The last time Freddie Manseau flew on an plane was 1962. He was 8 years old then, traveling with his family to Boston to see his grandmother.
That’s the only time Freddie, a beloved Santa Monica College watercolor instructor, has ever ventured outside California.
Asked why, the 71-year-old artist shrugs. Nothing to do with fear of flying, he says. “I’ve just never had the wanderlust. I’ve always been in Santa Monica, and I’m still in Santa Monica.”
And yet every week for more than 35 years, Freddie has taken his students—most of them older adults, many seasoned travelers—on eye-opening journeys of radiant discovery. He teaches them to see the world in light and shadow, through washes of translucent color and splashes of changing hues.
Since 1989, Freddie has taught art in the Emeritus Program and the Community Education program. (The former tailors free, noncredit courses to older adults; the latter offers low-cost, intensive not-for-credit courses to the general community.)
“This is the best,” he says, of his SMC teaching career. “So many wonderful students, and I have such a strong connection with them. It doesn’t feel like work. It feels like making art with all your friends.”
His two online sections of Art E22, plus his on-ground Art E30 (studio) course, together with his six-week online Painting in Watercolors class, are reaching more than 200 students this term.
Over the years, Freddie has touched thousands of lives. He has taught children’s art classes in clay, mask-making and cartooning. He’s taught adult courses in acrylics and drawing. As a professional artist, he created commissioned paintings, promotional art, cartooning, prototype and product development art, and illustrations for mass production.
But Freddie considers teaching his true avocation, and is thankful for his 35-year career at SMC. So thankful that he recently named Emeritus and Community Ed in his will. “These programs have been really important to me, enriching my life,” he says, explaining the reason for his philanthropy. “It makes me feel good to know they will continue after I’m gone. My hope is that others also will put SMC in their trust.”
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Born and raised in Santa Monica, Freddie can’t remember a time when he wasn’t sketching something.
Among his earliest memories: “I was doodling on the wall, and my mom said, ‘Freddie, here’s a piece of paper and pencil.’ My parents were very supportive. I’m very grateful they never pressured me to be an attorney or businessman.”
After graduating from Samohi, Freddie attended SMC and transferred to Cal State Long Beach, where he completed his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in fine art. His sister, Diana, is also an artist and teacher who, until recently, was working in Morro Bay.
Freddie’s father, Irving Manseau, worked in the aerospace industry, and his mother, Andrea, was a homemaker who wisely invested the family savings in Santa Monica real estate.
“She was a really smart, business-minded person who bought her first house at 20,” Freddie says.
Freddie now resides in his mother’s last home, a charming 1923 Mediterranean Revival sheltered by overgrown avocado, palm and ficus trees, it has a cozy back patio and a yard that feels like “my own little park.”
A lifelong bachelor, Freddie cared for both his parents over the years. Irving, who had Parkinson’s disease, died in 1989, but Andrea lived to the ripe age of 94.
“She was sharp right up to the end,” Freddie says. “She was a wonderful mom. I still think of her all the time. It feels good that I’m still in mom’s house. It’s like she’s embracing me, still protecting me.”
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Though Andrea passed 11 years ago, Freddie continues to sleep in the one-room bungalow he occupied when his mother was alive. The bungalow is also Freddie’s remote classroom, where he delivers Zoom demonstrations using his state-of-the-art overhead webcam setup.
The main house is more like a museum. Freddie has no idea how many paintings he’s produced. The demonstration watercolors from his Emeritus classes are measured in vertical feet—“I have stacks that go up … you wouldn’t believe how high,” he says. His personal artistic output rises in more towering stacks.
“They’re all over. I just can’t stop. I have to keep painting,” he says.
And then there are Freddie’s collections. At first it was just tin-plate cars and airplanes. Some date back to Freddie’s childhood, but most were acquired later.
“I never quite grew up,” he freely admits. “I surround myself with all my toys.”
Before the advent of eBay, Freddie used to hunt for treasures at swap meets. Each room in his house is lovingly curated to show off his collection: an Art Deco traffic signal, a 1940s Jennings slot machine. In the kitchen, an old-time barbershop sign and striped revolving barber pole vie for attention with the white porcelain O’Keeffe and Merritt working stove.
There’s a 1948 Wurlitzer jukebox in an alcove. After dark, Freddie drops a nickel in the coin slot and loses himself in the big band standards of yesteryear.
“When it’s playing, I’m like a moth to a flame. It’s hypnotic,” he says of the lights that run up and down the jukebox’s rotating vertical columns and under its cathedral dome. The Wurlitzer’s inner mechanics are another source of delight. “I love to watch the arm swing out and take a record.”
He pairs each prized object with a framed advertisement taken from a period magazine. On one coffee table, vintage books and catalogues surround a hand-calligraphed sign that reads: “Musée Manseau.” It was made by Lu Plauzoles, a close friend who is one of Freddie’s longtime Emeritus watercolor students.
The crown jewels in Freddie’s home museum are his 13 pedal cars, artfully arranged as centerpieces in different rooms.
“I never had one as a kid. Now I wish I could fit into one,” he says wistfully, of the steel and chrome toy vehicles, which include an airplane, a boat and an ice cream vending scooter.
To compensate, Freddie drives a 1957 Nash Metropolitan. “It’s like a life-sized pedal car, except I don’t have to pedal it,” he says. In a hat-tip to the 1960s sit-com starring Shirley Booth, Freddie named her Hazel. A diminutive version of the sleek, space-age fin cars, Hazel is a two-tone, sunburst-yellow-and-snowberry-white beauty with houndstooth upholstery. “It’s such a fun car,” he says. “When we go out on the weekend, it brings smiles to everybody.”
Before acquiring Hazel in 2019, Freddie drove other classic models—a Datsun 240Z, a Triumph TR3, a Renault Delphine, and Peugeot wagon. “But this car seems to really suit me,” he says. “It’s a little quirky, my Metropolitan. And I’m a little quirky.” (A 2022 Emeritus Art Gallery exhibition put the spotlight on Freddie’s abiding love for classic cars.)
When he isn’t driving Hazel, Freddie rides a vintage Schwinn tricycle that’s been modified to run on battery power.
But mostly, Freddie stays at home and paints. He always has some special project underway. Inspired by Renaissance masters, he once decorated the upper panel cabinetry of his upright piano with angels playing instruments. “I thought it would make me play better, but no,” he admits, sheepishly. “At least it’s nice to look at.” Lately he’s been teaching himself to play banjo. “Not just any banjo. It was my dear dad’s banjo. He was good too. I had many hours of fun watching him play.”
Freddie’s most recent project is the final tableau in his monumental garage mural series. The interior walls and door in Freddie’s garage depict lively scenes from a retro diner and drive-in movie. The four murals—acrylics painted directly on drywall—evolved after Freddie acquired the “front clip” (or front half) of a rusted-out 1954 Nash Metropolitan. He pushed the chopped car chassis up against the wall and, behind it, painted a couple cuddling in the front seat. In the background are more parked cars outside a burger joint called “Freddie’s Diner.” At the flip of a wall switch, the Nash’s headlights turn on. (You can watch Freddie describe his creative process in a video recording from last summer’s Emeritus faculty show. His comments begin at the 1-hour 28-minute mark.)
Beyond his love of 1950s Americana, some major recurring themes in Freddie’s art practice are seascapes and marine vessels, inspired by the work of John Singer Sargent and Winslow Homer, and many portraits. (You can see some examples from his 2015 Emeritus Art Gallery solo show.)
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Over the years, Freddie has become close friends with some of his students. He’s painted portraits of a few, like Marty Luber. Students come from near and far. One perennial student logs in weekly from Paris. Another recently interrupted her vacation in Vienna to Zoom in for Freddie’s not-to-be-missed demonstration.
Though he admires his globe-trotting pupils, he doesn’t envy them.
“I guess because I’m pretty content with Freddie’s world,” says this fourth-generation descendent of French immigrants who has never set foot in France.
Touching thousands of lives through his teaching brings Freddie deep fulfillment and leaves a lasting legacy at SMC.
“After 35 years here, I feel so lucky,” he says. “This is my perfect spot.”
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SMC in Focus Volume XI, Issue 6
Fever Dream
A severe childhood illness motivated Jacqueline Cortez to become a nurse, and Santa Monica College helped shape her path. Read Article
Preparing the Next Generation of Caregivers
Tomorrow’s caregivers, both paid and unpaid, are getting an in-depth education in gerontology through SMC’s Introduction to Working with Older Adults noncredit certificate program. Read Article
Rhythm and Ledger
Dancer-actress Naomi Henderson found harmony between art and accounting at SMC. Read Article
Freddie’s World
The beloved SMC watercolor instructor looks back on a career filled with painting, quirky collections and students who feel like friends. Read Article
Bragging Rights
Geography students help develop accurate maps. An English professor’s book a finalist for a prestigious contest. A nursing professor responds to an emergency midair. Read Article
The Wisdom of Age
To celebrate its 50th anniversary, SMC Emeritus launches the “Fifty-over-50” campaign, a compendium of collective wisdom from those who have made significant contributions to this community, and beyond. Read Article