Professor Jerry Jacob Rudquist, 67, died Sunday, Nov. 11. He was diagnosed with brain tumors only weeks before his death. He was a professor of art at Macalester for 42 years and for the last two years, remained a part-time teacher and an artist in residence as part of a MSFEO program that allowed him to paint until his retirement. His art is exhibited not only in local colleges, universities and galleries, but also in Japan, Iceland, Finland, Sri Lanka, Papua New Guinea, Nigeria and Spain.






Here are a few things that I fondly remember about Jerry Rudquist:

He loved to use the term “local color.”

At the beginning of the semester, he warned us about the paints that were safe to eat and the ones not to put in your mouth. Cadmium red was on the “do not consume” list.

In many of slides that he used for lectures, his wife would be standing next to the art work in order to show its scale and her beauty.

Jerry was so meticulous about his planning, always sketching out “thumbnail” drawings of his ideas before taking them to the canvas.

Jerry was able to address both comical and serious subject matter from wars to pigs to his daughter's ponytail series. his current pieces were always public as he would post them on the walls of the art hallway and ask for feedback during their creation.

During his first years of retirement, Jerry worked in his studio but still made numerous trips out to visit the students and help them with their pieces. After so many years of teaching, it was hard for him to be alone and not tell anyone about his color ideas.

Jerry was pleased with the way that I constructed canvases and stretcher boards and had asked me to help him make oversize canvases for his future projects. He never had plans to stop painting but just said that he would rather skip the brunt work of the process, if he could.

Jerry was a dedicated and gentle man that I will always admire.

-Elissa Anderson, Macalester Alumna






Jerry would never begin his painting class without a cup of coffee. I used to watch the way he held his styrofoam cup with his index finger extended. I always wondered why he did that and then I realized that he held his paint brush the same way. At Jerry's funeral, I learned from his brother John that the extended index finger was due to a childhood accident with a Swiss Army knife. Apparently Jerry learned to compensate for his weak index finger by using his middle finger to assist it.

When I heard this story, I laughed to myself and I immediately wanted to hear Jerry's version of his accident. He was such a good story teller. I could always tell when the punch line was coming because he would get this certain grin.

Jerry was an important mentor in the Art department at Macalester. He had taught for so long that he even taught my dad how to paint! When I took beginning painting from Jerry during my sophomore year, I brought my dad into the studio and Jerry remembered him after 35 years. My dad wasn't even an art student or an extraordinary painter, but Jerry still remembered him.

For those of you who didn’t know Jerry Rudquist, I’ll tell you this much: When Jerry left us this fall he was an artis-in-residence at Macalester. Students who had had him as a professor were thrilled to have him around beyond his retirement. He often left his studio door open and he was always happy to talk when students passed by. Jerry was kind, gentle, thoughtful, and spirited. Through his personal stories during slide lectures, we could tell how much he adored his wife and two daughters. Jerry had a voice so soft and gentle that his lectures lightly painted images into our minds. He was a treasure to this college and he left us too soon.

Jerry, I hope that you're giving lessons on how to paint the sunset. We miss you and we love you.

-Susan Andersen ’03






One of the great dividends of being part of the Macalester community is meeting people from all walks of life and making new friends. I was drawn to Jerry Rudquist by his art and creative works. We became friends and I was in awe of his talent and his genuine warmth. I used to sit with him in the Grille of the old Student Union during lunch while he ate his giant homemade sandwiches.

Eventually I was able to acquire three of his works. Two are on the walls of our home in St. Paul and the third is in our home in Jerusalem. It is his print entitled “Hand II.” It is startling and stunning. It is placed right opposite the entrance door so it is the first thing seen upon entering our home. Everyone who enters our home stops and comments. The technique and talent are stunning. Then I would tell them about Jerry and his work. It is a living reminder of his personality and work.

As I look upon his “Eye” in St. Paul and his “Hand II” in Jerusalem, I will sense his presence and will be reminded of an unusual man and mentor.

-Rabbi Bernard Raskas, Visiting Professor of Religious Studies






In his artwork, Jerry played color like an instrument, and he taught color theory in a way that changed how I see on a daily basis. I notice the hue of shadows cast by colored light, the temperature of a seemingly white wall, the small panes of color that compose a rosy face. I see how objects interact, projecting their surfaces on one another, and notice how color is contextual-dependent on surroundings-which became a metaphor for subjects I encountered in social science courses. I feel lucky to have constant reminders of Jerry in all the small flashes of color that I see, flashes that would have remained invisible if I hadn't signed up for his Painting course.

-Seth Lind '01

I took a colors class with Jerry and now I don’t just look at things, I examine them and experience the true beauty of the colors around me, because of what he taught me. Looking at the leaves in the Fall, I can almost hear Jerry saying look at the intense beauty and the vibrant colors.

-Kristin Lawson ’02


Early this fall, I saw a tree and found myself thinking about what makes a good teacher. Looking at the leaves that day, I remembered the first class I took with Jerry Rudquist. It was Color Theory. The fall that I took his Color Theory class, nothing looked the same. My classmates and I agreed that the heightened awareness of colors was at times enough to make you feel a bit mad but that it was worth it. We were told to start collecting leaves early because at the end of the semester, we would have to use them in an assignment. At first I think I was a bit skeptical about a leaf collage.

Soon, however, my drawer and the drawers of my classmates were overflowing with leaves. There were far more than we could ever use on one project. As Jerry began his lectures, I was amazed by how my perception changed. His passion for color was contagious and his precise eye enviable and indredible.

When we thought we'd finally got it right, he could always see which shade, tone, or hue would in fact be perfect. Yet he never discouraged. He was patient, happily taking time to explain repeatedly if necessary. Thus we became aware of the amazing subtlies and power of colors and context.

In class, Jerry would chronicle the changing fall colors. With a smile and mirth in his eyes, he would tell us exactly the shift in hue and tone he had noted over the past few days. He would recommend that we collect quickly if we wanted yellow hues because the red-yellow would be comming soon.

I recall leaving the studio one day and looking up. I wanted to see all the differences he'd talked about. One tree's leaves against an amazing blue-hued sky was so striking I had to stop. I tried to take note of the variations from leaf to leaf and how the blue of the sky changed the colors of the leaves as I saw them. Could they look the same on my tiny piece of paper? Everywhere I looked, I was suddenly aware of the range of colors and their subtle relations to one another.

In a world like this, I understood why Jerry was so happy, curious, passionate, and precise-if you weren't precise you could miss all the good stuff. His frequent gentle laughter, often at jokes, often jokes that weren't quite understood by everyone, transmitted his enjoyment of life nonetheless. Outside of class, he expressed a genuine curiosity in the thoughts and lives of students. Countless times as he was leaving his office for the day, he would stop and engage in discussion with whatever students remained in the studio.

Jerry was a wonderful teacher, role model, and friend. It is a precious and rare teacher who can heighten a student's awareness of the vastness of life's experiences by teaching the student how to engage with the nuances of one subtle experience amidst the many. For me, Jerry was just such a teacher. I believe that he saw all the colors of every leaf every day, he saw their context, he loved the awareness of all that and sought to increase it in himself and others with a balance of humility and confidence. I will miss him, yet feel he will never be far-whether in the hues and tones of the leaves, in his paintings, or in those who knew him.

-Katy Forsyth ’02

Early this fall, I saw a tree and found myself thinking about what makes a good teacher. Looking at the leaves that day, I remembered the first class I took with Jerry Rudquist. It was Color Theory. The fall that I took his Color Theory class, nothing looked the same. My classmates and I agreed that the heightened awareness of colors was at times enough to make you feel a bit mad but that it was worth it. We were told to start collecting leaves early because at the end of the semester, we would have to use them in an assignment. At first I think I was a bit skeptical about a leaf collage.

Soon, however, my drawer and the drawers of my classmates were overflowing with leaves. There were far more than we could ever use on one project. As Jerry began his lectures, I was amazed by how my perception changed. His passion for color was contagious and his precise eye enviable and indredible.

When we thought we'd finally got it right, he could always see which shade, tone, or hue would in fact be perfect. Yet he never discouraged. He was patient, happily taking time to explain repeatedly if necessary. Thus we became aware of the amazing subtlies and power of colors and context.

In class, Jerry would chronicle the changing fall colors. With a smile and mirth in his eyes, he would tell us exactly the shift in hue and tone he had noted over the past few days. He would recommend that we collect quickly if we wanted yellow hues because the red-yellow would be comming soon.

I recall leaving the studio one day and looking up. I wanted to see all the differences he'd talked about. One tree's leaves against an amazing blue-hued sky was so striking I had to stop. I tried to take note of the variations from leaf to leaf and how the blue of the sky changed the colors of the leaves as I saw them. Could they look the same on my tiny piece of paper? Everywhere I looked, I was suddenly aware of the range of colors and their subtle relations to one another.

In a world like this, I understood why Jerry was so happy, curious, passionate, and precise-if you weren't precise you could miss all the good stuff. His frequent gentle laughter, often at jokes, often jokes that weren't quite understood by everyone, transmitted his enjoyment of life nonetheless. Outside of class, he expressed a genuine curiosity in the thoughts and lives of students. Countless times as he was leaving his office for the day, he would stop and engage in discussion with whatever students remained in the studio.

Jerry was a wonderful teacher, role model, and friend. It is a precious and rare teacher who can heighten a student's awareness of the vastness of life's experiences by teaching the student how to engage with the nuances of one subtle experience amidst the many. For me, Jerry was just such a teacher. I believe that he saw all the colors of every leaf every day, he saw their context, he loved the awareness of all that and sought to increase it in himself and others with a balance of humility and confidence. I will miss him, yet feel he will never be far-whether in the hues and tones of the leaves, in his paintings, or in those who knew him.

-Katy Forsyth ’02