Now Playing:

The fog rolled into Sacramento, and the bright red traffic lights flashed to green as Charles Curtis Blackwell, a painter currently in Oakland, squinted his eyes and froze at the steering wheel. He couldn’t bring himself to turn the wheel or press the gas. Everything was cloudy. He recognized the green hue but couldn’t see if any cars were coming. Angry horns honked behind him. He narrowed his eyes again. The horns kept blaring like a broken instrument. Finally, he pressed the gas as hesitantly as tiptoeing down a squeaky wood floor and eased his way into the grey blanket of fog.

“That was it,” Blackwell said. “I didn't even go to sign papers to drop out of college. I just said forget it.”

He was at Sacramento City College studying visual art when he and his friends spent a day at a Santa Cruz beach. They all climbed out of the van except for Blackwell, who stayed behind to finish his book, promising he’d meet them shortly after — a mere eight minutes later. When he left, he unknowingly headed in the opposite direction of his friends. The terrain become steeper and steeper until he was running to keep from slipping, and suddenly, he accidentally plunged off a sharp drop and damaged his head. He suffered internal bleeding and pneumonia but hoped he’d make a full recovery. After a couple months, a blotch clouded one eye and then spread to both. This was the beginning of macular degeneration. At age 20, he was legally blind.

Back to Gallery Blind Oakland artist seen by many as a mentor and an... 6 1 of 6 Photo: Liz Moughon / The Chronicle 2 of 6 Photo: Liz Moughon / The Chronicle 3 of 6 Photo: Liz Moughon / The Chronicle 4 of 6 Photo: Liz Moughon / The Chronicle 5 of 6 Photo: Liz Moughon / The Chronicle 6 of 6 Photo: Liz Moughon / The Chronicle











In his 67 years he worked more than 47 jobs from Washington, D.C., to the Bay Area, but nothing could keep him from his art, even blindness. “I was everything but a taxi cab driver,” he said with a chuckle.

He thought his dream to be a professional artist — or professional at all — was dead. He returned to school, eventually earning a bachelor’s degree in sociology from California State University Chico. Still, no one wanted to hire him.

He cut grapes, picked tomatoes, plucked peaches, washed dishes, worked fast food, stuffed envelopes, conducted research and more. He even stacked inserts for the Washington Post. That came to an end when one day his co-worker yelled his name, but he didn’t hear her until she called him three times. Once again, he quit that day. The thought of doing inserts for the rest of his life was too much.

When a grant for the Sacramento County Comprehensive Employment and Training Act (CETA) Artist Exhibit became available in 1977, a friend encouraged him to apply. “I’m out of art,” Blackwell protested. “I wouldn’t know what to do.” Half-heartedly, he applied anyway and was selected. His first gig was to paint Braille dots on a seven-foot canvas.

“I began to realize later on it was a God-given talent,” he said. “It was still there even though I had this accident.”

Letting serendipity be the guiding light, Blackwell usually entered the studio without a plan. His fingers created the lines he needed instead of a brush. Sometimes he dropped water to weave strokes into abstract forms of African masks and exotic nudes in every shade of the rainbow. Inspired by Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington, Blackwell evoked drama in electrical paintings of jazz musicians rocking back and forth.

“I feel like it’s worth something,” he said. “I’m not just wasting my time, you know, like working on some assembly line at one of those 47 penny ante jobs.”

Art isn’t Blackwell’s only talent. He published three books: “Redemption Beyond Blindness,” “Fiery Responses to Love’s Calling,” and “Is, the Color of Mississippi Mud & Lou Next Door.” He wrote dramas and poetry, volunteered in prisons and became a writing coach at Youth Spirit Artworks in Berkeley, an interfaith “green” art training center for homeless and low-income young people.

One of Blackwell’s old writing prompts for Youth Spirit Artworks lay on the floor in his cramped living room. It read: “Do you prefer or want to be with someone [who] says I love you or fine dining, wardrobe, a house [or] cash.” These mediums of artistic expression were for him and others to confront their past, talk about love, admit their mistakes and inspire them look at themselves in a mirror of self-love.

While volunteering at the William James Association Prison Arts Program, one of the inmates asked Blackwell, “When you lost your eyesight did you lose your will to live?”

Never before had Blackwell been so directly confronted about his experience. “Yeah, I lost my will to live,” he admitted.

The inmate shook Blackwell’s hand and said, “I’m glad you made that decision to live because you’ve really been an inspiration here today.”

“It was like he handed me a Ph.D or he gave me a big award,” Blackwell said with a smile. “He printed it on my forehead.”

Blackwell inspired people that their talent, whatever it is, can be used to encourage others or at the very least to discover something about themselves. Blindness, and over 1,200 pieces of art later, he has more than embraced his.

The Regulars is a photo and video column that offers a glimpse into the lives of ordinary people in the Bay Area, caught in routine activities of modern urban life.