John Bradford Ryan

John Ryan shows up in my Facebook Memories at least three or four times a month. We’ve had hundreds of good times together through the years and many of them were noted on the Book of Face. Last Tuesday, for example, a 2015 post from John showed up on my feed. It read: “I went to see the hot new film, Fifty Shades of Gary. I think I might have gone to the wrong theater.”

It made me smile, just as it did 11 years ago when he first posted it. It made me smile, even though John had died the day before at Methodist LeBonheur from the effects of a stroke. He was 71, a number he would have been proud to have had on his golf scorecard.

John was an immensely gifted painter, one whose works were almost always rooted in nature, but who saw the natural world and took it in new and inspired directions. His paintings — large and small — grace the homes of countless Memphians and various private and museum collections.

John grew up in Midtown, one of three children of novelist John Fergus Ryan and Carla Jean Ryan. He attended nearby Snowden Elementary and Junior High, before graduating from Central High School, where the lanky youngster excelled at baseball and basketball. He went on to play JV basketball at the University of Memphis, where he graduated in 1977.

But art was always John’s true calling. He began selling his paintings and sketches as a teenager and never stopped. As he liked to say, “Everything I ever painted, I sold.” He mostly worked on commission, rarely accumulating enough paintings at his studio for a gallery show, though he had several through the years. If you wanted a John Ryan, you paid him what he asked and you got what he painted — sight unseen — and you were invariably delighted. John’s colors and lines and techniques were stunning in their originality. Even his hand-crafted frames were works of art.

John was a devoted fisherman whose fly-casting on a trout stream was a thing of rhythm and grace. He also enjoyed bass fishing, especially sculling an old jon boat in the funkier waters around Memphis. For years, he maintained a regimen of catching at least one bass a month. “A man needs goals,” he’d say. In addition, he loved going to the Destin, Florida, pier, where he fished with friends and with his brother, Andy. Needless to say pictures of John holding a fish are plentiful among his family and friends.

He was also known to be an occasionally excellent golfer whose game featured its own variety of artistic license. John never hit the ball straight, at least not on purpose, preferring to “shape” shots — even if they sometimes were shaped into the nearest water hazard. He could cuss most artfully, as well.

John was a thrift-store habitué, “checking his traps,” as he called it, at various venues each day. His Midtown house was stuffed to the beams with treasures: furniture, lamps, rugs, stereo equipment, guitars, “$200 sunglasses,” and watches, so many watches. In one corner stood maybe 25 fishing rods. A hand-scrawled sign was taped to the stack: “Yes, I DO have enough fishing ‘poles.’ Thanks for asking.”

Aside from his hundreds of gorgeous paintings, John’s biggest legacy is the large circle of friends who came into his world via his art and his love of outdoor pursuits — and his wicked and ever-present sense of humor. He was a kind and thoughtful man and was loved by many people from all walks of life. 

His sister, Carla, put it best: “John was a profoundly gifted gentleman artist with a cheerful, optimistic outlook on life, enjoying simple pleasures like good food and conversation. He had our father’s sense of humor, once described by Memphis Magazine as ‘Faulkner, if cross-wired with Jonathan Winters.’ He had a large family of friends who loved him. He will be missed by us all.” 

John’s brother Andrew added: “John is the best big brother imaginable. He’s also my best friend. I use the word ‘is,’ not ‘was,’ because he’ll always be with me.”

As he will be with me and with so many others. Fly on, John Ryan. You were a true original and a true friend. We won’t see your like again.