IN the early summer, I was scouting out artists for the BHD showroom. I was talking to a painter in the former hosiery mill on Chestnut Street; he said his neighbor a few studios down might fit the world of interior design. “Go check out Jimmy Abegg.” On meeting Jimmy, I fell into a sort of vortex of excitement. A whole field of limitless thought opens when you enter into his studio, where a guardian spirit is saying “as long as this guy works, he's going to produce beauty for us.”
He's a brilliant conversationalist with the self confidence and openness that makes an interlocutor at home. I have visited him five or six times since June, and each time I walk out of his studio I know I saw only a small portion of his paintings and drawings. And it bothers me.
As long as he is working, he seems to be earning his keep on the planet. In return the planet has afforded Abegg with a beautiful marriage, wise and equally artistic daughters, a new granddaughter, a highly successful professional photo career, as well as success as a touring musician. He's been a merchandising and disc packaging guru for many a band on an international level; it is a portfolio of hundreds. And he's a painter. Oils mostly.