The artwork of Malcolm Zlotkowski, a lifelong Islesboro resident who passed away five years ago, was commemorated in a recent exhibit of his clown portraits at Islesboro’s Grindle Point lighthouse museum. Charlotte Mitchell, a tireless promoter of island artisans such as Zlotkowski, organized the event. Besides being an avid craftsperson, with pieces displayed in homes all over the island, Zlotkowski had also been Islesboro’s lighthouse keeper at one time, and was one of the first people to encounter Islesboro’s “lighthouse ghost.”
The artist’s grandfather came to Islesboro initially to serve as caretaker for a prominent summer resident. Except for a seven year sojourn in New Jersey when Malcolm was a young child, the family has remained on Islesboro ever since. Zlotkowski attended Islesboro Central School without quite making it all the way to graduation. He lived in a series of shacks – one of them an actual tarpaper version – tucked away off County Road, usually without running water. Twice his home burned to the ground. Besides the beautiful flowers he grew in the garden behind his house, he was also known for the wine he fermented from raisins, which Madelaine Coombs remembers as “the meanest raisin wine you ever tasted.” He usually had two batches brewing away in crocks at any given time. Zlotkowski was a free spirit, a colorful and friendly Islesboro fixture, as he roamed from one end of the island to the other with his dogs, Lapo and Joe-Joe.
He was always walking the road, hitching a ride, and you knew if you picked him up at one end of the island, chances were good you’d pick him up again on your return trip. In his youth he had hitchhiked to California – and had to phone home for funds to return home to Maine after being robbed of his belongings upon arrival. Zlotkowski was glad he’d had this adventure, but seemed in no hurry to repeat it. He might, however, saunter as far as the porch of Billy Warren’s ice cream shop, to shoot the breeze and gather island gossip. Sometimes he’d put on impromptu puppet shows, using marionettes he’d made out of paper maché, for any child who happened by.
Zlotkowski was a true vagabond artist. He often used “found” materials he’d gathered along the roadside to realize his artistic vision. He sculpted woodland creatures out of burdocks, pinecones and wood chips. He painted island scenes on sand dollars, displaying them on miniature easels, and he made clown masks and puppets out of discarded newspaper. One of his creations, a detailed historical painting of some of the island’s older buildings, hangs in Islesboro’s town office, a gift from Malcolm’s close friend, Russell Coombs.
Zlotkowski’s fame as an artist on Islesboro rests primarily on his clown portraits. One of his proudest moments was a one-man show of his artwork held at the Historical Society building. The clowns sold like hotcakes. Startlingly vivid, with colors right out of the tube, and often rendered with crude but irresistible energy, they could alternately repel and fascinate the viewer. You couldn’t decide whether you liked them or not, but you also couldn’t take your eyes off them. They were truly mesmerizing; what one thought of their artistic value became secondary.
Professionally speaking, Zlotkowski was an “odd job” kind of guy. He attended cooking school at one point in his life, but didn’t develop much of a career out of the experience. Instead, he sold blackberries and raspberries he’d gathered (from secret patches known only to him), baby-sat for houses, served as lighthouse keeper during the season, and once had the responsibility of standing guard overnight at the Historical Society building for an Andrew Wyeth exhibit. He depended a great deal on the support of his friends, and he was known to speak his mind. One of the island’s summer residents once referred to Malcolm as “the only person she knew who could live on Islesboro for nothing.”
His friends ranged across the economic spectrum, and he treated all of them with equal, egalitarian grace. He usually sported a baseball cap covered with a dazzling variety of pins given to him by his friends. If you came across a pin from some kind of event, it seemed natural to give it to Malcolm for his collection the next time you picked him up. Russell Coombs remembers him as a “happy Buddha,” replete with a big, beatific smile. Toward the end of his life, his happy-go-lucky nature was sorely tested by an array of health problems. A diabetic, he survived triple-bypass heart surgery and the loss of a leg, and tried to make the best of his situation. His passing at the Knox Home was attended by his loving mother, who found the strength to care for her son in his final years despite substantial life struggles of her own.
When blackberry season comes to Islesboro, as I harvest this fruit that I don’t quite know what to do with (besides eat them as I pick them), I remember my friend Malcolm. He once shared with me his secret spot for the biggest blackberries on Islesboro, a ramble long since gone the way of a weed whacker. We picked raspberries side by side at Lydia’s house, from a patch that is no longer there. I think of him every year at berry time and, like most people who knew Malcolm, I smile at the memory of his antics. And I’m glad that his vagabond spirit lives on in his art, which is all up and down the island, just as Malcolm used to be.