One of Joe Goode’s fond memories of the New York art scene of the ’60s was when the great Andy Warhol invited him to dinner at “my favorite restaurant.” Goode, who was then so poor he had hitchhiked to Manhattan, was dazzled. Would it be Grenouille or maybe the Cote Basque, where Truman Capote nestled among his entourage of millionaire fashionistas?
But the “favorite” turned out to be the Walgreen’s drug store lunch counter. Painter Goode, just turned 80, likes to recall experiences like that. And maybe that one helped confirm his decision to remain a California painter for the rest of his life. He’s one of the eminent West Coast artists of the last century and this one besides.
In the strictest sense, despite a year spent studying at the Chouinard Institute, Goode invented himself as a painter. His father was a skilled professional commercial artist, but even as he left Oklahoma City as a high school dropout in 1959, Goode didn’t know he wanted to paint. He was just another Sooner kid who came to LA for the weather.