Born in the Netherlands in 1941, at the beginning of the World War II, it was not an auspicious beginning for my
life, but thanks to my parents’ sacrifices I survived. We all suffered from severe malnutrition -
it gave me a disease called rickets, characterized by bowed legs.
My parents gave me newspapers and a pencil
to play with, because toys were not to be found during the war. So, as soon as I was able to hold a pencil
I began drawing. I drew a lot – there was not much else to do during that time. After
the war, I was given colored pencils and real drawing paper. Now I could learn about color!
I drew faces, Dutch windmills and ballet dancers to my heart’s content.  My father always held up
the Dutch Masters Rembrandt and Vermeer as exemplifying THE standard of excellence in art. So, I started
copying Old Master paintings in colored pencil – intent on becoming a great artist like Vermeer. But I also drew many portraits. When
I was about 10 years old I drew a portrait of Queen Juliana in colored pencil and mailed it to the palace, located not far
from where I lived. Subsequently, I received a thank-you note bearing the Royal Seal on official palace
stationery. I remember that I hid in the house, away from my friends, for three days and when I re-appeared
I told them I had been at the palace to play with the princesses. I showed them the Royal envelope addressed
to me to prove it (minus the contents, of course). They believed it - and I never told them differently. When I was twelve, seeing my persistent interest in art, my parents gave me a small
paint box with small tubes of oil paint and a canvas board. From that moment on, oil paints became my medium
of choice. I never told anyone of my secret ambition – I had decided that if Rembrandt and Vermeer
could become Masters using oil paint, then I could as well (they were, after all, just Dutch people who painted!).
Now, more than fifty years later, I am of the same opinion (and still working on it).
In 1958 my
parents and I immigrated to the United States. That same year I got my first paid commission for an oil
portrait. I haven’t stopped - I love fine art portraiture. In the mid-60’s,
after I had been a freelance graphic artist for several years, I figured out an innovative way to get commissions for portraits
of animals and people, leading to innumerable portrait commissions (and subsequently other subjects) that are now in private
collections in the Netherlands, Canada, England, Mexico, Australia and throughout the United States.  While living in Pasadena,
California a friend and I co-founded the Robinson School of Fine Art. This was in the late 60's and we were both ballet
dancers with the Southern California Ballet Company at the time. My first teaching experiences (drawing, oil painting
and classical ballet) were at the Robinson School of Fine Art. It was wonderful, carefree time. Later, I met and
married my first husband and in the mid-70's we took off to the Sierra Nevada mountains to become gold miners. A big
change from the conveniences of big city living to a remote cabin in the mountains with only a small wood stove for heat,
the nearest neighbor more than a mile away and no doctor or dentist within a hundred miles.
This move to the mountains became a 15-year adventure
of the extreme kind. After a rough start, we eventually became commercial gold miners. However, along the way, I discovered that my husband suffered from a
manic depressive disorder that was worsening over time. I was always having to get us out of the trouble
he got us into. It seemed he enjoyed hobnobbing with “free spirits” and nefarious local characters
with names like “Larry the Tree” and “Dirty Bob” (who lived in the woods under a plastic tarp) and
were attracted to gold like flies to honey. Out of necessity, I learned to drive a big dump truck, operate a backhoe, run the processing
plant, separate the fine placer gold from the black sand concentrates. I dug ditches and glued what felt like miles of PVC pipe between the three large settling ponds. In spite of all
this, I continued painting and in my spare time learned how to bake bread and make jams and jellies from the local wild plums,
elderberries and chokecherries. I learned about the medicinal properties of herbs and plants growing in
these mountains. I learned to cut and split firewood and build a good fire. Ah, the
country life! I lived through 6 ft. snowfalls in the winter and learned to spot huge timber rattlers in
the summer. I learned about governmental rules and regulations, and in the process became an expert in
mining law, real estate law, contract law, and property tax law – and learned about the ways of the world.
As the only
woman in commercial mining I had to deal with thieves, drug smugglers and dealers, sophisticated swindlers and “promoters”,
even the East European Mafia (who made us an “offer we couldn’t refuse”, but which I refused anyway –
my husband being too intimidated to say “no”) and some seemingly inevitable crooked local law enforcement
personnel, government employees, lawyers and judges. In my efforts to avoid becoming embroiled in illegal
situations, I began to get death threats because I exposed swindlers trying to involve our gold mine in multimillion-dollar
fraudulent investment “deals”. No wonder - this unprepossessing woman cost them millions!
I remember that one night my husband
was in a shoot-out with drug dealers who were taking shortcuts through our property to get to the neighboring mine.
The Mafia ended up buying that property instead of ours, probably for money laundering purposes. Stuff like this was
not unusual. It was all part and parcel of the gold mining scene. In spite of our exciting lifestyle, I continued painting portraits,
wild life, flowers and landscapes, and also managed a small local art gallery. I sold nearly every painting I made along
with other artists' work from that gallery, and taught drawing and painting there as well. But, as time went on, my husband began to exhibit signs of dangerous behavior.
I pleaded with him to seek medical help. He refused. He’d get into a horrendous
rage at the drop of a hat, and it was impossible to tell what was going to set him off. After three months
of sleeping with my clothes on (perhaps 2 hours a night), ready for instant emergency departure, I became so exhausted from
sleep deprivation that the moment I stopped moving I would fall asleep. Several times I nearly drove off the cliff and I realized
this could not go on. Shortly afterwards, my husband had an especially bad episode. On a dark and stormy night (it really was! – pitch black outside
and large limbs were snapping off 125 ft. Douglas firs), he got out his 45 loaded with hollow points and went out into the
night to kill the foreman of the mining operation. He shouted that the foreman had stolen some of his gold
nuggets (which he had, actually) and that was a “killing offense”. I couldn’t believe
it would come to this – there I was, seriously considering how I should deal with a dead body! This
was more than I could handle. Lucky for the foreman (and me), he was out that evening. But
then, my husband began jumping up and down, screaming and waving the gun around in my face saying he was going to kill me,
himself and everybody who worked on our mine. This went on all night. Drawing on my
inner resources, I managed to stay calm and waited it out. After he exhausted himself and fell asleep,
I got my important papers, a few clothes, $600 and left. I walked away from well over
a million dollars in equipment, a profitable placer mining operation, and $8 million in proven reserves. I
had lost everything, but I was alive. My life in the wild, wild West was
over. Somewhat.
 My husband continued to refuse
to seek medical treatment and that eventually led to my divorcing him. This was extremely dangerous, given
that there was only one road in and one road out to get to the county courthouse and my husband had begun stalking me.
In his mind, he owned me (just like his gold) and nobody was going to take his property away from him - that was a
“killing offense”.
I lived in my car and kept
on the move. To make a long story short, although I lost everything, was being stalked, had to live like
a fugitive and was always looking over my shoulder, I survived and 2 years later married my second husband and went to Alaska
with him. With a new husband and a new name and in a far-away state, I finally began to feel safe.
I had successfully disappeared. My life was normal again and I was back painting and I loved living
among the wildlife in Alaska. For 10 years, life was good. Then, my second husband died suddenly from a massive brain hemorrhage. Literally
overnight, I was left with no income. Now at age 57, it was survival time once again – I had lost
everything for the second time. He passed away on September first, and in mid-October the Christmas art
and craft shows would be in full swing. Since I had a bad back from my mining days (I was in pain 24/7
and couldn’t stand for more than 15 minutes) and had no marketable skills, getting a job was not an option.
I marshaled my inner resources and painted some sample portraits, made up a price list, bought a folding table and
within 6 weeks I was doing all the shows I possibly could. By Christmas I had enough portrait commissions
to keep me busy for 6-8 months. It took a lot of self-discipline, but I painted 10 –12 hours a day.
I trained myself to maintain focus for all those hours and to paint efficiently. In this way, I
was able to put out a lot of quality work.
I found a small one-room
apartment over a mechanic’s garage, moved in, and started teaching in the kitchen, painting portraits, Alaskan scenery
and wildlife, and entering local art shows. For the first time in my life I was a full-time artist.
It might have been a bit late in life and under difficult circumstances, but I was living my dream. I
loved it.
One of my students became a good friend.
She was going through a nasty divorce and asked me to come live with her so she wouldn’t have to be alone in
her big house. Safety in numbers, and all that. I only had a few possessions, so I rented
a room from her and we got along fine. I continued teaching, this time in my friend’s kitchen, and began giving art classes
at the local Senior Center. I was never without a portrait commission, my non-portrait paintings were selling
well, and I was giving workshops at the local college. Life as a working artist was good and getting better.
However, the Alaska winters were something else.
South Central Alaska is sub-arctic, endowing us with 7 months of
snow and ice, 2 months of mud (spring and fall), and 3 months of summer enhanced by the world’s largest mosquitoes (lovingly
referred to as the Alaska State Bird) and literally a million tourists all traveling on the one paved road. My
friend fell on some ice, broke several ribs, a collarbone and punctured her lung. I nursed her back to health.
I was 60 years old and figured that it would be only a matter of time before my turn would come.
In the meantime, my friend’s
divorce had been settled and the house we lived in was sold. She said: “I don’t know about
you, but I’m getting out of Alaska”. I asked: “Where will you go?”
She said: “I want to go back to the town I was raised in – Eden, Idaho. There is nothing
there – just a quiet one-horse town of 350 people, mostly retired farm workers, two bars and one gas station.
It is a land of spuds and dairy farms.” I said: “I’m
a Dutch girl, I love cows, potatoes and peace and quiet - sounds good to me”, even though I hardly knew where Idaho
was, let alone Eden. But I liked the name – conjured up images of the Garden of Eden!
We packed up, rented a huge moving truck, and drove 4000 miles to that little one-horse town surrounded by spuds and
cows.  Students working at The Artist's
Atelier - 19th Century Atelier Training Program
When I arrived
in Eden, Idaho I thought: “I must be a glutton for punishment - here I am having to start all over again- from nothing
and on a shoestring. I am in a place I have never been before, I know no one here”. But,
on the other hand I realized that “I’ve been there and done that” and I’ve had lots of experience
dealing with challenges! At the age of 60 I still had the health and energy of a 30-year old.
I needed to start teaching and painting again. I needed to take me and my art to where the people
were in order to connect with some prospective students and collectors.
I discovered that during late spring, summer and fall there was a Farmer’s
Market being held every Saturday “in town”. “Town” was the big city of Twin Falls
with a population of about 36,000 people. By all accounts still a small town. I did
some research in the area. I found there was no such thing as an art gallery in Twin Falls, perhaps evidencing
a lack of interest in the finer things of life, like original art. My friend, who said she wanted to be
an artist too, commented by saying: “I know these people here, They’re great farmers, but there is absolutely
no way you can get anybody in this area interested in art or painting lessons”. Undismayed, and having already done “impossible”
things quite a few times in my life, I once again set out to do my thing. I rented a space at the Farmer’s
Market (I was the only non-produce person there) and religiously went every Saturday, rain or shine (often over 100 degrees!)
or wind. This high desert area is known for its impressive wind gusts.
I displayed
and sold note cards and matted reproductions of my paintings, talked with people and did painting demonstrations.
This drew a lot of attention, and I even got on television. Surprise! I actually
found quite a few people who were interested in lessons and I also got my first commission in Idaho (for a large still
life) from the Farmers Market venture that wasn’t supposed to succeed. The next problem was to find a place
where I could teach. My house was a very small one-bedroom situation and I had my 91 year-old disabled
mother come to live with me, two months after I arrived in Idaho. I gave her the one bedroom.
I had promised her years ago, that I would not let her get put into an old people’s home. I
keep my promises. She really needed peace and quiet. I stayed home for a year and painted,
having set myself the goal of learning whatever it was that the Masters knew, because that lack of knowledge was evident in
my work. I studied books and thought a lot. I began to understand that I did not know
how to paint the nature and beauty of light. Little by little, I finally got “a handle on it”.
I painted and painted – and I wrote and self-published a book about Intuitive Thinking for artists, selling it
to my students and other artists.
Anyway, try as I might, I couldn’t
find a place I could afford to rent for art lessons. So, back I went to giving painting lessons in my kitchen.
(Am I seeing a pattern here?) After a while, I got too many students coming and going through the
house – the commotion was upsetting my mother. So, back I went to try to find a suitable location
in Twin Falls. After knocking on many doors I found a Senior
Center that would rent me space for painting lessons, provided my use of the place didn’t interfere with the Center’s
activities. This was great. I also held art shows there, sold my art, and was getting
more students through the Senior Center.
However, after a while I had so
many classes that I was unable to dance around the seniors’ activities any more. This began to be very restrictive.
I mentioned to my students that I really needed a larger space that had no restrictions as to when I could hold my
classes. No one knew of anything that might be available. However, having gained an
understanding of how things work in life, I knew that if I had a real need for space, then the right thing would come along.
I just had to keep my eyes and ears open for that opportunity. It came just two weeks later.
By this time it was 2003, and my mother was
93 and I was already 62 – but still going strong with an apparently inexhaustible supply of energy. I
looked through the classifieds in the local newspaper, but all the commercial spaces were much too expensive.
One day, I noticed an ad offering business space for lease. It was a little too expensive for me,
but the ad had a web site listed. On a lark I looked it up and, lo and behold, it showed a good-sized room
that was already set up as a classroom. I called for an appointment, looked at it and while it wasn’t
perfect, I could make it work. The rent was just right, too. I signed the lease and paid for the whole
year in advance.
So, this became The Artist’s Atelier, which has acquired a reputation as
the best atelier in Idaho where artists can get quality traditional art instruction in Classical and Contemporary Realism
in Oil Painting as taught in the French ateliers in the19th century. I am fortunate to have students who
are serious about studying art and aspire to become professionals, and they have come from as far away as 130 miles (one way)
to study with me.
I am honored and thrilled to be able to provide this service to the south
central Idaho area. I have acquired a good collector base and sold more paintings than anyone thought possible,
including commissioned works as well as Masterpiece Portraits ( Rembrandt-inspired portraits). I am a member
of Oil Painters of America and the Portrait Society of America. I am now also the proud owner of the Maria
Smith GALLERY in Twin Falls, Idaho, representing a number of professional artists from Southern Idaho.
For
me, owning and teaching at a Great Art School, having a Fine Art Gallery, and being a Full Time Artist is the best life imaginable! How good it is! 
2003 - Ribbon Cutting Ceremony and Open House at The Artist's
Atelier I am the one on the right wielding the big scissors Maria J. Smith - An Ordinary Name - Extraordinary Art _____________________________________________________ Please click the "Back" button to return to
The Artist's Atelier web site
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