Category Archives: Visual Art

The state of support for history in Oregon

Tom Fehrer, skulls, from "In the Navel of the Moon" at Camerwork Gallery, Portland.

By Bob Hicks

It’s pretty grim, according to Steve Law’s report, Historical Society may ask voters for tax levy, in The Portland Tribune, and Sarah Mirk’s followup, State History Museum Will Run Out of Cash in 2011, Pitches Tax To Stay Afloat, in The Mercury’s Blogtown.

Things are skeletal right now. Oregon Historical Society boss George Vogt says that Oregon ranks No. 50 in state support of its history museum. Not sure, but that sounds like dead last, unless they’re counting the likes of Guam, Puerto Rico, American Samoa, and Washington, D.C. in the rankings.

The state of Oregon, strapped for funds like every other state, has basically thrown its hands up and surrendered. The Historical Society is so far down the list of its priorities, it’s probably looking up at the likes of funding for bicycle lanes on logging roads in the Tillamook Forest (where something called the Tillamook Burn once happened, but looks like that’s, well, history now).

Vogt says the society will run out of cash next year. His solution? A five-year, $10 million levy on the November ballot that would add about $10 a year to the property-tax bill on a $200,000 home. The catch? It’s not a statewide levy — it’s just for Multnomah County. One of the undertold stories of Oregon politics is that greater Portland and the Willamette Valley have been paying a big share of the bills for most of the rest of the state for decades (urban Oregonians pay much more into the state coffers than they get back in services, and the “extra” money helps underwrite rural and small-town Oregon) but you rarely see it spelled out as baldly as this. The payoff: Multnomah County residents would get free admission to the museum, which ordinarily costs $11 for adults.

Portlanders tend to believe in their cultural organizations, and in ordinary times this would probably stand a fair chance of passing. But these aren’t ordinary times, and I’m guessing this levy, if it hits the ballot, will face a steep uphill challenge.

Thoughts on this? Hit that comment button, please.

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The picture at top, by Seattle photographer Tom Feher, is just one of his many images of Oaxaca, Mexico, on view Aug. 21-Sept. 24 at Portland’s Camerawork Gallery. There’ll be an artist’s reception 1-4 p.m. on Saturday the 21st. Feher’s exhibit, In the Navel of the Moon, is all about history, and the ways that history persists into the present, subtly and sometimes not so subtly shaping what we think of as contemporary life.

Feher has been photographing life in Oaxaca for a dozen years, and lives there half of every year. Here are some of his thoughts on what’s become something of a life work:

Life, in all its aspects, is multilayered in Mexico generally, and especially so in Oaxaca. At its most superficial there is what the tourist sees: the color, the festivities, the unsettling chaos of the markets, streets and traffic. But it goes deeper than that. The countless churches built upon the remains of ancient temples; the religious services and celebrations, an admixture of the orthodox and the older native practices. City names, often a combination of the indigenous name with a post-conquest Saint’s name tacked on. Contemporary art frequently contains pre-Hispanic imagery. Even the food has its origin in the indigenous dishes that existed before the Spaniards came. It becomes evident that even as they live in an ever more contemporary world, there are people of today’s Mexico who still dream the dreams of the ancients and evidence it in their daily lives, as well as events that only thinly disguise their connection to rituals of pre-history.

Ah, but then again, history: Who needs it, anyway?

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Intriguingly, Northeast Portland’s 23 Sandy Gallery has a show coming up in September that seems to dovetail in interesting ways with Feher’s exhibit at Camerawork. Portland photographer Stewart Harvey‘s I Am What I Need To Be, on view Sept. 3-18, is subtitled A Photo Essay on the Odyssey of Identity in New Orleans. It’s about the nature of creativity in the Crescent City, which seems to have a lot to do not just with the whims and brainstorms of young creatives but more importantly with the ways that the past weaves into the present and the future. In other words: History lives.

Compared to Portland, which “shares much of the same liberal spirit,” Harvey says:

… the Crescent City seems more enamored by cultural movements than the rabid individuals who create them. I was charmed by the willingness of New Orleanians to not only give sanctuary to the expressive oddball, but to provide a platform for their development.

Like Oaxaca, New Orleans has a deep and long-running history with bones: See Harvey’s photograph below. Unlike Oregon, it seems to think that history has a place in the present and future.

Stewart Harvey photographs skeletal revelry in New Orleans, at 23 Sandy Gallery in September.

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PHOTOS, from top:

  • Tom Fehrer, skulls, from “In the Navel of the Moon” at Camerwork Gallery, Portland.
  • Stewart Harvey photographs skeletal revelry in New Orleans, at 23 Sandy Gallery in September.

We will, we will rock you (Victorian style)

By Bob Hicks

At a certain age, cranking up Queen on the stereo is an inalienable right. But who knew “stereo” meant “stereoscopic,” as in those cool old double-image photos that you look at through a viewfinder?

Brian May performing in Warsaw, 1998/Wikimedia CommonsJesse Kornbluth, editor of Head Butler, has the lowdown via The Huffington Post. Brian May, legendary (and now 63-year-old) guitarist for the British rockers, has developed a passion for stereoscopic photographs, which created 3D effects long before Avatar (and, for those who remember that lethal pair of scissors striking out, before Hitchcock’s Dial ‘M’ for Murder). Specifically, May fell hard for the images that a pioneer of the form, T.R. Williams, created in the 1850s in his home village of Hinton Waldrist in Oxfordshire.

A Village Lost and FoundAs Kornbluth explains it:

What Williams had done, May realized, was to freeze a small village in a magical moment — instead of reading about it in a novel by Thomas Hardy, you could almost literally visit it. That is, with the help of a viewer, you could feel yourself in the scene. And what a scene: a rural idyll, five minutes before the train comes to town, and mass literacy, and industrialization.

Now May and photography expert Elena Vidal have come out with a slipcovered book called A Village Lost and Found, an annotated version of Williams’ village series. It arrives with a foldup stereo viewer that May devised, so you can get as near as possible to the full effect.

Kornbluth’s story is fascinating (read it here), and the Huffington posting also includes almost 20 minutes’ worth of video conversation with May and Vidal as they explain the project. It also links to a pretty cool vintage version of Queen’s We Will Rock You. Along the way, Kornbluth casually drops the information that in his post-rocking days May has also immersed himself in the world of astronomy, picked up a Ph.D. (his thesis is titled Interplanetary Dust, A Survey of Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud) and co-written a popular-science book, Bang! The Complete History of the Universe.

Does all of this make May the King of post-rock ‘n’ roll?

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PHOTO: Brian May performing in Warsaw, 1998. Wikimedia Commons.

Two good places to put your money

Blanket Dance, 2005, 3' x 4', Arches black and white cover stock and Strathmore Red and gold and silver Japanese. (Availalbe through the Stonington Gallery, Seattle.)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the world is overflowing with causes deserving of our support. It is a truth personally declared that Mr. Scatter, on occasion, will spotlight certain of these causes in the hope that his friends and readers will give them a second look.

Two such possibilities have presented themselves of late.

The first arrived with news, via Lillian Pitt, that the fine Northwest poet, visual artist and thinker Gail Tremblay needs as many helping hands as she can get. Tremblay, a prominent figure in contemporary Native American art circles and an artist who has been exceptionally generous with her own time and talent, has dealt for several years with a rare disease called lipedema.

Indian Princess in a White Dress, 2006, 9 x 7 x 7, 16 mm film, metallic braid.  This work is currently including in the exhibit, Reimagining the Distaff Toolkit, curated by Rickie Solinger, and traveling throughout the United States until April 2012.The condition causes a great deal of pain and makes it difficult for her to handle basic daily tasks. Surgical procedures can help immensely, but her American insurance plan has denied coverage. Without insurance, treatment in the U.S. would cost $30,000 a week or more. She can get four weeks of treatment in Germany for between $12,000 and $19,000 plus travel expenses, and has been accepted for treatment to begin Oct. 5. She’s paid 4,000 Euros on account, but because she’s needed to pay caregivers for the past three years, her savings are wiped out.

Any sort of help, of course, is welcome. But this might be the ideal time to pick up a good piece of Gail Tremblay art. (The piece at top is one of her series of paper weavings inspired by traditional basketry, the basket in the inset photo is made of old film stock from Hollywood depictions of Indian life.) She’s set aside several notable pieces — ones that have traveled the country in various exhibitions — for sale to help pay for her surgery, including some from her fascinating series of film baskets. You can learn more about available pieces and prices here.

Tremblay, who lives in Olympia, Wash., and teaches at The Evergreen State College, is represented in Portland by Froelick Gallery.

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Opportunity No. 2 comes via Dmae Roberts, the Portland playwright and Peabody Award-winning radio producer, who hosts and produces the weekly arts show Stage and Studio at 11 a.m. Tuesdays on listener-sponsored radio KBOO 90.7 FM.

Mr. Scatter spent a couple of hours at Dmae’s studio/office the other day, taping comments for her upcoming “Oregon Treasures” segment on Artists Repertory Theatre‘s Allen Nause (it’ll air Aug. 17) and in the process talking about her hopes for Stage and Studio.

Dmae Roberts/Stage and StudioIn a nutshell, Roberts would like to turn Stage and Studio into an online hub and radio show covering arts in the Pacific Northwest. She’s made a good beginning, and has the chops and smarts to follow through. As print sources of arts news and comment become slimmer and slimmer, we need as many good alternative sources as we can get. You can read about her project here.

To get the project kick-started (it’s independent from KBOO), Roberts is trying to raise $6,000 in donations. She has until Aug. 26 to hit her target, and it’s all or nothing: If she doesn’t get the whole $6,000 in pledges, she won’t take any of it. You can make your pledge here. Think of it as consumer-funded media. And of course, anything you give is tax-deductible.

From the Web site Stage and Studio

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ILLUSTRATIONS, from top:

  • Gail Tremblay, “Blanket Dance,” 2005, 3′ x 4′, Arches black and white cover stock and Strathmore Red and gold and silver Japanese. Available through the Stonington Gallery, Seattle.
  • Gail Tremblay, “Indian Princess in a White Dress,” 2006, 9 x 7 x 7, 16 mm film, metallic braid. Included in the exhibit “Reimagining the Distaff Toolkit,” traveling throughout the United States until April 2012.
  • Dmae Roberts in the radio booth.
  • From Dmae Roberts’ “Stage and Studio” Web site.

Thursday links: Trash-art TV, unkind cuts

By Bob Hicks

Mr. Scatter doesn’t watch much television (especially since the Mariners have taken a dive into baseball’s primordial ooze of futility: where are you now, Edgar and Buhner and Big Unit?), and he doesn’t really go in for the American Idol model of determining cultural “winners.”

Nao Bustamante, not shocking enough for TV. Shows like Idol and So You Think You Can Dance certainly reflect the effect of the marketplace on the art world — an effect that a lot of people like to pretend doesn’t exist but is in fact crucial. That doesn’t necessarily make it a positive, only an inescapable fact of life. Still, as we’ve all become excruciatingly aware, an unchecked marketplace can be an arena for disaster, and Mr. Scatter is not convinced that his musical listening habits, for instance, should be determined by a popular vote.

This is a long route to confessing that he hasn’t actually watched an episode of the Bravo network’s Work of Art, in which visual artists advance or fall by the wayside according to a Trump-like theory of failure and success. Fortunately Regina Hackett, from her perch at the provocative and insightful Another Bouncing Ball, has watched, and thought, and written.

Her post Reality TV: artists as female stereotypes is a good read, and typically for ABB, it rattles the cages of conventional wisdom. And Hackett can be funny. Musing on Work of Art‘s judges, whom she judges to be pretty lame, she wonders whether the show couldn’t be goosed up a bit if venerated critic Donald Kuspit joined the panel: “When being fed nonsense, I prefer it to be elegant nonsense, like Kuspit’s.”

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Hackett’s post here on Dave Hickey (she calls him “the great tap-dancing art critic of our time”) is also a refreshing read. Here’s Hickey on university life: “It took me a few years to realize you can’t talk to other English teachers about literature. You can talk to them about their pets, though. That’s why you want to learn all the names of the professors’ pets, so when you see them in the hall you can ask, ‘How’s Roscoe?’ and they will go on for half an hour, and you can nod along and think about whatever you want.”

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Meanwhile, Barry Johnson at Arts Dispatch and David Stabler at The Oregonian have been having an interesting conversation about whether it’s smart or dumb for arts groups to  slash budgets in tough times. Should you cut budgets and programming, because it’s prudent to balance your budget? Or does that simply make you look desperate? The ping-pong has been interesting, and so have the comments by a lot of smart onlookers.

I like the latest (so far) take on the fray, by Oregon Symphony violist Charles Noble at Noble Viola: “What you cut is almost as important as how much you cut. … For example, cutting all pops programming because ‘the audience is all dying anyway’ is catastrophic cutting, whereas searching for the audience that we most want to develop and then catering to them within the general pops genre is the better route, though possibly more expensive and time consuming. The difference is what you or I might do to our prized Japanese maple tree if we just randomly hack off stray limbs instead of hiring a skilled arborist to perform careful pruning to make the tree more healthy.”

In other words: Constantly reassess, in good times and bad. And spend smart.

This is a discussion that might actually have an impact. If you haven’t already, catch up on the conversation at these links and throw in your own two Euros’ worth.

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Illustration: Nao Bustamante’s performance piece wasn’t shocking enough for the judges on Bravo’s “Work of Art.”

John Callahan, 1951-2010

One of John Callahan's most famous panels.

In a town of gifted animators and graphic novelists and even the cartooning Simpsons daddy of ’em all, Matt Groening, John Callahan has long held a special place: the edgiest of the edgy, the guy from way out there, the quadriplegic artist (we mention this because that fact is so important to the formation of his black comic universe) who cut through all the politically correct crap and aimed with devastating acuity at the little lies and evasions of everyday life. His cartoons were crude and embarrassing and dug deep down into the fatuous mush of public and private politeness, down to where the demons live. For all that, people who knew him well say he was a sweet and lovely guy.

Cartoonist John CallahanJohn died on Friday, July 24, 2010, taking his familiar motorized wheelchair off of Portland’s streets and silencing his singular voice. He seemed to us a necessary antidote to Portland smugness (we ARE the center of the universe, are we not?), and his presence among us ironically added to our notion of self-worth: John Callahan is one of us! Rest in peace, John, if peace, finally, is what you wish for. Or keep fighting the metaphysical good fight.

Here is Callahan’s Web site.

Here is Tom D’Antoni’s report on Oregon Music News.

Here is a compilation of Callahan stories from Willamette Week, where his syndicated cartoons had their original publication for many years.

Addendum, Monday, July 26: Here is Jim Redden’s report from the Portland Tribune, which includes an appreciation by David Milholland, who published Callahan’s cartoons in the old Clinton St. Quarterly.

And you can post your own reminiscences and comments on a memorial Web site here.

Sitting on the SOFA: room with a view

Geoffrey Gorman's invented creatures at SOFA West, from Jane Sauer Gallery, Santa Fe.

By Bob Hicks

“I didn’t do it!” the woman barked, pointing a long bony finger accusingly at another woman who stood in shell-shocked horror. “It was her!”

Not for the first time in his life Mr. Scatter felt a mild urge to strangle someone he’d never actually met. In moments of crisis the scramble for self-preservation is a natural human impulse, but there are times when it really ought to be held in check.

Jan Huling, "Kewpo Libre," 2010. Mixed media, beads, 16.5 x 9 x 4.5 inches. Lyons Wier Gallery, New York.For one thing, it was obvious how the accident had occurred. For another, the woman who had unknowingly swiped against the beaded kewpie doll, which was perched in a high-traffic zone in Lyons Wier Gallery‘s booth at the SOFA West art fair, obviously felt horrible: tiny little colored beads were scattered all over the floor, the doll itself was lying there smashed among the litter, and the artist who had so meticulously made it, Jan Huling, stood by gazing dejectedly at the wreckage. Stuff happens, especially in crowded rooms crammed with expensive breakable items, and a little empathy goes a lot farther than a pointing bony finger.

After attending last week’s second annual SOFA West in Santa Fe, New Mexico, Mr. Scatter can imagine a few other pointing fingers, and maybe a few pointed sniffs. Both are predictable, and say more about the mood of the art world than they do about SOFA. This popular art fair, larger versions of which are also held annually in Chicago and New York (SOFA stands for Sculpture Objects & Functional Art), represents a lot of things that much of the contemporary art world hold to be unworthy of serious attention.

Continue reading Sitting on the SOFA: room with a view

Hump does art: an Albuquerque tale

By Bob Hicks

ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. — “Guys, guys, gimme a break, will ya, please? Just pipe down a little bit. Other people are complaining about the noise.”

Albuquerque Museum of Art and History. Wikimedia Commons.The guard at the Albuquerque Museum of Art and History, a tall friendly fellow in his 30s, is smiling a little sheepishly. But he has a job to do.

The objects of his shushing are a couple of geezers who’ve obviously taken a swat or two at life. They seem in their 70s: “Far as I’m concerned, the world didn’t exist before 1936,” the one named Hump has made known. A quarter Indian, a quarter Hispanic, half European grab-bag and all New Mexican leatherskin, Hump has been responding loudly and personally to the stuff he and his friend are seeing in the museum’s gallery of historical art from this Southwestern state. If they seem like a couple of old bulls in a china shop, there’s not a shred of doubt that they’re eagerly engaged with the china. And that, I think, is why the guard is disposed to caution them in a kindly manner.

Continue reading Hump does art: an Albuquerque tale

Santa Fe: a cultural lightning strike

"Apache Mountain Spirit Dancer," Craig Dan Goseyun, San Carlos Apache. Museum Hill Plaza, Santa Fe; bronze; 1995.

By Bob Hicks

CRACK! DOOM! CRACK! DOOM!

The sky splits above the high desert. Great bursts of lightning roil the midnight blackness with a frenzy of white heat. The thunder rattles deeply like the cries of gods at war, and the rain is rain — hard, fast, fierce, a gullywash of frantic energy that, soon spent, will sink meekly back into the sand.

In the morning the sun is out, the air has the fresh bite of swiftly drying earth, the small life of the arroyo a few dozen yards beyond our windows chirps placidly on. A couple of years ago we watched transfixed as a sudden storm turned the same dry creek bed into a swift flood of churning water, a rampage that rose rapidly from nothing almost to the undercurve of the little bridge on the nearby road. Hours later the arroyo was dry again, but these torrents can shift a creek’s course: in the desert, water makes up its own mind.

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Delores Pander memorial Wednesday

Delores Pander “was made of stern stuff, but laughter and a zest for life itself were so much a part of her it’s hard to believe, or accept, that she’s gone,” Martha Ullman West wrote in this recent tribute.

Delores Pander, by Henk Pander, oil on canvas, 2009Friends and admirers of Pander, who died June 24 at age 71, are invited to a  memorial service on Wednesday, July 7. It will be at 7:30 p.m.  at St. David of Wales Episcopal Church, 3422 SE Harrison St., Portland.

Pander, wife and partner of artist Henk Pander, also worked many years with authors Ursula K. Le Guin and Jean Auel, as well as with the old Portland Dance Theater.

Birth of Impressionism, death of kings

Stéphane Mallarmé. 1876. Edouard Manet (1832-1883). Oil on canvas. 11 x 14 inches. RMN (Musée d’Orsay)/Hervé Lewandowski.

By Bob Hicks

SAN FRANCISCO — Two clichés come to mind today: “Absence makes the heart grow fonder” and “Familiarity breeds contempt.”

I wouldn’t call my attitude toward Impressionist painting contempt, exactly. Far from it: This is great stuff, and you’d have to be a fool not to recognize that, even if, as in my case, your attention has been elsewhere of late.

I confess to having had a touch of fatigue, a sense of been-there-seen-that, a feeling that yesterday’s artistic revolution had become today’s wallpaper, the essence of nice. (Another cliché pops into my head: “guilt by association.” I gradually came to undervalue the real thing, I think, on the evidence of innumerable encounters with contemporary paintings in which a sort of generic, Impressionist-lite fuzzing of the image attempts to obscure the artists’ inability to be compelling or precise.)

Birth of Venus.  1879.  William Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905).  Oil on canvas, 9 ft. 10 1/8 inches x 7 ft. 5/8 inches. RMN (Musée d’Orsay)/Hervé LewandowskiThank you, Musee d’Orsay and Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, for shaking me out of that nonsense. Birth of Impressionism, the show of masterworks from the Paris museum on display through Sept. 6 at the Fine Arts Museums’ de Young Museum in Golden Gate Park, reinvigorates the Impressionistic moment by putting it in the context of its own time and the art world that existed when it knocked on the door and was found unsuitable company for dinner with the establishment.

That historical grounding had been absent from my thinking for a while. It reminded me of why the Impressionist movement was groundbreaking, and reawakened my fondness for works whose value should have been self-evident. (A followup exhibition from the d’Orsay, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Cézanne and Beyond: Post-Impressionist Masterpieces from the Musée d’Orsay, opens Sept. 25 and runs through Jan. 18, 2011.)

Continue reading Birth of Impressionism, death of kings