Stephen Montoya
For most, darkness is a blank, black screen — a place or an idea that is physically devoid of light and metaphysically daunting and unnerving. But for John Bramblitt, darkness is his world.
Stricken completely blind in his mid-20s, Bramblitt is a Denton-based artist who paints despite a handicap that would otherwise hinder or even prevent him from doing so. Like Beethoven, who continued to compose masterpieces while completely deaf, Bramblitt is an immensely popular and prominent painter whose work has sold in over 120 countries and appears on large murals in the booming metropolises of Dallas, New York City, and right here in Fort Worth. His paintings are far from the work of a hobbyist. He’s a virtuoso, and he’s damn good.
A quick Google image search will give readers an idea of his work and distinct style — a visually stunning style no doubt rooted in impressionism with radiant colors and well-defined strokes. The paintings are so awe-inspiring that it’s only natural for one to wonder aloud, “How the heck did a blind man create this?”
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Bramblitt employs a technique he calls “haptic visualization,” which enables him to "see" his subjects through touch. He touches the faces of his subjects, getting a sense of their personal geometry, their texture, their structure, and their overall look — the person’s facial feng shui, so to speak. He then uses thick lines as a guide for his fingers, which double as his eyes. Without sight, the act of painting becomes rooted in feel. This is how he created portraits of country music star Lyle Lovett, skateboarding icon Tony Hawk, and blues legend Pops Carter, to name a few. His technique has become so popular, in fact, that he’s received three Presidential Service awards for the art workshops he teaches around the country that instruct blind artists on this method.
Stephen Montoya
While one could easily point to Bramblitt as perseverance personified, his ability to cope with blindness came slowly. At the time an undergrad student at the University of North Texas, Bramblitt lost his sight and 40% of his hearing in 2001 due to complications stemming from epilepsy and Lyme disease.
“I kind of felt like a ghost when I first lost my eyesight,” he says. “I felt like I’m in the world, but I can’t exactly affect the world. It was like I had zero power.”
This left Bramblitt with the daunting task of trying to rebuild his life while attending college classes, which left him in a depressive state. “I felt like everything was over. I had to relearn to read in brail, which means I was technically illiterate while I was attending college, funny enough.”
And this sudden, life-altering ordeal was only magnified by the fact that, ever since he could remember, Bramblitt wanted to be an artist. “Before I could even talk, I was drawing and doodling,” he opined. “I would do this daily as a creative outlet. So, when I lost my sight, I lost a huge part of what made me, well, me.”
Undeterred and unwilling to lose this outlet, Bramblitt began experimenting with ways to scratch his creative itch. Having never worked with paints before losing his sight — his younger-self’s drawings and doodles fueled by pen and pencil — Bramblitt discovered he could feel the difference in weight and texture between the various hues. An ability to distinguish colors based on feel was an aha moment that reignited his creative ambitions.
John Bramblitt
Bramblitt's latest piece of art, "Disability Pride," was commissioned by Coca-Cola in honor of Disability Awareness Month.
As a result of losing his eyesight, Bramblitt had to go through cane training to relearn the world around him. The training requires each student to use their cane to make a grid or mental map of their surroundings. After each student makes said grid, they then have to walk through it using only their cane. This is known as O&M (orientation and mobility) training.
“I did this for a while until I could get to school on my own and back with the aid of a service dog,” he says. “Then one day when I felt like drawing or creating something, I thought if I could get myself around a college campus blind, I should be able to navigate a small art canvas using the same technique.”
Using what he remembered from drawing, he taught himself how to paint using raised lines to help him find his way around the canvas. But without being able to see, Bramblitt would have to tap into his stockpile of images he’d collected in his 20-plus-year memory bank. His recollections — the images of Albert Einstein, Jim Morrison, and James Dean — would become the subjects for his initial paintings. “I didn’t tell my art teachers in school that I couldn’t see, so they gave me some really honest feedback on my work, which at that time I needed,” he says.
Bramblitt began painting daily, sometimes in lieu of sleep. “I would meet up in places where I knew my classmate would be so I could be around people for my own metal health,” he says. “Then I would go home and paint for hours, sometimes until it I needed to head back to class.”
This literal tireless desire to paint resulted in steady improvement. Bramblitt began with exclusively white and black paint, but he eventually expanded to the wide selection of colors visible in many of his compositions. Lines matured into confident brush strokes, which, in turn, blossomed into beautifully vibrant works of art worthy of being displayed at art shows and galleries. When his works first started making public appearances, Bramblitt would decline to let on that he was blind.
Stephen Montoya
“As the years have gone by, I learned to embrace the fact that I am known as a blind artist. I lean into it now, but back then, I was really apprehensive about letting anyone know what I was dealing with.”
Ironically, Bramblitt, perhaps projecting his own inability, never thought anyone would ever actually see his paintings. After all, his purpose for painting was never more than a form of therapy. “I wasn’t sure what these would look like when I was finished, let alone that anyone would want to see one,” he says. “But I’ve gotten some great feedback over the years.”
Stephen Montoya
Bramblitt uses brail markings on the base of his paints to know which color he is using for his art.
Given his inspirational story, Bramblitt has since become the subject of a plethora of media stories and penned a best-selling autobiography, Shouting in the Dark: My journey back to the light. Recently, Bramblitt and his wife, Jacqi Serie, opened an art bar, Bramblitt’s Yellow Dog Art Bar & Gallery (named after his service dog Eagle), in Denton. The space is exactly as advertised: a bar, an art space, and a gallery, all rolled into one. The couple established this art hangout as a way of paying art teachers better wages to teach classes. Yes, they’re reaping the profits from the drink sales, which help fund the art section of the bar. There’s also an art supply shop inside that boasts everything from blank canvases to naughty gnomes waiting for a pop of color.
The space’s walls are adorned with art from students and Bramblitt himself — one piece on display he created for Coca-Cola in honor of Disability Awareness Month. And the joint’s become a regular hangout for the Dentonite. On any given day, you might catch him teaching an impromptu art class or kicking back and enjoying a cold one.
“At first I thought blindness made me different from everybody else,” he says. But I’m realizing it’s made me more like everyone else, because we all have something we struggle with and have to overcome to achieve our goals.”
