Q&A: Rauschenberg's son on his dad's legacy

Northwest photographer Christopher Rauschenberg, the only child of Robert Rauschenberg, grew up in New York in close touch with his dad and living with his mom, the painter Susan Weil. He is a founding member of Blue Sky Gallery, a photography collective in Portland that is currently host to an exhibit of 12 of his dad's most recent prints.

Robert Rauschenberg died May 12 at age 82. Besides the art, he was famously generous, especially to other artists. In 1970 he established Change Inc. to provide artists with emergency funds. It's still in business (P.O. Box 54, Captiva, FL 33924; 212-473-3742).

In a recent conversation, Christopher Rauschenberg discussed his famous father and their relationship.

P-I: How did you end up in the Northwest?

Rauschenberg: I went to Reed College and then Evergreen, and I fell in love with Portland. There's a wonderful sense of community here, a great Judy Garland-and-Mickey Rooney DIY energy. Not only are there people to put on their own shows, there's an audience willing to show up and bring the kids.

Blue Sky was DIY and became an institution.

It's 32 years old. Five of us opened it in a storefront. It was cheap. That's no longer true.

Do you feel you grew up in your dad's shadow?

Not at all. Both my parents were so full of joy and curiosity about life. They taught me how to look at the world. It was always, "Look at this piece of trash on the sidewalk. Isn't it beautiful?" I won the parent sweepstakes. The difference between me and George Bush is, we were both born on third base, but he thinks he hit a triple. I know I was born on third base, actually, a couple of feet from home plate.

You won the parent sweepstakes, but your dad was an alcoholic.

I'm not a big fan of alcohol. It's more entertaining to be at full strength than be self-handicapped. Alcohol is a powerful dragon to slay. I'm sorry he couldn't make that happen. People have flaws. He had that one, but he was a good deal as a dad.

His early work tends to be more esteemed than anything he did later.

That was a joke in his inner circle. Whatever he did in the last 20 years wasn't as good as the old work. As the decades rolled by, the new work became the old work that the new work wasn't as good as.

The art world is quite hieratical, but he didn't seem to be.

At museum openings, he was more interested in talking to museum guards than the director. He said he knew what the director was going to say, but not the guards.

Rauschenberg is an unusual name. Do people ask if you're related?

Constantly. I can't count the number of times people come up to me to say my dad changed their life or taught them to see the world or made them happy to be in it. They want to know what it's like to be the son of a famous artist. Famous never mattered to him, and it doesn't matter to me.

What he's famous for is more interesting.

Kids think their parents are the best. The best plumber or whatever. They grow up, and it isn't true. I grew up, and it's still true.

Were you impressed with his friends when you were growing up?

I wish I'd been more impressed. I remember one time I stopped by his place after school and he asked me to stay for dinner. (Henri) Cartier-Bresson was coming. I said I couldn't. I had homework.

Who did you get to know?

John Cage had real charisma. I knew Brice Marden pretty well. He was Dad's studio assistant. I tended to like his dancer friends the best. I've stayed in touch with Trisha Brown, Steve Paxton, Deborah Hay.

Merce Cunningham?

By the time I was around, he wasn't that much.

Your dad used photos in his collages. Did he ever use yours?

When he couldn't take them anymore I sent him a bunch of stuff. He didn't want to use any of it. He said, "These are already something. They aren't ingredients."

Can you say something about Change Inc.?

Whatever money he made other than from painting he put into it. The idea is to help artists who needed cash for emergencies. He gave it out till it was gone, and then he put more in. There used to be a $500 cap (now $1,000). People asked him, "Don't you want to be sure the money goes to good artists?" He said a bad artist was more likely to turn out to be great.

What about memorial services?

There was one in Fort Meyers, where he lived, at Edison College. We got together, and I realized the point of it, gathering everybody who loved the person in the same room, why that's a ritual that lasted. Everybody is a part of the person, and together, we bring him back.

What's New York doing for him?

There will be something in the fall.