Though I have known Ron Clark’s family for three generations and him all his life, my familiarity with his work actually occurred slowly and deliberately, as knowing an artist personally does not automatically make one aware of the impact or message of that artist's work.
Alexander Calder, whom I befriended in 1949, was a stout, overweight, earth-bound creature who seemingly had nothing whimsical or 'mobile' about him; Rene Magritte, a friend of mine in both Paris and Brussels in the early 60's, was an ultra-conservative bourgeois who painted many of his magical and inexplicable pieces in a rather formal upstairs guest bedroom, his easel on a plastic drop cloth.
I find myself similarly surprised and taken by the thought process and mental secrets from which Ron's work emerges. He skillfully abstracts his visionary ideas into masterfully painted canvases, though the magic behind his art defies definition and eludes explanation. I also rather imagine he doesn’t really give a damn whether we like the results or not. Thus if there are those who do not understand or comprehend his work now, it matters little; those of another generation will. Or as the French say, “Tant pis.” Either you get it or you don’t