"Being a painter is not something you retire from, and I intend to create until I can't anymore."

Artist Mitchell Freifeld depicts architecture that evokes memory and nostalgia. Using a modernist approach, he highlights details that often fade into the background of familiarity. Mitchell's lifelong dream of becoming an artist took root after he won his first juried art show at the age of ten. After years of building a corporate career, a pivotal moment in 2001 compelled him to commit fully to art-making. Now, he dedicates most of his time to a compact studio within his garage in Portland, Oregon. Mitchell's life revolves entirely around his creative pursuits, taking pictures, and working seven days a week with paints and brushes.

In this interview, Mitchell talks about his inspirations and journey as an artist.

When did you realize you wanted to become full-time painter?

I got involved in computers back in the stone age, in Silicon Valley when it was still mostly orchards. The building where I started had a large peach orchard in the lot next to it. Great peaches. By the time I left, there were no fruit trees, and the Santa Clara Valley wasn't what it once was. My boss was lured away from the company by his old boss to work for the venerable Tektronix in Portland, Oregon. My boss, in turn, brought me up. My wife and I have lived here since 1995 and love it. I left high-tech on 9/11. Yes, The 9/11. I knew it was going to happen that day at exactly 2:30, but as I drove into work, the news was full of something horrible happening in New York City. When I got home that afternoon, I told my wife that I'm home for good now and would evolve from a "Sunday painter" into a full-time oil painter, a lifelong dream of mine. Now, I've been a professional artist longer than I was in computers. Being an artist is my life's work.

What are you most proud of—whether in art or another part of your life?

Several events stand out along my path as a painter. The first one was when Stanford University purchased one of my works and included it in their prestigious collection. It hangs in their education building. This is the public collection that I am most proud of.

Another honor came when the Regional Arts and Culture Council awarded a grant to depict buildings and scenes that existed at the time, which I was sure we'd lose to redevelopment. The series "In Our Time" comprised four 40x50 canvases, and I sold all but one at the exhibition. Sadly, I was right. Many of these places have either disappeared or altered beyond recognition.

Lastly, I am also proud of my inclusion in 100 West Coast Artists by Tina Skinner.

Do you have any studio rituals that help you get into a creative flow?

My studio is small. It's a third spot in our garage. In the summer, it gets pretty hot out there, and pretty cold in winter. The first thing I do is either start one or more of the heaters in my space heater collection or start a large fan. Next is the music. I've gone through a lot of CD players from Goodwill, but now I have an otherwise decommissioned computer that I use to look at images and run Spotify Premium (a small indulgence, as I can't stand the ads.) Lastly, I fire up an essential oil diffuser or light a couple of sticks of patchouli incense to remind me of the golden hippie days. All this takes about 4 minutes, then I'm at the easel for hours, often in the small hours.

How do you structure your day?

The structure of my day is that there is no structure. If I am not out of town, I spend a few hours painting, seven days a week. I spend time in art-related activities, either at the computer reviewing images or in other physical places other than our house. But it all revolves around art in one form or another.

Where do you find inspiration for your art?

Going back decades, I've never left the house without a camera. Before digital technology matured enough, I always carried a backpack with a Canon A-1, several lenses, filters, and rolls of film. I'd spend hours walking and taking photos all over Portland, many of which would be of the older buildings and scenes around town. For years now, it's been a Canon SX280 and the ubiquitous smartphone. I also get ideas from public domain historical archives. I'll often compose in Photoshop, but these images are just points of departure. At some point early on in the painting process, I stop looking at them as the painting takes on a life of its own.

One of the challenges of being a painter is commissioned works. Collaborating with patrons to bring their vision to life on canvas exactly as it should be is very rewarding. You are creating something emotionally significant, specifically for one family, group, or business. All my clients in well over two decades of taking commissions have been more than happy with what we've created together.

Tell us about your evolution as an artist.

As you wander through a museum, you'll occasionally see a young mother holding her small child up to see the paintings and whispering to them. I was one such child. My mother would take me to the great Los Angeles County Museum of Art and tell me what my curious child's eyes were seeing.

As a child, I was drawing. Those big red pencils they gave us in elementary school were my medium. When I was 10, my great-uncle came out west for a visit. He saw my drawings and took me to an art store, told me to pick out anything I wanted. But he guided my hand. A stick easel, some brushes, a set of oil paints, and some products that the sales lady suggested. We lived in an apartment, and soon the aroma of linseed oil and turpentine (Terpenoid and Gamsol were in a distant future) filled our place. My little studio was a corner of the kitchen. Now I can't believe how indulgent and encouraging my parents were. Oil paint went everywhere and into everything. There was a little art school near us, and I went for a couple of afternoons a week.

In my teenage years, I produced very little art. I was consumed with everything that growing up was about and the ever-widening world about me. I didn't pick up a brush again, seriously, until I was in my late 30s. When we moved to Oregon, I set up a proper studio in our garage and started the journey.

Another seminal moment in my journey happened while I was still at my day job. I entered four canvases in a spring art festival. While I waited in line to bring my work into the tent, my heart started beating wildly. My mouth went completely dry and I started to shake as I got closer to the people checking the work. I filled out the paperwork with a trembling hand and staggered out. Walking back through the crowd, I realized it was only extreme nervousness and fear. That was the first time my work was seen and judged by the public. Two nights before the opening on Friday, they held a preview for special guests and the judges. The festival was a town over from where I worked, so I drove there and entered the show tent. There were red dots on three out of four of my works (the fourth sold on Saturday), and one had a blue ribbon tacked beside it. I allowed myself a smile and drove back to the office in a state of euphoria. Not long after this, I left the job and became a full-time painter.

I'm so glad that my mother lived to see me become a successful artist with shows, galleries, and sales, and no "day job." She was so proud. We talked about the times she took me to the museum.

My journey as an artist has evolved, and sometimes devolved, over many years. There are some rules I follow; some are my own, but I break them when composition demands. I've mostly been representational but have made forays into various abstract ideas. Same with my palette. For the most part, I've slowly eliminated my pigments in favor of mixing and better control over color. I'm not quite at the Zorn Palette, but it's mostly various primaries at this point.

The years of creation and evolution have flown. Being a painter is not something you retire from, and I intend to create until I can't anymore.

How do you decide when an artwork is finished?

I usually follow the same workflow. First, I make a rough outline of the major elements with a B6 pencil. Sometimes I erase and redraw lines five times. Being left-handed, I start from the top right and work down. Things go beyond my initial outline, or I add more details as I progress. When paint covers the lower left, I go back over the piece, adding things and covering others. Then, I make final edits. When I stand back for the last time, I somehow know it's time to take it off the easel. I'll put the canvas in a place in the house where I'll see it and might notice anything I want to change. Never happens...almost.

What is the most interesting observation someone has made about your work?

Someone told me that they couldn't tell which school I belong to or exactly what I'm doing. They were completely perplexed. For some reason, that really resonates with me.

Is there an artwork from another artist that has had a significant impact on you

This is shifting sand. Two that I've loved all my life are Reginald Marsh's Twenty Cent Movie and Paul Cadmus's Coney Island. They tell multiple stories and stories within stories (the magazines and movie posters). There are distinct narrative threads that keep the eye and imagination moving, then stop the viewer to contemplate particular tableaus. I've recently begun to try what they are teaching with a series of figurative paintings about movie-making in the golden age of Hollywood.

What’s your favorite museum?

My favorites are the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and our own Portland Art Museum. At LACMA, I've seen fantastic shows that changed my life. In the 50s, a huge Vincent Van Gogh show stands out. Then that's where "Coney Island" lives, and I've stood in front of it. The PAM's collection of classics and modernism is unmatched in the Northwest; I have friends whose works hang on those walls, and my dream is to join them there. 

Is there anything else you’d like to share to help viewers better understand your work?

I believe that long ago, photography took the place of exact representational painting to record events or reality. A photograph captures a moment in time and sends it into the future. Painting is now more about conveying emotions. If a person looks at one of my pictures and is somehow changed by it, if only for an instant, then I've succeeded.

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If you enjoyed this article about Mitchell Freifeld's life and artwork, we recommend reading about Maximilian Damico's impressionist architecture paintings and Nick Savides' realistic paintings of New York.