“(John Atherton) is one of those fortunate artists who is able to function happily in the two disparate worlds of “fine” and “commercial” art. For him, the dual role seems natural and agreeable. He says: ‘I am convinced that (for me, and essentially for many who feel as I do) a decent life has greater bearing on the caliber of the work done than the so-called loss of face in making compromises. To do good work, it follows reasonably that to eat regularly, live in pleasant surroundings, and have enough independence to be able to devote oneself principally to the creation of art is a more intellegent solution than the opposite of the starving artist, freezing in his garret with pride intact. The point is to be able to recognize when the income from commercial art has reached a reasonable figure, and not let greed overcome the urge for self- expression.
‘I shall probably always do a certain amount of commercial art – for two reasons. One is that certain things are fun, and I like to do them. The other is that the life it enables me to lead is the best, for me, and I have no desire to change it for the worse.'”
-from Forty American Illustrators and How the Work by Ernest W. Watson (Watson-Guptill Publications, 1946)
John Atherton (1900-52) was a prominant illustrator for his entire life and was a good friend of Norman Rockwell. He called himself a Magical Realist, and his work is in the collections of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Art Institute of Chicago, The Museum of Modern Art, The Whitney Museum, and the Smithsonian Museum, among others.
Deborah Solomon’s 2013 biography of Norman Rockwell, The American Mirror: The Art and Life of Norman Rockwell (Farrar, Straus and Giroux), gives a glimpse at a testy compromise with commercialism for Atherton.
“Atherton had distrusted commercial art ever since his Bon Ami calamity – he had been assigned to create a series of drawings of a blond housewife cheerfully scrubbing her sink with Bon Ami, the cleansing powder. The drawings came back to him with instructions to revise them – to redo the woman and give her red hair and a more voluptuous chest. “That really floored Jack,” his wife, Maxine recalled. “They wanted a big, bosomy redhead using Bon Ami. He said, ‘To hell with commercial art'”