Robert McFate's Bio

I’ve always felt I was born an artist—and being born in 1956 meant I arrived in a golden era for a young creative spirit in America.

We lived on the east side of Flint, Michigan, and I attended Homedale Elementary just a block and a half from home. Kids walked to school back then, and so did I. My art teacher, Mrs. Patton, had a reputation for being strict, but I remember only praise, encouragement, and pure joy in her class. She once held up my work as an example for the class, and that memory has never left me.

From a young age, I was told I had a gift. When asked where it came from, I pointed to my mother—she painted in oils. Her easel was a permanent fixture in our house, and oil painting, with its slow and layered process, fascinated me. Maybe it was the “don’t touch” rule that made it all the more magnetic.

I was the youngest of four boys. My older brothers Don and Tom were out ahead, and Randy was two grades above me. I made the mile-long walk up Franklin Avenue to Lowell Junior High, where art came under the name “Industrial Arts.” I took wood shop, metal shop, and drafting—skills that laid a subtle but solid foundation. Around that time, life’s cracks began to show, and I entered high school.

Each morning, I walked to Flint Central High in the early ’70s—a dozen blocks named after states, cutting through Kearsley Park and over railroad tracks, then past the C.S. Mott estate, the Planetarium, the Art Museum, and the Library. It was a beautiful and inspiring route, especially for a student with a growing passion for the arts.

At Central, I was lucky to study under two exceptional art teachers—Mr. Gleason and Mr. Nash—both of whom greeted me with, “Oh, you're Randy’s brother. Are you as good as him?” That challenge lit a fire. This was a defining period. Public education offered me a path, and I walked it. After school and work, I would doodle. Always creating.

In 1980, my brother Randy—also known as Panama Fox—taught me the basics of airbrushing. By 1982, I began my first professional season at Spyglass, a beach shop, where I was hired under the condition I was “as good as your brother.” That launched years of seasonal airbrush work: New Orleans, back to Panama City Beach, then on to Gatlinburg with my wife Angie, Clearwater Beach, Springfield, Missouri (five years at Northtown Mall), and eventually my own shop—Air Wear.

For five years, Air Wear Studio was my full-time venture, focusing on murals—over 100 of them, most for schools throughout Springfield. Then, in pursuit of a new adventure (and perhaps against better business sense), we bought a little acre in a Tennessee valley by a river and across from an old mill. We started Old Mill Mural. Though the workload was lighter, the local community embraced me as their “art guy,” and I found myself accepting some unusual, challenging commissions. I also volunteered art classes at the local school and eventually began getting paid for them. Sign painting became a regular request, and though I initially protested—“I’m not a sign painter!”—I found my brush skills improving. Somewhere along the line, I became a bona fide folk artist.

In 2011, I took charge of my own direction. I announced in the Bledsoe Banner that I would no longer take custom orders and would focus on my personal vision. I dropped Old Mill Mural and embraced my full name: Robert McFate. I adopted a stacked, all-caps signature and entered what I now call the “Encore Period” of my work.

My first solo show followed. Around the same time, a little road called Highway 127 led us to Cincinnati. When people ask what brought me here, I just say, “Highway 127.” That same road led me to Thunder-Sky Inc., a gallery that invited me to co-head a show inspired by William Blake. That was the beginning of a long and meaningful connection. I also leased a space at Essex Studios and began contributing to Visionaries + Voices' Double Vision events—some of the most rewarding artistic collaborations of my career.

By 2018, I proposed a solo show to Thunder-Sky, and it was scheduled for June–July 2020. We left Essex, and I spent all of 2019 preparing for that show: Sign/Symbol—Looking at the World via Highway 127. Despite the pandemic, thanks to local creatives and patrons, we hosted private viewings and online presentations. (You can see the whole story on my YouTube channel: Robert McFate). Each guest left with a free gift—something from the bathroom cabinet. That was the beginning of Small Batch Art Magnets.

After that, I flipped the phrase “go big or go home” into “stay home and go small.” I began creating tiny metal assemblages with magnets on the back. They’re made from the smallest, most overlooked scraps of material—urban fodder reborn as art. Three years later, it still makes perfect sense. This is my most accessible and affordable work to date.

In 2021, I added Fodder-Bot to the mix.

Angie and I are now happily based at home, making and showing art at events throughout the region. It’s still the best way to experience it—up close and personal. And now, thanks to Angie’s hard work, our complete catalog from the past decade is available online. She’s made the site beautifully user-friendly and helped showcase the work in its best light, along with handling our media production and promotions.

To sum up: My brother Don was overwhelmed by factory life and custom orders, but eventually lived the beachcomber artist's dream—from Jacksonville to Key West. His art sustained him.

Tom worked at A.C. until retirement, always tinkering with new crafts. Toward the end of his life, he was making beautiful custom walking sticks.

Our father had a gift for woodworking.

But my biggest influence was LaVonne—my mother. She waitressed part-time at The Red Rooster, where her oil paintings lined the walls. Occasionally, she’d declare a sale. One night, actor Ernest Borgnine came in and bought a piece. That story still makes me smile.

And finally, my only living brother, Randy, still owns and operates Panama Fox Tattoo.

We welcome your interest and support—for both my art and my small-scale activism. I hope I can keep walking, keep finding materials, and keep creating new ways to imagine the world.

Robert McFate

2025