One of the most significant items in our collection is a typewritten draft of Rex’s autobiography. He began writing the story of his life after Marie’s death in 1933 and appears to have worked on it for many years. According to his nephew, Milton Brasher, Rex attempted to find a publisher for the autobiography, but was told it was too philosophical and wouldn’t sell well.
The autobiography is neither conventional nor chronological. Yet interwoven among Rex’s somewhat metaphysical musings are anecdotes about his childhood in Brooklyn, his years at sea working on a fishing boat in Maine, his gambling days in New York City, and his travels down the eastern seaboard on the Phalarope and throughout the South and West regions. The later chapters focus on life in Chickadee Valley, starting with the hard years of working long hours with little money to complete the paintings and ending with some of his happiest years at home with Marie. Woven throughout is his love of birds and his constant observation of their behavior and habits, from Sandpipers to Rosy Finches to Golden Eagles to his beloved Chickadees.
The autobiography has been immensely important for our understanding of Rex’s painting and for informing our sense of Rex as a man. Identifying names and references and refining our understanding of the details of Rex’s life is an ongoing project.
In this rugged land of high-rolling deserts, isolated mesas and deep gullies, always framed by near or distant mountains, the loneliness instilled in all life a longing for companionship. Animals and birds did not scurry off but nearly always tarried a bit to get a better look at the queer intruder. Spotted gophers were very friendly; and it required little patience to lure them almost within reach. Even the tawny Pronghorns paused for a peek. Communication north and south by rail was almost nil, but most of the streams were dry that might have been roaring torrents in the rainy season. Water was a serious problem but Lady Luck stayed with me. I crossed into Arizona and worked down the Colorado Plateau.
— Rex Brasher