People occasionally ask why I collect railroad art.
It’s a fair question. Why not landscapes, or contemporary painting, or local artists? Why devote so much time to a subject that many people associate primarily with transportation or nostalgia?
The short answer is that I don’t really collect trains. I collect American life, using railroads as my lens.
But it took me several years to realize this—and you may notice a shift like this in your own collecting.
It Started with Trains
Like many railroad enthusiasts, my interest began in childhood.
My dad introduced me to trains when I was young. We built model railroads together, visited train stations, and—like countless other kids—occasionally placed pennies on the rails before a train passed. (I wouldn’t recommend trying that today.)
Growing up in Virginia, we often watched trains on the former Southern Railway main line between Washington and Atlanta. I was fascinated by the locomotives: their size, their power, and the sense that they connected places far beyond wherever I happened to be standing.
At the time, I thought I loved trains because they were trains. Looking back, I think they were my first introduction to something much bigger.
Railroads touch nearly every part of American life. They shaped where towns were built, where factories opened, where people worked, how goods moved, where vacations began, and how communities grew. They connected people—and divided them. They brought opportunity and displacement. They were engines of industry, but also places where ordinary people earned a living.
I didn’t understand any of that as a child; I just knew I wanted to watch the next train go by.
Then Art Found Me
My interest in collecting art developed independently.
In 2005, while working in New York, I noticed a painting peeking out from a rolling cart that an artist had on the subway.
Curious, I asked whether it was for sale. It was!
I arranged with the artist, Stella Lillig (b. 1968), to visit her studio. I bought the painting—and later a second.
Until that moment, it had never occurred to me that ordinary people could buy original art directly from living artists.
That subway conversation opened an entirely new world.
I Thought I Was Collecting Locomotives
When railroad art eventually entered my collection, I was drawn to the same kinds of works that attract many rail enthusiasts.
Beautifully painted locomotives. Heroic compositions. Smoke, steam, speed, and technical precision.
I still enjoy those paintings; some are extraordinary works of art. But after seeing hundreds of locomotive portraits, I realized something.
The paintings that stayed with me weren’t necessarily the ones with the most impressive engines. They were the ones that made me wonder what had happened just before the scene—or what might happen next.
Without realizing it, I was looking for stories.
The O. Winston Link Surprise
One afternoon in Roanoke, Virginia, helped me understand my own taste—thanks to artist O. Winston Link (1914–2001).
After years of visiting the Link Museum, I learned that a nearby art gallery had dozens of photographs available on consignment. I arrived about ninety minutes before closing, expecting to buy one or two prints.
Instead, I spent nearly two hours going through photograph after photograph.
Eventually I faced a familiar collector’s dilemma. I couldn’t buy everything. So I started asking myself which images I would regret leaving behind.
Looking back, the pattern is unmistakable. I wasn’t choosing Link’s most famous locomotive photographs.
I kept pulling images of railroad workers, stations, maintenance crews, and quiet moments of everyday life. Even when the locomotive occupied the center of the frame, I found myself paying just as much attention to the people surrounding the trains.
At the time, I couldn’t have explained why. Today, I realize I was teaching myself what I actually wanted to collect.
Reginald Marsh Confirmed It
Something similar happened when I discovered Reginald Marsh (1898–1954).
Initially, I was attracted by the locomotives. But the more time I spent with his work, the more I noticed everything else.
Workers walking beside towering industrial structures. Smoke hanging over rail yards. Factories and bridges woven into the modern city.
Railroads weren’t isolated subjects. They were part of a much larger story about American life.
That realization led me far beyond collecting. It led me into museum study rooms at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Whitney Museum of American Art. It led me to learning about paper conservation, printmaking, and archival research.
It even led to correspondence with the art historian who compiled the catalogue raisonné of Marsh’s prints. Now in his nineties, he had known Marsh personally and devoted much of his professional life to preserving the artist’s legacy.
That still amazes me. A single artwork had opened the door to decades of scholarship.
Railroads as a Lens
People sometimes assume railroad art is primarily about machines. For me, railroad art is about people.
As a history minor in college, my favorite classes weren’t traditional lectures—they were weekly field trips.
Every Saturday, we visited historic places, explored landscapes, and tried to understand what everyday life had been like for ordinary people. We weren’t simply studying presidents and generals. We were studying communities.
Looking back, I approach railroad art in much the same way. The railroad is the setting, but it’s rarely the whole story.
The interesting questions are about the people.
- Who worked here?
- Who was waiting for this train?
- Why was this factory built beside these tracks?
- How did this station shape the town around it?
Every painting asks another question. Every acquisition becomes an invitation to learn something new.
Looking Forward
Today, I look for works that combine artistic quality with narrative, historical insight, and emotional resonance. Sometimes they’re hopeful; sometimes they’re gritty. Often they’re both.
I still appreciate a beautifully painted locomotive. But what I’m really looking for is evidence of human life. For example:
- A worker climbing down from the cab.
- Passengers gathering on a platform.
- Children watching a freight train pass.
- Smoke drifting across a factory yard.
Someone has been here. Someone has a story. That’s the collection I want to build.
Over time, I hope its strongest works will continue supporting research, exhibitions, and scholarship beyond my own walls. Collections, like railroads themselves, are part of something larger than the people who build them.
And for me, that’s what railroad art has always been about.