Art of David Baum, courtesy of Malcolm Allred

Twenty-two years ago I found myself spellbound in front of St. Louis Cathedral as I gazed upon the most expressive, colorful, powerful, and emotional artwork I’ve ever experienced. It was something I’d never seen before.  Atypical of work found in Jackson Square, I thought that this body of work was as raw and guttural as Vincent van Gogh’s must have looked in its day. I stood there for a while but the artist was nowhere in sight.

I camped there.

After twenty minutes an energetic guy, my age, in paint covered clothes came sprinting up. His name was David Baum.

I spent an hour with him; we talked about art, especially Vincent van Gogh. We had so much in common, it was as if I was talking to my better-looking and more artistic twin at times.  He asked if I would like a portrait and I agreed. I met him the next day for a sitting.

He was a step away from homeless at the time. But so what, we became really great friends. I would travel to New Orleans regularly to visit. And he would write to me extremely long and detailed letters with tiny little print about his life, his art, and his religious beliefs. I loved his energy and inexhaustible passion for painting–in so many ways I wished that I had the courage to live a life like he did, painting on the streets from city to city, living off the talent gifted from God.

We got on so well that I completely overlooked his situation, likening it to the tormented soul of a true modern day Van Gogh.  Besides, he was far to talented and handsome too be homeless in my world…

When I visited I would dress him up in expensive clothes—we wore the same size—and I enjoyed treating him to nice meals.  At first he was reluctant to the notion of fancy places so I did tone it down, even though fine dining is a life long passion for me.  We usually came to a compromise–if the restaurant had a nice wine and a cheeseburger we would sit and talk for hours.

The last time I saw him was after an over the top night out. It was one of those epic party events with buds Barry Hanks and Kendall Chaisson (aka Ken Doll). We were tearing up the swank Bombay Club on the Rue Conti. Manhattans flowed like the Mississippi River. David wore one of my favorite blue blazers and at some point club owner Mark Turke opened a display case and allowed David to parade around the place in one of Napoleon’s two pointed hats—a treasured relic to be sure. As I ordered another round he marched up and down the aisles of the club like he was invading eastern Europe. We were indeed a spectacle. When Barry and Ken Doll picked up a lady and I was seeing double or triple, David saw me back my hotel.  And he agreed to meet at 2:00 the next afternoon to show his artwork to a patron whom on my word was excited to see and buy.

I appeared at the arranged rendezvous point, along with my entourage and art patron, but the artist did not. And there was never another letter. I jokingly accused Barry of selling him into white male slavery to cover our exorbitant bar tab.

Not a visit to New Orleans has gone by without searching the streets for Mr. Baum. No matter where I travel I keep hope alive that I could run into him—I never miss an opportunity to shop every street artist.

A few years back I found his work online, he was represented by Attic Gallery in Vicksburg, Mississippi. At the time I had a fully equipped art studio with a bed and bathroom and the power to show work through my Arts Council appointment. But after multiple contacts, the Attic Gallery seemed unwilling to help me, and in a sense to help David. (But at least I was reassured that he was not mummified in the bowels of the Prince Conti Hotel.)

David is a super Christian, even overzealous.  And he struggles with his art because he believes that his talent is God-given and that he should not glorify himself through it. He has even struggled with whether or not to sign his paintings.  But I always insisted that he must sign his work, that God wants him to claim it.

Art by David Baum, courtesy of Malcolm Allred

Yesterday I found a blog post “Vicksburg Treasures” by a man named Malcolm Allred who knew David. I called him.  He was a cordial gentleman who related that he’d not seen the artist in years. Indeed, David has been homeless at times but Malcolm knew him when he lived at the Adolph Rose Building in Vicksburg.   Malcolm was gracious to let me use images from his art collection; and I am excited to see the growth in David’s talent and craftsmanship over the decades.

I am no longer in a position to offer much help. I no longer have my Arts Council or museum positions; I no longer have an extravagant office; and I no longer have a working studio; I no longer have a guest suite; and I don’t  have the money to throw at situations like I once did. Heck, he might not even want my help.

But now that I have this blog, at least I might find him again… maybe I could buy a pile of paintings, and I could sell another pile.  So I’m putting it out there.

David, if you find this story contact me. I would like to know how you are. TroysArt2005@yahoo.com