—as artists—they often know what the other’s feeling, what they’re up against. “You’ve got a shoulder to cry on,” says Arnett. “Someone who knows exactly what you’re experiencing. Jim knows I’m dealing with stuff, like when I’m destroying paintings. I don’t have to tell him or explain it to him.” It’s the art-world version of “don’t ask, don’t tell”: Fellow artists need not ask nor tell. They get it. It’s understood. Implicitly.

Unlike other art couples, though, they admit that if they painted similarly, or thought they did, that might’ve caused some friction. “But that’s never been an issue,” says Arnett, “because we see ourselves as very different in what we do, and how we paint.”

“I wouldn’t like it at all if we painted similarly,” admits Asher. “If we did, that might have sparked a destructive competition.” As it is, they don’t compete. He likes to paint outdoors; she’s more a studio rat. But they both love to travel, and paint when they travel, and they’ve just finished their first series of documentaries about artists for PBS—yet another facet of their collaborative yet distinct artist relationship.

Arnett, Peaks of Zion, oil, 14 x 12"

“Without Jim, I might not have gone into my outdoor painting with quite as much depth,” says Arnett. “But I also know that I showed Jim some out-of-the-way places. There’d be none of his Venice or Paris series if it weren’t for my tantrums,” she adds with a laugh.

As for having remained in Santa Fe all these years? “Would we live somewhere else?” asks Jim rhetorically. “The trade-off isn’t worth it. There are very few places that are as good for artists.

Lynne Windsor & Barry Mccuan

McCuan, raised in Texas but a denizen of Taos and Santa Fe since 1970, met Windsor, an Englishwoman, while painting outdoors at the Ranchos de Taos church in 1993. Sparks? Check. Mutual admiration? Check. Woman starting out while man in mid-career? Check again. It helps, it seems, if one or both parties are done enough with some of life’s other major events (incompatible previous relationships, kids, previous careers) to focus solely—or primarily (or is it selfishly?)—on their art, and share that passion with another artist.

Windsor, The Bumble Bee and the Apple, oil on canvas, 6 x 6"

“Everything we do revolves around our lives as artists,” e-mails Windsor, 56, in England tending to her father. (Windsor’s own children reside in England; McCuan’s daughter, also an adult, lives in Texas.) And while McCuan, 65, has been painting the Western outdoors for years, Windsor had just begun when they met. “Barry taught me a lot, but I then moved away from his style of painting.”

In return, McCuan has listened to Windsor. Though not always. “She helps me, she tells me when to quit,” he offers. “But I’ve learned: You don’t offer suggestions.” Indeed. “We have a policy of not making comments about each other’s paintings unless invited to,” writes Windsor.

“Most of the time this works!”

As with the other couples, McCuan and Windsor have learned how much criticism to offer and when, and have figured out each other’s respective strengths (one stretches canvases, the other cooks, etc.). And as with any relationship, there are challenges. “But for me,” responds Windsor, “the fact that Barry and I both care the most about our art and our families—above everything else—helps us understand each other and get along as well as we do.”