Photography by Trevor Cracker

REPRINT FROM DOWNTOWN SUMMER 2025 ISSUE

Late in his life, the painter Paul Cézanne created a watercolor titled Skull on a Drapery. Like many of his late still lifes, it appears unfinished—patches of bare paper peek through the brushwork. Rather than detract, that emptiness became emblematic of Cézanne’s style: a quiet void that suggested both mortality and a passing of the baton to a new generation of artists.

Photo by Etienne Renard

Fast forward a hundred years, and it feels as if celebrity chef Tony Ballard stepped into Cézanne’s unfinished painting—turned the drapery into wallpaper, added color, and built an entire palatial room around the skull. In Ballard’s unnamed painting, the skull has been repositioned, recontextualized—maybe a nod to the grief that marked his adolescence, when the death of both parents at 16 left him the last one standing to hold the home together. Or maybe it’s a critique of the cold detachment he’s seen in the luxury homes of some of his wealthiest clients. “I’ve witnessed the cruelty of new money,” Ballard tells me.

Or maybe it’s something more universal: that faint sense of death we all carry home, that we must learn to live beside. Then again, maybe it’s none of these things. “I honestly don’t know what it’s about,” he admits, nodding toward the canvas. “It started out as something completely different— five doll heads, spooky porcelain that I eliminated for the skull, vase, and cat.”

Ballard, who spent much of his career cooking for the rich and famous, said, “A real plate is one where the chef has tried to enrich not just the meal, but his understanding of the food.” That same philosophy seems to guide his art. A real piece of art should enrich your understanding of life—not in the sense that every painting or film needs a lesson, but in the way best captured by one of Tony’s favorite artists, Brian Eno: “When you look at art, you are looking at differences. Art is a way of making feelings happen.”

Wandering through Ballard’s world, there’s an abstract subtlety. In one piece, he weaves together spindly webs à la Pollock—more like seasoning than structure—across a cosmic forest. Just as a personal chef must master many styles of cooking, Ballard seems to channel the visual “recipes” of 20th-century painters, remixing them into something wholly his own. The walls in his Upper West Side apartment are adorned with paintings that nod to Picasso, Hockney, and Jasper Johns– endowed with Ballard’s own childhood memories of Wales and Leicester or recent impressions of the Costa Rican shore.

One of Ballard’s Hippo pieces.

Tony Ballard has served as a personal chef to writer Michael Crichton—the polymath behind Jurassic Park—comedy icon Chevy Chase, and rock legend Keith Richards, who he still works with today. “He’s a pleasure, an absolute pleasure to be around. With the celebrities that I work with, I kind of have to neutralize because I can’t come in as a fan.I have to be cool, you know? But the Keith I know… and his wife, they’re as good as it gets.” In fact, Richards recently purchased three pieces from Ballard’s “Hippo Collection”—a series that celebrates innocence and joy, bursting with layer upon layer of vibrant color. Each piece is subtly distinct, framed uniquely, and radiates an unabashed optimism that mirrors Ballard’s own life: a colorful journey marked by hard-won lessons and deep creative insight, much of which maps onto his culinary philosophy.

“It’s a strange irony,” Ballard says, “that most people who are truly creative don’t really know where their ideas come from. To be a chef is an art form. Culinary school can help expand your knowledge, but to be a real chef, you have to be an artist first. The art of preparing food radiates from deep inside me. I truly feel that when I’m in the kitchen, my movements are beautifully interwoven—even my breathing comes with an effortless grace. That kind of fluidity starts with an intuitive understanding. Although if I’m being honest, there’s a little bit of insanity in the kitchen—and it does everyone an awful lot of good.” He takes issue with the question, ‘What’s your favorite food?’ He equates it to asking what’s your favorite Beatles song– “You can’t do it because they’re all good.” If you press him on the question, he’ll concede it’s spicy curry. His favorite meal to cook is Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding– mostly because his kids and audiences love it so much.

While Tony has had a successful career in the culinary arts—and even found an outlet in music, whether playing guitar with his son, writing his own music, or jamming with Chevy Chase in Chase’s home studio—his painting career only began a few years ago. “You know, my painting really started to intensify around 2020, during all the COVID stuff. I couldn’t go to work—everyone was being asked to stay home. I’ve always had the urge to paint, all my life really, but I held back because I thought, unless you’re really good at it, why put yourself out there and risk looking foolish? But eventually I just started doing it—and I began enjoying it, enjoying the process. I taught myself. That’s why, at first, I was using house paint-literally whatever I could get my hands on.  That’s when I learned the difference between oil and water-based paints. Oil takes longer to dry, water dries fast—started figuring it all out by feel. Over time, I was able to control it better. Now I’ve got a whole system: I prep my boards, I work a lot on wood, and even though the backgrounds might look simple, there’s often a lot of effort behind them—gold leaf, silver leaf, layers of color. I wait, build up different coats, and try to get just the right effect.”

What’s most remarkable about Tony is his unwavering optimism, despite having been dragged over life’s hot coals more than his fair share. He lost both parents at a young age, spent much of his youth cycling in and out of homelessness, lost a business he built over many years, and even survived a near-fatal stabbing while protecting his wife. And yet, he remains cool, resolute, good-humored, and deeply kind. “Life is really simple, but we complicate everything,” he tells me. “All that happens—all that hurt—is what shapes you later in life. I wouldn’t change a thing. There’s nothing I’d go back and do differently. That’s the best education. I find myself very, very lucky when I go to bed at night. I thank God. I’m really grateful. The more gratitude you can feel, the better life gets. It’s amazing.” @chefajballard. DTM