Renowned watercolorist Dean Mitchell's mother had no small skepticism about his career choice in... Watercolorist transcends co

Renowned watercolorist Dean Mitchell's mother had no small skepticism about his career choice in fine arts — a looming uphill struggle for an African-American man.

"She didn't know anybody who was successful at it, making a living at it. America was still very closed. We were still trying to get a decent seat in a restaurant," Mitchell said from his Tampa, Fla., studio loft.

But his grandmother, who raised him, encouraged the art, "I think ... because she loved it so. I don't think she understood the politics of it. She just had a grandson who liked to draw."

At 48, he still does, propelled by the constant challenge of his work. His prolific career includes the American Watercolor Society Gold Medal, the $50,000 Grand Prize for Arts for the Parks exhibition, praise from a New York Times art critic as a "virtual modern-day Vermeer," about 20 smaller museum shows, both solo and group, and several books. Documentary filmmakers are producing a program on his life and art.

Represented in Jackson and New Orleans by Bryant Galleries for more than a decade, his paintings have claimed the walls of avid collectors locally and nationally.

Backbone: Dean Mitchell's Images of African-American Men, new at the Mississippi Museum of Art, is one of two new solo shows there highlighting works by African-American artists with local ties.

Shallow Search reminded collector Mike Espy of the 2nd District citizens he represented in Congress, "responsible, somewhat lower income but very proud. ... self-reliant and working or trying to find work," Espy said. The Guardian reminded his wife, Portia, of her grandmother.

Release Me, of Mitchell's uncle dying of cancer, proved too real for the patients of the doctor who bought it; it's now in the collection of the Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art in Kansas City, Mo.

The title painting profiles a black gentleman in overalls among the stars of the U.S. flag. "The common man has always been the backbone of American society," Mitchell said. "One stripe is redder than the rest. Black men have given a lot to the country, and have gotten very little."

Mass media has been accused of dehumanizing the black male; Mitchell takes it back, representing survival, strength, courage and dignity. People who've modeled for him, though ordinary in a lot of ways, have touched their surroundings; "the hidden power of neighborhoods," he called them, who artists can celebrate in a powerful way.

Mitchell fights the mind-set of "can't" that can cripple children. He argues for a more balanced diet for youth, rather than the lopsided fervor for sports and entertainment. "If a kid's very gifted, if they're not an athlete or blowing a horn ... they don't get that kind of boost." Artistic kids fall between the cracks.

Mitchell's own path wasn't easy. Artists of color are still underrepresented in museum collections and exhibitions. "When it comes to supporting up-and-coming talent, it's very, very hard," he said. "It's hard for us to demand it when we don't have the philanthropic base."

That's changing slowly. The Espys, with The Good Fellaz of Richboy Entertainment, sponsored the exhibitions. Espy wanted to do all he could to share Mitchell's artistic strength, particularly with youth, he said. "There's a different message emitted from his work — defiance, strength and people just being proud and doing for themselves."

Mitchell recalled a low point in the early 1980s after he was fired from a job as an illustrator. In his late 20s, he might spend six months and invest hundreds in a show, only to sell one painting. He almost quit.

"I don't know if it was an exact turning point as much as a decision to make it work," Mitchell said. "My grandmother said to me one time when I was young, 'You know, baby, you don't beg nobody for nothing. You got to work for what you want.' Hearing those words, lying on the bed, depressed, I got my butt up and haven't stopped working since."

He worked hard, didn't get married, went without health insurance for years and drove the same car for almost 15 years, plunged his heart into his art, took control of his career, made things happen.

"You'd like to see museums look at us that way." Some viewers already do. Mitchell was moved to hear that his painting of an African-American woman reminded a Caucasian man of his mother. "He saw something deeper than just the surface idea of a person. That's what it should be, not be black art or white art, but move you in a deeper, humanitarian way."

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