My Summers with Sally Michel Avery

By Bill DeNoyelles

On Saturday July 11th the exhibition Going Upstate:: The Avery Famy in Woodstock opens at the Kleinert-James Center for the Arts in Woodstock.

The exhibition celebrates the legacy of the Avery family in the area, and features the art of Milton Avery and Sally Michel Avery, their daughter March Avery, her husband Philip G. Cavanaugh, their son Sean Cavanaugh, and his child Delilah Cavanaugh, currently attending art school in Boston.

I’ll be giving gallery talks on Saturday July 25th and August 29th. Both at 3 p.m. I will also be moderating a panel with the artist Sean Cavanaugh, artist Robert Selkowitz, and photography collector Harvey S. Shipley Miller on Saturday August 15th at 3 p.m.

There is a wonderful illustrated catalogue available on the Avery family in Woodstock,

the first exploration of their creative efforts and lives in this area.

This month the artist William DeNoyelles who assisted and buddied around with Sally for summers from 1987-1990, offers a reminiscence of their time together in Woodstock and Bearsville.

  Sally in Japanese Coat, Bearsville, New York, July 1975

Sally Michel (1902-2003)

Bill and Friends, 1988

Collection of the Menello Museum of Art

I worked for Sally (Avery) during four consecutive summers, 1987 through 1990, initially hired since she no longer wished to drive. I’d usually arrive a day or two before the Summer Solstice in late June when the days were at their longest. Sally, March and Philip would already be there getting the house ready for the new season. The Avery house sat a slight incline about a quarter of a mile up a dirt road nestled tightly alongside a mountain.  Just before you got up  to the house, on the right, was a small garage/horse stall where I’d set up shop - white washing the walls, installing utility lights and converting an old picnic table into a work station. To be honest, when I first got to Bearsville in June 1987 I had no real idea on how I’d proceed or what my days would be like and it was Sally who nudged me to Houst’s Hardware store in Woodstock for white paint and rollers and everything all else I’d need to create my studio so I could commence a full time work schedule as an artist, a luxury I had never had before. Of course I’d brought ample art supplies from home since I worked as a Supervisor at Pearl Paint in Paramus, NJ. I was well stocked with paints, brushes, canvas, pens, pencils, pastels many of which were obtained at great discounts, some gifted from Reps and others I had, in my youthful  transgression, “liberated."  I once gave Sally a $250.00 sable watercolor brush that she used constantly throughout our summer’s together and most likely beyond.

The Bearsville house was modest, airy and light. I had the upstairs to myself. One of the most extraordinary features was a long stone, high ceilinged, beamed addition that contained a dining area and  fireplace. It served as a family room with white easy chairs and a large, comfortable leather sofa. There was a glass sliding door that led out to a stone, terraced patio that featured a beautiful view of Overlook Mountain and the most amazing table I’d ever seen - a large,  oblong piece of blue stone resting on two enormous tree trunks. It was here we took most of our meals and entertained. The table sat six comfortably. It was at this table I sat one afternoon chatting with Sean and Coco (Sean’s wife) after lunch. Sally sat sketching, off to the side. And it was here she would gain inspiration for her iconic painting “Bill and Friends.”  As history has shown us - Sally, March and Milton were remarkable at rendering domesticity - with every detail, no matter how seemingly insignificant, serving as raw material worthy of the studio, often translating them into watercolor or large canvas.

Our days proceeded in a well ordered fashion. We were both early risers. We’d prepare breakfast together and take it out to the main house’s terrace which caught the first sun rays of the day. After which, I’d clean off the table, then Sally would go prepare herself for the day while I got  her studio ready (Sally worked out of the garage with her easel both inside and outside).  I'd set up canvas panels or watercolor blocks, tidy up a bit or, if she was working on oil paintings, I would stretch three or four 40” X 50 “ canvases. I’d always enjoyed stretching canvas and it was more than happy to start our days by doing so. It was, after all, a contributing factor in my being hired for the job. Stretching canvas gives you a feel for the picture plane you're about to enter, in many ways this act would prime me for my own work day ahead. Sally told me that it was always  good practice to take a work, such as a sketch, and work on it in  a few different mediums- watercolor, mono print, oil panel or large canvas.  It was indeed how she worked and, I have no doubt, it was also how Milton worked.  By eight o'clock we’d both be working in our consecutive studios.  At noon Sally would walk down to retrieve the mail, coming back up to the house,  she’d stop in my studio to see what I was working on and give me a critique, offer advice, making suggestions for a direction to

take, or offering insight on things I didn’t know about myself - such as my being  adept at technique. Her views on watercolor intimidated me greatly - that one had to make a thousand in order to produce a good one, which,  I believe, was Japanese sentiment. To this day I have never ventured into watercolor, too intimidating for me. I was grateful for her time, her eye and generosity. Together we’d venture up to the house for lunch.  Early on, during our very first days together, she asked me if I had a problem being alone. The answer was a quick “No” as I've always appreciated solitude and still do. And it was she who told me that as an artist you spend a lot of time by yourself -  as the creator, the clean up person and the one who pays all the bills.  It is perhaps one of the greatest lessons to learn as an artist and one that is never taught.

Our summers together were seemingly idyllic. Devoted to our work, with long drives around the Catskills sketching and figure drawing at the Woodstock Artists Association every week. There were occasional visitors for lunch and friends or business associates of Sally who would take us out to dinner to La Medusa in West Saugerties,  Rudy's Big Indian (our favorite) or La Duchesse Anne in Mount Tremper. We’d attend productions at Byrdcliffe or at The Bearsville Theater.  At least two or three times a week we took in movies at  Upstate Films in Rhinebeck or The Tinker Street Cinema in Woodstock where we’d often run into locals such as artists Mary Frank or Richard Segalman.

Both of our birthdays fell in July - mine at the beginning, hers at the end.  For my birthday Sally would take me to The Elephant  (a large sporting goods store on Rock City Road in Woodstock)  for a shirt of my choosing. After dinner we’d have a special dessert and Sally would sing to me. Sally’s birthday was at the end of July and brought with it endless deliveries from Jarita’s florist. It was amazing, the entire house burst with the fragrance of fresh flowers for days. I’d rearrange them, at her request, placing the vases in the studio for her to work from.

One evening, after dinner, near the end of August, Sally said "Ain't the Summer Flew?” Many years before, she had been on a crosstown bus in Manhattan, sitting behind two young girls,  when she heard one of them utter that line of pure poetry to the other. It certainly summed up our summer(s) together, they did indeed fly by. Looking back,  I can honestly say that not a moment was taken for granted or ever wasted. Every day counted for something even if only, perhaps, abstractly. And what I learned from those summers I retain to this day. As a result I will  always remain eternally grateful to the Avery family and their legacy.

November 20, 2025

Loudon, New Hampshire