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the things that you see here now are things that … have life. And they talk to each other. They can communicate. ON COLLECTING THE TEXANS. Over the period of time that I was involved with the CAMH, and after we hired James Harithas as the director, my thinking got redirected. I had always looked to New York for what I thought was the happening thing. Right before Jim came to Houston, we began traveling West for the family business (Oshman's Sporting Goods), and I started meeting some really interesting artists who were working on the West Coast, people like Ed Ruscha and Wallace Berman. So, I began to buy these works; I really had a collection of East Coast stuff with a European Surrealist influence, and then the West Coast works. When Jim came to the CAMH, he really put out this perspective — and it took me a long time to accept it — that some of the best art is in Houston, or in Texas, and had I really seriously looked at the people who were working right next to me. It really rubbed off on me because I was the president of the CAMH board and worked very closely with him. That's how I met Orange Show creator Jeff McKissack. In the Dessert Room, an L-shaped settee custom-made by Ed Harris for this long-time client is covered in Rose Tarlow fabric. A heroic Thornton Dial canvas predominates; Dial was in the Whitney Biennial 2000 and was also the subject of a one-person survey organized by the MFAH in 2005. ENCOUNTERS WITH THE MYTHIC JOHN ALEXANDER AND JAMES SURLS. Top: The Dessert Room's faintly Victorian air is achieved with a sofa by famed Guido De Angelis covered in a gray-blue satin, a custom chrysanthemumpattern carpet by Larry Hokanson, and handsome chairs from her original home, freshened in opulent fabrics by Harris. A bounty of notables rooted in Texas, include Charmaine Locke's incised life-sized stone sentinel, Sharon Kopriva's spiritually infused canvas (between the windows) and (over the sofa, right) a wall sculpture by West Texas-based James Magee. Bottom row, from left: "It stopped me in my tracks," says Oshman of Leonora Carrington's Red Mask, 1950, acquired from Frey Norris Gallery, San Francisco. The sculpture has pride of place in her Dessert Room, named such due to its sugary palette perfected by Oshman in collaboration with designer Ed Harris. Joseph Beuy's Silver Broom and Hairless Broom, 1972, in the Dessert Room. "I had all sorts of funny things happen with these brooms," she relays. "One night after a dinner party, the man who had been hired to serve dinner took the broom and started cleaning up." Amber Eagle, who divides her time between Texas and Mexico, crafted this conceptual sugary sculpture using techniques employed in the confectionary arts. Eagle is also the talent behind Our Lady of Transportation, a show-stopping vehicle that rolls every Art Car Parade. I met John Alexander in 1974, saw his work, and it took me four years before I bought any of it — and then I only bought one. He used to tease me, "When are you going to buy something of mine?" And I said, "When I find the right thing." … Surls was more gentlemanly; he never really asked me when I was going to buy something, but I knew he was interested since I bought his best friend's work … And then, over time, John and James and I became friends, but it took me a long time to start to collect their work. But now I'm truly a believer. Since then, John introduced me to Ron Hoover and Sharon Kopriva, and then I met Ed Wilson, and he has pieces all over this house. One of the things that's important to me is the entry hall. I think it's really beautiful. And when you look at all of the things that really make it beautiful … there's the stairwell by Ed Wilson. If you look up at the ceiling, there's the beautiful work in the dome by James Surls. The works were done for the house, and they are sitespecific, and I think incredible. Then hanging on the wall over there is a Paul Kittelson. So that's three wonderful Houston artists, and they're here in one room. And these people are available … we have such a creative art resource. To me, all of the pictures have one thing in common, and it's this essence of something exciting, mysterious, challenging, and protective. I feel better when they're around; they're like guardians. And I really began, over time, to acknowledge the importance of women in the history of art and searched out those that I thought had been underexposed or under-served. ON YOU AND MR. ORANGE SHOW, JEFF McKISSACK. The person that introduced me to Jeff McKissack was Jim Harithas in about 1975. He was the director of the CAMH at that time, and I was the chairman of the board. So, in a moment of jest, he said, "I know who the best artist working in Texas is, and you don't." He threw it out as a challenge, with a big smile on his face. And, I said, "Well, can I guess?" And he said, "No, you never would guess it." And I said, "Okay, who is it?" And he said, "Come on, get in the truck and I'll show you." I hopped into that truck, and we went out to Munger Street … He was right, I really didn't know. I never would have taken the Tellepsen exit … and I just fell in love with the Orange Show when I saw it. I couldn't believe that this man had dedicated 20 years of his life to building this place. It was so surreal, because it didn't look like anything I'd ever seen. But it had a kind of reality because you knew it came straight out of his mind, not out of some magazine or something he had ever seen. It was really everything that was inside of him. ON PALLING AROUND WITH MR. McKISSACK. I went to see him all the time. The CAMH had a lot of outof-town visitors; I formed a connection by taking everybody to see the Orange Show, because I thought it was so moving. ON KEEPING McKISSACK'S LIFE'S WORK GOING. It occurred to me that when he died that somebody had to do something. In his papers, he left the Orange Show to his nephew. When they found a note by McKissack, it said "Call Marilyn … She'll know what to do." How the hell did he know? I didn't have the first idea what to do; I only knew that I was going to do something, and I was going to try. He must have known I would try. And that's what I've doing all these years, since he died in 1980. ON CIRCUS REMEMBRANCES AND CHILDHOOD ENCHANTMENT. When I grew up, we lived right over on Holcombe. There was a gravel road, which ran alongside the bayou and at the end was a house that belonged to one of the Ringling Brothers. All of these animals were there, and all of these beautiful cars and paintings, and those are some really early memories of mine. At one point there was a fire, and almost all of the animals died, and, of course, they moved from there, but they left two stone elephants, which my sister and I bought years later when the property was being sold. I have always thought that my fascination with things that are real but that have some kind of magic, were linked to that experience. I got that same feeling when I went to see the Orange Show. In a way, it was the greatest curse, because it's become my third child. "I HAVE A REAL INTEREST IN WORKS THAT ADDRESS ALLUSION AND TRANSFORMATION." — MARILYN OSHMAN NOVEMBER | PAGE 56 | 2013