Japanese A6M3 Model 32 Zero (3148) Forensics: Part I

We're a little crazy - those of us who are so obsessed with the combat aircraft of Japan during WWII that we dive into our research so deeply that it can only be compared with the work of Egyptologists meticulously dissecting a 4000-year-old mummy.  It's a sickness.  I don't know how I caught it.  All I know is that I've exhibited its symptoms since I was a kid.  I also know that, as an adult, I've witnessed mature and otherwise respectable men almost come to physical blows over differences in interpretation of our research.  I suppose such things happen in every genre' where people become passionate - and, oh yeah, where egos are usually at the helm.  I once found myself in the middle of an online fight over whether Japanese aircraft navigation lights were constructed with a clear light bulb within a translucent colored housing, or a colored light bulb within a clear housing.  People reverted to calling each other names.

I learned to steer clear of certain forums after that.  However: Clear bulb with a colored housing.  And the Japanese didn't use translucent green, they used blue because their 'white' lights were actually yellow.  A little crazy, but I love the subject and the research nonetheless.  

Recently I acquired a significant collection of very rare original parts from a Japanese A6M3 Model 32 Zero - known to the Allies during the war as 'Hamp'.  A very rare aircraft, of which only 343 were ever built, this one having been constructed in September 1942 by Mitsubishi (they were the sole manufacturers of this particular variant).  The Model 32 is most notable for its clipped wing tips, a feature believed by the Allies at the time to provide the aircraft with better low-altitude performance, but was in reality a simple cost saving measure by the Japanese (replacing the Model 22's complex folding wing tips).  Since then I've had a field day studying these parts.

Nothing riles both the appetite and the passions of a Japanese aircraft nut so much as color information, and in spite of over 40 years in the tropics (these parts were recovered from Taroa in the 1980s) there was much to be gleaned from them.

Probably the most elusive color to identify and match among all of the pigments employed by the Japanese has always been the gray used to paint the early Navy fighters.  This is the color that all of the Zeros were painted that attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941 (unlike those portrayed in the Hollywood movie).  Because the Japanese stopped using it in 1943 and began using a very different gray, authentic samples of the early war color have been extremely hard to come by.  For decades historians reverted to eye witness explanations from veterans, and as a consequence came to accept a chalky white color.  Though that shade is still championed by some, who seem inclined to have their declarations in support of it carved upon their gravestones, more recent discoveries of this color on actual pieces of these aircraft reveal something very different and somewhat counter-intuitive.

It has been described as 'olive gray' and 'gray brown'.  Technically it is very close to Federal Standards color number 34201, and it had a high gloss as applied at Mitsubishi factories.  I was happy to discover examples of this paint on samples of material from opposite ends of the same aircraft: from the tail and from the inside of the port wheel well.  The latter example (shown above) was a surprise due to the fact that it has been assumed that the wheel wells of the Zero - all makes and models - were left in the well-known 'Aotake' blue/green primer that commonly adored the internals of most all wartime Japanese aircraft.  The wheel wells being an 'internal' area, it was a reasonable assumption.  But false, at least in the case of this aircraft.  The evidence reveals that the components were painted with primer before assembly, and then received a thick spray-painted coat of gray along with the exterior of the aircraft.  The method and even direction of application can be ascertained, as certain areas that were hard to reach behind structural frames were partly missed, while the paint built up thickly in other areas.  Most importantly, however, the unique color of 'olive gray' so described in recent studies is precisely verified in these examples.

It's a weird color in relation to other 'grays' applied to other military aircraft through the ages, and I suppose for that reason alone it was more logical to adhere to the proven false belief that it was a more logical average 'chalky' gray.  Again, however, an exterior aluminum panel (above), that was once partly covered by a fairing, does reveal the same gray that was encountered in the wheel well.

It's worth repeating that this paint originally was of a high gloss.  It did weather to a dull finish rather quickly if neglected, but many Japanese pilots have testified to the fact that their ground crews took great pride in maintaining this glossy finish. These aircraft were the Samurai swords of the mid-20th Century. They were regarded as the property of the Emperor, bequeathed into the able hands of his subjects in the interests of the Empire.  They were not neglected.  It's also a fact that the Japanese paint and primers used in the construction of these aircraft were the best in the world at the time.  Allied studies during and shortly after the war did not shy away from giving credit where credit was due in this case.  It's also true that, as Charles Darby noted in his 1979 book, 'Pacific Aircraft Wrecks and Where to Find Them', Japanese aircraft tended to far outlast their Allied contemporaries abandoned in the bush and surrendered to the tropical elements. During the war all of this translated into aircraft that stood up better, looked better, resisted chipping and other signs of wear and tear better than anything in the air at the time.  While one might otherwise expect a war-weary looking machine after a short time, Japanese machines were simply better built and better maintained by the men responsible for them.  While these standards of Japanese manufacture and maintenance began to go into decline after 1943 - they held almost religiously true until the fates of war forced a change in priorities.  

- Ron Cole

The Story of a Zero - Japanese Zero A6M3 Mod. 32

In September 1942 a Zero fighter to replace the venerable A6M2 model (which had scorched Pacific skies since Pearl Harbor) rolled off of Mitsubishi's assembly lines and took an ox cart ride to its nearest aerodrome.  This version of the Zero, the A6M3 Model 32, was a big deal from the perspective of the designers and the Navy.  It had a more powerful engine, and it employed some modifications to make production easier and cheaper.  When it came to the folding wingtips of the previous model, for example, Mitsubishi cut them off and stuck an aluminum fairing at each wing tip.  Japanese pilots were not happy with such 'efficiency' measures and grumbled their displeasure across the Pacific.  Allied intelligence contemplated the significance of the clipped wings, theorizing that they might improve low altitude performance.  The Japanese wished!  But the Model 32 was merely a stop-gap machine - a slight improvement over its predecessor until the 'real' replacement was ready to enter production.  That aircraft, the A6M5, would boast an even more powerful engine and an entirely redesigned wing.  Thus Mitsubishi only produced 343 Model 32 aircraft, all from their same production line.

But our little plane that rolled out of the factory in September (and depicted above) was nevertheless destined for a unique life.  Her official name was just a number: 3148.  Whether her sponsors knew her by another, possibly more endearing name, is quite probable but lost to history.  3148's construction was paid for by funds raised by the Manchurian Secondary Schools, and was 'gifted' by schoolchildren to the Japanese Navy.  There would have been a ceremony at the time, with various VIPs from both the Navy and Mitsubishi present, as well as a Shinto priest on hand to bless the aircraft.  A series of ceremonial bowls would have been given to the school and to other key participants in the sponsorship.  The aircraft was adorned with special markings on its fuselage - behind the hinomaru insignia - denoting it as a sponsored aircraft and by whom.  Thus 3148 was a loved and appreciated machine of the sky from the very start.

Just as an enlisted man's life changes after going off to sea, so did the life of 3148.  She was assigned, without any fanfare this time, to the 252nd Kokutai (Navy Air Group) and sent off to the remote Marshall Island airfield of Taroa.  As assignments go, Taroa was regarded at the time as a key outpost that guarded the outermost defensive line of Japan's Pacific empire, but it was also largely ignored by the belligerents until 1944. Therefore, at a time when brand new Zeros were arriving at the front just in time to be destroyed in fierce, increasingly one-sided, battles - 3148 of the Manchurian Middle Schools was living a somewhat charmed life.  Even the Japanese Navy personnel at Taroa came to like the place at that time.  They cared for 3148, and the other aircraft at Taroa, much as fireman do their fire engines during downtime.

But the war did come.  On April 18, 1943, for example, it was very likely Zero fighters from Taroa (and quite possibly 3148) that stumbled upon a lone B-24D and shot it so full of holes that it never flew again, though it miraculously made it back to its base.  Unknown to the Japanese they'd shot up the aircraft of USAAF Lt. Louis Zamperini, an American Olympian who would go on to be the subject of a best selling book, 'Unbroken', and in 2014 a Hollywood film of the same name.

I have portrayed that April 1943 action in my painting above.

As the war in the Pacific increasingly encroached upon Taroa, the life of 3148 became more hazardous. By then one of Japan's best fighter pilots, Isamu Miyazaki, was flying out of the field.  He almost certainly flew 3148 himself at various times in combat.  Taroa was bombed.  Taroa was strafed by carrier-born Hellcat fighters. The respite that the tiny field had enjoyed came to an end.  In the case of Zero 3148, donated by schoolchildren at considerable expense and sacrifice and sent away to war with blessings and to shouts of 'Banzai!' - she was mortally wounded, not in aerial combat, but by bomb splinters that damaged her on the ground and wrecked her vitals beyond that which could be repaired locally.

Though Taroa was never invaded by the Allies, it was cut off from resupply and all of her aircraft were rendered unserviceable.  The war ended, and Taroa was forgotten.

      
Flash forward to the mid-1980s.  The terrible scrap drives of the '60s and '70s, which had decimated the vast majority of surviving WWII aircraft in the Pacific, were over.  They'd been replaced by a fast growing interest in the commercial investment opportunities provided by salvageable 'warbirds' still hiding in the jungles.  Once thought of in terms of their scrap value, something like a Japanese Zero in decent condition could turn into a million dollar restoration and a five million dollar sale at an aircraft auction.  These aircraft became big money, and while that sort of gold rush had its downsides, it probably saved 3148 from certain doom at the hands of aluminum exfoliation; from turning to dust. She was picked to be salvaged and was brought to the United States.  She changed hands many times as some restoration shops were either not up to the task or ran short of funds - familiar stories in the world of high end classic cars and collectible airplanes alike.

But by 2013 she was in the experienced hands of Legend Flyers, the company responsible for building several Messerschmitt Me 262 fighter jets from scratch.  They could do anything, and did!

 

           
A6M3 Model 32 Zero 3148 hasn't looked this good in a very long time!

My own relationship with this aircraft started in mid-2013.  Legend Flyers approached me to commission a painting of their unique two-seat Me 262 'Vera' that was captured in 1945 and test flown as one of Watson's Whizzers.  They restored that aircraft for static display and used its parts as patters for their 'new builds'. When my painting was completed they paid me generously in parts: specifically a full original engine nacelle panel from the Me 262:

I'm still in the process of restoring it and intend to paint it with its original colors and red stenciling, while leaving the inside all original.

Then they asked me if we could make a similar trade for the Zero.  I've loved the Zero fighter since I was a kid!  They sent me some amazing parts from her original airframe:

Some of these pieces I've put into some unbelievably rare and one-of-a-kind displays with my original artwork:

Soon, this Zero will be on display for countless people to see and enjoy.  In the meantime it means a great deal to me that I can possess pieces of this great historical machine, and be in a position as an aviation artist to share these pieces with others out there who can appreciate what a special aircraft old 3148 was, and is.

- Ron Cole

WWII Aircraft Parts: The Mother Load is Coming!

By now most people know that I offer my original artwork in wall hanging displays with authentic fragments of historic WWII aircraft.  That has become 'my thing' and sets me apart from other aviation artists.  No one else is doing this.  I'm often asked where I obtain these parts, since it's not everyday someone comes across a Messerschmitt Me 262 crash site, or wrecked P-51 Mustang in a field somewhere.

There is no one answer, of course.  In some cases I've worked with museums.  The Wings Museum of Surrey, England, for example, sent me parts of several Japanese aircraft that they had recovered from the Kurile Islands in 2006 - in exchange for commissioned artwork.  Tom Reilly sent me pieces of a B-17 G Flying Fortress and XP-82 Twin Mustang in exchange for other artwork.  I even buy parts off of eBay Germany, which is a completely separate auction site from eBay USA.  These various contacts have led to other contacts, many of whom reside in places like Poland and the Ukraine, where people spend their weekends out in the bush with metal detectors and email me within hours of their finds.

But lately I have one man in particular to thank for keeping me supplied and able to offer my displays now and well into the future, and his name is Christiaan Vanhee.  I've known Chris for several years now.  He's a retired Belgian Air Force officer, author of books on the Luftwaffe and air war in Europe, is presently restoring a Junkers Ju 88, and above all has led aircraft excavations all over Europe for more than 30 years. His personal collection of aircraft parts and artifacts literally defies description.

Almost two years ago, Chris began sending me boxes of parts.  He would go through his hanger and storage sheds periodically, usually when the weather started to warm up each Spring, and I'd get deluged with pictures of the items he'd uncover.  We'd agree on a price, and he'd drive to Germany to ship them off to me (shipping from Belgium is twice as expensive).  Sometime a box would be a centimeter too long and DHL would refuse it, or his car would break down . . . but upon eventual reception I always enjoyed my own little airplane Christmas!

This time around Chris outdid himself (see photo, top).  He shipped two "banana boxes" on June 25th and another on July 3rd (Another case of the Germans hassling him over weight and size - he had to break up two huge boxes into three).  Each box weighs over 50 pounds!

What's fantastic about the parts that I get from Chris is that they are usually from older excavations - from 30 years ago or even older than that.  What's sinister about the corrosion of aluminum is that, depending upon conditions, a piece of metal might survive intact for decades, but once it begins to exfoliate it degrades rapidly to the point of destruction in only a short time.  Looking at the aircraft parts unearthed from recent excavations, often being sold on eBay and elsewhere, anyone can see this.  But I've received parts from Chris that are perfectly preserved, with paint that's literally 100% intact and with no corrosion on the metal.  Wonderful stuff!

So it is with great excitement that I impatiently await the arrival of my banana boxes from Germany.  They contain amazing parts from a huge array of famous WWII aircraft: P-47, B-17, Fw 190, Me 109, Do 217 - the list is glorious.

Look out for new offerings from me - both new artwork in support of the parts, and new displays - in the very near future.

- Ron Cole  

Pan American Clippers by Ron Cole

It started with a relatively standard commission.  An enthusiast in Florida liked my work and approached me to paint his favorite aircraft: the Pan American Airlines Boeing 314 Clipper.  Loving 'moody' and low-light compositions I suggested a dawn scene in the tropics under conditions that would allow me to paint a particularly 'alive' aircraft at rest - with cabin and exterior lights in plenty, all reflected in the water.  My client loved the idea.

About two weeks later the 'Yankee Clipper' (above) was completed and ready to ship.  I went ahead with the release of 50 limited edition prints, and conducted my usual online promotion of the piece.  I sold just under 20 signed and numbered copies in four days.  Wow.

I'm infamously bad at judging my own work, so having found a recipe that people obviously appreciated I went ahead and did something I have never done before as an artist: I created a series.

I chose the Martin M-130 'China Clipper' for my next subject.  In 1936 this aircraft, destined for Pan Am's Pacific routes, was flown to New York for its maiden flight.  I saw an opportunity to paint something unique that showcased more than just an aircraft, but the pinnacle of industry and technology in a given era.  My composition placed one of the world's most advanced commercial aircraft before the skyline of one of the world's most modern cities.

But there was one more Clipper aircraft flown by Pan Am that I could not fail to paint:

The Sikorsky S-42 was the 'original' Pan Am flying boat, and predated both the Martin and the Boeing.  I followed the general lighting conditions of the previous two compositions, but I wanted the S-42 to be a bit brighter and more saturated - less gloomy.  I'd had my previous two Clippers printed on metallic paper at 24 x 36 inches, upon special request by some collectors, and the S-42 was really designed to take full advantage of the amazing 'iridescent' effect provided by that special paper that makes brighter colors literally glow under direct light.

All three of these pieces represented some new territory for me as an artist, but I did not abandon my usual attention to detail:

My Clippers are still available for sale via this link.


Teresa Webber, a former Pan Am employee of many years, contacted me shortly after the release of my Boeing 314 to see if I'd be willing to let her use my painting for the cover of a Pam Am cookbook she was writing to be released for the Pan Am Aloha Celebration and reunion in Hawaii in 2014.  I was happy to oblige, in support of this once great airline.  Her book, A Touch of First Class, will include numerous recipes by famous individuals associated with Pan Am, including Frank Abagnale who was portrayed by Leonardo DiCaprio in the film Catch Me If You Can. 

  I hope to attend their reunion in 2014 in Pearl Harbor next June!

Above: My Boeing 314 looks fantastic on metallic paper at 24 x 36 inches!  It's the same 8 color Giclee process that I always use, but the paper creates a tangible depth and iridescent glow to the artwork.

Onto the next project!  Any suggestions???


- Ron Cole

My Media and Process as an Aviation Artist

People sometimes ask me how I create my work. In spite of those instances, however, I'm actually asked about my process far less than I'd expect I would be. As artists we're all wedded to our individual media, I suppose, in ways that the vast majority of collectors are not necessarily in tune with. Most people who buy my art, so it would seem to me based upon 15 years of selling my work, couldn't care less how I painted them.

And, honestly, I think that's just terrific.

I was trained to be a professional artist in the way that many have been: by going to art school and spending lots of money on tuition and formal instruction. For me that was at the Rochester Institute of Technology, where my major was industrial design. As a foundation for that, I took all of those 3D and 2D courses, and I had to render naked people for hours on end using every media imaginable. I never envied those poor models. So, I've been there and done that.

But while I resort to calling myself an 'artist' in the interests of simplicity and placating to language, I don't actually think the term fits me and what I do. I am primarily an enthusiast of history, specifically aviation history. As a kid, who was good at drawing but rarely engaged in it for fun, I expressed my interest by building scale models - extremely detailed and later completely scratch-built aircraft models. And they won awards everywhere - as anyone around the model contests of the mid-1980s will probably remember. Those models were created by me with the goal in mind to recreate history as exactly as possible. I didn't care how. It didn't matter if they were made out of brass, plastic, wood, or some combination, so long as the end product constituted a perfect representation of a piece of history.

Likewise I approach my 2D aviation artwork with exactly the same philosophy and goal in mind. I am a little mystified when I hear people talk about how essential it is for aviation artists to work in oil paint (not that there is anything wrong with oils). I'm confused when people accuse an artist of 'cheating' for using an airbrush to create an effect in a given work. To suggest such things implies that our artwork should primarily be an exercise in using our red sable paint brushes, the quality of our end products being the ultimate proof of our prowess at such skill - like having knitted a king size quilt with only our teeth. What an impressive accomplishment! And while I absolutely believe that there should be both providers of that sort of work, and those who cherish it, what I do is something that takes place upon an entirely different ball field.

All of my paintings, and as of this writing I have 50 currently available (plus another 20 that have sold out, give or take), were created via a mix of media. I have several pure watercolors that were painted in more or less the traditional manner, but they're rare. They are haphazardly mixed in with paintings created by other means, a very few acrylics, and very many purely digitally created works and some created via 'analogue' means and repainted in the digital realm. I know that the use of digital media scares some purists - like a drum machine in a Rush song - and I understand the reasons for that. But every fraction of every piece I paint is done by hand, the only difference being my manipulation of a different tool. There is nothing 'computer generated'. It's all me, and that's why I can in perfect conscience sign my name to each piece when I'm done. The truth is that there are some things that can best be painted digitally, with the advantages provided by separate layers (usually hundreds, in the case of many of my paintings). But there are also some things that can't be painted well digitally, such as anything organic that requires the subtle randomness of a shaky hand or the imprecise haphazardness of a wet sponge. It's the mix of all tools that provides the best effect.

In conclusion: I don't make art for art's sake, I make windows in history - just like the models I built as a kid. That I've been able to play to the strengths of every conceivable media at my disposal means that I have that much more flexibility to create a truly convincing 'window' for the collectors of my work to enjoy. I hope that the results speak for themselves.

- Ron Cole

Something Completely Different: A New Look at Robert E. Lee

My childhood best friend happens to be a very accomplished writer and historian who is just about to release his fifth book, on the Battle of Gettysburg.  I'd already done artwork for the audio book publishing company, where he also works, and he asked me if I might be interested in painting portraits of Generals Lee and Meade as illustrations for his book.  We discussed the idea of colorizing original photographs, which had been done for both Meade and Lee - but not very convincingly - by other artists.

I'd attacked methods of colorizing historical black and white images over the years, trying to bend my brain around how color and light work and why most professional colorization projects had, in my opinion, failed to look 'right'.  The answers that I came up with did help: how shadows were not merely darker than adjacent areas but also less saturated, and how the tones of various colors were never consistent due to myriad factors.  Black and white photography captured images differently than color photography.  Failure to incorporate these realities in any attempt to colorize an image were often responsible for some of the lackluster results I'd experienced.

I played around with traditional ways to colorize images while trying to implement these lessons, and produced some work that I was happy with - insofar as I was willing to offer them as commercial products, and they sold well.  But I still wanted better results.

The human face is arguably the most difficult thing to colorize.  There are two main reasons for this: the human face is made up of almost every color on the wheel - even those that seem illogical and those that we don't consciously see - and the human face is so familiar to us that any error in its reproduction by an artist is glaringly obvious even to the untrained eye.

I considered how to overcome these obstacles.

Photoshop can do many things, thank God, and among these things is the ability to analyze an area of color in a way that is not circumvented by our own brain's annoying habit of optical interpretation.  Our brains don't see that many human ears contain the color green, for example, but Photoshop does.  By sampling color images in this way we can 'see' what our eyes do not - at least not directly - and can then match our paints to mirror what is actually there.

In the case of 'colorizing' Lee (using quotes because we're now going beyond simply colorizing), I decided to try to match areas of his face to color samples of white men of his approximate age and completion.  To make a longer story short: I painted over, and over, over various translucent layers (77 of them in total), until my Lee painting technically matched my color samples, and I refused to let my brain interpret anything.  When I pulled back and observed the completed image: I was very pleased!

I sent my completed Lee to my friend, who in turn sent it to a colleague of his who'd previously had published a best-selling book of colorized Civil War photographs, and the latter remarked that my results were "far superior to anything [he'd] ever seen."  I followed up my Lee painting with one of Meade, and both are being published within my friend's Gettysburg book.

I hope to do more of these!  As an artist who has focused almost exclusively on aviation, it's both nice and commercially wise to venture out of the comfort zone and try new things.

- R