Gallery
About The Artist, John Mizuno
My Name is Colby Holt, John was my grandfather. I was always told that my grandfather was an artist. I was also always told stories of how he enlisted in the 442nd all Japanese American regiment in WWII to escape the interment camps that he was sent to Italy where he honed is artist skills from local artists who had skills handed down from the renaissance. I was also told how the few times when he took his family to Disneyland in order to pay for the trip they would stop over in California so he could sell a few paintings and then they would continue on to Disneyland. I never knew the specifics of his talent other than he would draw any cartoon character in a matter of minutes that we requested and he painted mural of every Disney character on our basement wall. He left a legacy of large oils, and water colors that now adjourn our families' walls.
My Dad The Artist, Told By Jeri Mizuno His Daughter
I am the daughter of John and Noby Kldo Mizuno. I was the youngest of three girls, Cleo Reid, Judy Record, and myself Jeri Mizuno-Rogers. I believe I had a safe and simple life. But looking back on it, I realize I was from a lower income household where my dad's mother came to live with our family when my grandpa Mizuno died when I was five years old of a bleeding ulcer. I thought nothing of how we lived but in today's world we were cramped. We lived in a 2 bedroom, single bathroom house (maybe 1000 square feet). When Grandma moved in with us, dad had our single car garage converted into a bedroom for grandma. I loved it! Grandma only spoke Japanese, but she laughed a lot and liked to work in the yard. Grandma was Issei (first generation Japanese) so that makes dad a Nisei (second generation Japanese).
Dad was raised in Oasis, Utah. His father worked for the railroad. Grandma was a mail order bride. Dad would tell us about how lucky he felt growing up because his family always had food on the table. Dad was the second of four boys. He was born May 20, 1920. There was Buddy, Dad, Harry, and Bill. Because grandpa had a steady job, the family didn't suffer from the depression like so many families did then. He would tell of the family loading into their car and driving into town to buy weekly groceries. He knew was lucky. I know his family moved to Salt Lake in the late thirties or early 40's. Uncle Buddy died in a fire where he worked when he was in his late 20's. About that time dad moved to California to go to art school. Then WWII broke out. The Japanese along the coast were sent to internment camps. As a result, dad was the only member of his family who went to camp. He ended up at Manzanar. Dad didn't talk much about this time of his life, but he did say his job was to paint signs for the barracks such as "Mess Hall" and Building numbers. His artistic talents started kicking in! Because the camp situation was hard, when the government created an all Japanese army, the 442nd, dad chose to enlist. As a result he fought on the front lines in Italy. He re-enlisted until the end of the war.
My dad ended up in Philadelphia with some army buddies and that is where he met mom. She was studying to be an LPN. My mom and her entire family were also put in an internment camp. They farmed in California when the war broke out. They ended up in Gila Bend, Arizona for 3 years. My mom's dad, died of foot cancer and my grandma Kido was left with 6 children. Mom said it
was easier to go with girlfriends to Philadelphia because they had no home to return to.
So, let me fast forward to dad and his painting! I had no idea what an artist he was until I became an adult. I think the hand dad had dealt to him (5 females-mom, grandma and 3 daughters) under one roof would be overwhelming to anyone. Dad got a government job with Hill Air Force Base because of his years in the army and scarcity of jobs for Japanese after the war. I remember he would car pool and leave for work at 4:30 am and get home from work at 4:30 pm every day. He always got to 'rest' until dinner at 5:00 pm. Dad always reminded us that we were blessed to have a roof over our head and food on the table. I never saw him painting-there was no place for him to do this. But I do remember him making Christmas cards. Then when I about 8 years old he and a friend built a garage separate from the house. It was then that dad had a little room maybe 6X8' inside the garage. He had a pot belly stove and I recollect a radio in it. That was the first time I saw an easel and fruit jars filled with paint brushes. He had a table with all these tubes of oil paint. From then on I have memories of that room with the smell of paint and music playing. He never finished many paintings. My feelings are that his passion for his art took a backseat to his priority of raising his family, and of course, food on the table. I still feel so sad that I didn't understand what he sacrificed for the family.
I distinctly remember dad making posters for the middle school gym teacher, Mrs. Nicholsen. There were lists of who did the most push-ups, ran the fastest 100 yard dash and so on. My sisters and myself included, got extra credit in the gym for all of dad's work. I was never athletic but surprise, surprise, I always came out with an A on my report card! Dad always helped me on any kind of art project. I would get frustrated at times because he would paint trees shaded purple or something-just not green! He drilled in my head that everyone sees life in a different way-embrace differences. I became an elementary teacher and what dad taught me was invaluable. Teaching art was my favorite subject.
I feel my dad's influence in my life the older I get! The use of color is my friend and passion. I love quilting and playing with fabrics, weaving on a loom and experimenting with different and varied threads,, and now I am involved in stained glass making and designing silver jewelry. Life is rich and every time I see nature in action I think of how dad would be loving every minute of it.