Art as Authority

More info: Uncle Freddy's Gallery

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MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART SAN DIEGO OPENS ITS
NEW FACILITY ON JANUARY 21, 2007 AT TRANSIT AND CULTURAL HUB IN DOWNTOWN SAN DIEGO

San Diego, CA—With a community-wide free opening day on January 21, 2007, the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego (MCASD) celebrates the completion of its new downtown facility located at a historic and international crossroads.

The Jacobs Building — a new exhibition venue — shares a historic arched concourse with the Santa Fe Depot train station, an important transit hub for regional commuter trains and trolleys, the Amtrak Pacific Surfliner, and travel to and from Tijuana, Mexico.

On view in the new Jacobs Building, as the inaugural exhibition in the Wortz Gallery, is Modern American Masters. This outstanding group of post-World War II American works by Barnett Newman, Ellsworth Kelly, Clyfford Still, Frank Stella, and Andy Warhol represent the pinnacle of American mid-century art practices, from Abstract Expressionism to Pop to early Minimalism.

MCASD loading dock, January 28, 2007. Writer unknown.

Spun by Richard Gleaves at 04:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Life rarely ever works out like you thought it would. The only sure thing is that the sure thing will always fall through. Change is the only constant; it pushes us into the realm of vulnerability. It sucks to be decimated and have to rebuild. Nothing in life is permanent. We get, at the very most, a measly decade to do something with. Even the greatest geniuses’ vision will be washed away by time. The greatest painting will fade and the most beautiful song will be forgotten. Is it worth the effort that it takes to be a legend? Or is it better to simply exist at one with the time that you have, wherever you are, and be content to be forgotten? When we grew up they would tell us that we were nothing if we weren’t on TV. I’ve always had the most love for art that looks like it crawled its way up from the guts of a mad man who has created it out of a sheer desire to exorcize it from the core of his demented being.

I can appreciate the technique and gleam of a clean oil painting but still prefer to see incomprehensible symbols smeared with shit on the wall. Is art supposed to be pretty? Deep down we aren’t pristine. We fester in hate, violence, tragedy, and greed but still manage to put on a happy face. Our intellect allows us not to be over taken by these disastrous realities. We learn to appreciate small things. We learn to grab a hold of fleeting glimpses of beauty in the sandblasted concrete of our existence. Some people have all the artistic technique in the world but still cannot communicate with their pictures. There may be composition and detailed perspective but soul is lacking. Then there are the artists with no skill who produce thousands of pictures that everyone around them thinks are ugly. They might even have to hide them away; the truth of the pigment on surface may be too much for the average person to bear. Which artist will outlast the other?

The parallels between modern Graffiti and Art Brut are many although they certainly differ enough to be classified as separate genres. To a great extent both types of artists are self taught and not guided by art trends and commercialism. Graffiti was given a small side bar with in the history of the Art Brut movement along with the art of the insane, children, mediums, hermits, prisoners and other pariahs. The Sun Kings carvings into walls are reminiscent of modern day Graffiti’s scribing (in which rocks or drill bits are used to scratch names into windows or glass.) However, it is self evident that the onslaught of graffiti that emerged in 1930’s Los Angeles, moved across the nation to New York and Philadelphia in the 1960’s, and worldwide shortly after is too broad in scope to be lumped together within the limited confines of Art Brut. Both tend to be fragile and impermanent. Graffiti is whitewashed and fades away. Delicate breadcrumb sculptures fall apart overtime and non archival paper disintegrates. Both forms of art struggle with coming to terms with mass discovery and commoditization. Pure forms of each type of art have nothing to do with commercial success. This is what makes them so similar to each other and also so different from almost every other creation within the realm of art. They are nasty Siamese twin brothers struggling to separate at once from each other and the rest of the world.

Jean Dubuffet, the brainchild and unabashed biter of Art Brut, was known to tell Art Brut artists who were one the verge of traditional artistic success that their increased presence and respect within traditional art communities would conversely diminish these same standings within the Art Brut world. He was trying to keep his “creation” pure, and (most likely) was trying to save all the good ideas for himself. I don’t blame him. This seesaw effect within the different subcultures is strikingly parallel within the graffiti world. Respect is almost always diminished on the streets among graffiti writers when one of them meets with financial or critical fine art success using the framework and concepts taken from graffiti. The only exceptions, perhaps, are artists (such as Twistoe) who had prolifically bombed hard prior to their success. If you’ve put in enough damage in the urban cityscape I guess you get a pass to make a little bit of cash off of your experiences. The writers who really grill shit will not get as much hater-ade as others but jealousy will always be there to some extent. Sometimes it’s hard to see people come up when you aren’t living well. Money is not real, only the love of it is.

Lofty philosophical notions are (supposedly) what lowered the respect for crossover Art Brut artists. Dubuffet and others felt that these raw works lost purity when exposed to commercial success. Perhaps he secretly didn’t want the prisoners to go free and the insane to get well because that would cease the production of “true” masterpieces. However, even with success the Outsider artist would still have the same medium and materials to work with. The grade of gouache and paper might increase but they would still be working with gouache and paper. The graffiti writer who attempts to pedal his wares or introduce his art into a more refined artistic community is faced with a unique challenge. He has to find a way to translate his process and technique to different materials. It’s an abrupt change to take an artistic vision out of its breeding ground of cold steel and gnarly concrete and replace it in the vast emptiness of pristine canvas. Something has to be lacking, at least to some extent, in the translation.

The physical setting is often as important, if not more important, to a piece of graffiti than the actual paint or ink markings themselves. A “balls to the wall” spot with a sloppy throw up might garner more acclaim than a fancy multicolored piece on wall in the middle of nowhere. A little danger gives spark to the creative process. The emotional setting is also different. Sometimes it’s easier to paint something when you only have a few minutes until the cops show up as opposed to having a full year to over think your work. Turmoil invites pure instinct and improvisation. It’s that magical time when you can feel creation happening, new ideas gushing from a vast well of our collective unconscious.

Art Brut had the double edged sword of having a figure head that made decisions and edicts on artistic theory and philosophy within the field. There were, of course, others within Dubuffet’s circle but he was certainly daddy to the movement. Much to his chagrin, many of the others had no problem reaping financial gains off of Art Brut. They would often acquire works considered of great importance for pennies on the dollar. Most Graffiti writers would simply not allow themselves to be financially ripped off like that. While many of them are certainly on the fringes of society most of them were bred with fierce streets smarts and the will to survive. This is the reason why the larceny and shoplifting culture has emerged so prolifically amongst writers. They allow themselves to be forced to use mainstream society’s game pieces but they don’t follow the rules. Graffiti also does not have one central figure head whose words and opinions are absolute dogma. Although almost any writer you could ask would probably claim to be that person himself. What almost any writer would agree on is that “graffiti art “on canvas or paper is entirely different from real Graffiti in the streets. True Art Brut artists are by definition untrained while Graffiti has its own unique visual lexicon (stars, arrows, swirls. Loops, whips, connections, splashes, bubbles, bits, sperm shots, shines, etc.) that have been handed down generations. At the initial conception of Graffiti it was truly a raw art form but an artistic lineage was quickly developed. The story goes that in New York the first masterpiece was developed by Super Cool 223 who outlined a tag with a Niagara fat cap with a standard stock tip thus paving the way for piecing as we know it today. Kids copped styles real quick and a new beast was created, one with infinite permutations, variations, and nuances. Graffiti slipped away from the realm of Art Brut. Class was in session. Kids would meet at the writers’ bench in New York (129ths st. and Grand Concourse) to watch the iron horse go by filled top to bottom with pieces. Kids in Philly would walk whole bus routes savagely tagging the whole way and constantly inventing new scripts.

Spray painted messages are cruising back and forth across the world highballing on freight trains. In the underground passengers are frightened because incomprehensible colors and symbols cover the windows obstructing their view. Each wall that is painted is like a soldier standing firm ground. Each train painted is like a bottle in the ocean. Someone might see a message from a world away, from a lifetime away. The recipient might have the knowledge or the skill to decipher the cryptic code and peep game on style. Perhaps the recipient of the gift is a neophyte who does not have the knowledge or skill to decode the complex typography but has something awakened inside of them by the brilliant colors and complex serifs. When you throw a bottle into the ocean it might not be discovered by its intended recipient. Would you be able to understand a message in a bottle written by someone in the past? How about someone in the future? There is a deep subconscious symbolism imbued in both Graffiti and Art Brut. The shriek of like and pain is unmistakable. It defies explanation and refuses to be dismissed. Words are still potent weapons but only if they are painted 10 feet tall in bold colors or caustically etched with acid into glass.

Is it better to fight the good fight and loose than to have a nice regular life? Is it worth it to succeed financially if you fail ideologically?

KAI1

kai1@artasauthority.com

Spun by Art as Authority at 07:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

“The Secret Life of Salvador Dali,” published in 1942 against the backdrop of spectacular world events including World War II, the Sino-Japanese War, the Wannsee conference in Berlin which opened the doors to the Holocaust - to name but a few, Dali wrote a manifesto of sorts aptly entitled “My Battle” which wasn’t fought with the Allies against the Axis powers of Germany, Italy and Japan but was fought against conformity in any spiritual, philosophical or aesthetic form. It was one man’s fight against the Nine Muses or any Muse for that matter that threatened to level the battle field to a match nul.

"Self-Examination"

My Battle

Against Simplicity For Complexity Against Uniformity For Diversification Against Equalitarianism For Hierarchization Against the Collective For the Individual … Against Progress For Perenniality Against Mechanism For the Dream … Against Spinach For Snails Against the Cinema For the Theatre Against Buddha For the Marquis de Sade Against the Sun For the Moon … …

The irony if you will in all of this, the perversity if you prefer is that the backdrop of dramatic world events hasn’t changed they’ve just changed names. What was deemed five years ago as an “Axis of Evil”(Iraq, Iran and North Korea and later enlarged to include Cuba, Libya and Syria) has now ended in a crisis through poor diplomatic and ensuing military action in some cases, with each and every one of these newer Axis powers. History almost always repeats itself or perhaps it’s just mankind too bored, too lazy, “Fait comme d’habitude” as the French artist BEN used to say, to alter IT, in any significant manner. Perhaps Dali recognized this weakness within him, in mankind, and took this burden upon his shoulders and in his art to make a difference, to make a stand, to mark his territory by pissing on the pant legs of friends and foes alike. Tom Torluemke is cut from this very same cloth, this is the political backdrop he currently operates in front of, and he too would like to make a change and has for over twenty years now. If I had to add anything to Torluemke’s Battle, it would be:

Against the Possible For the Elusive

"Burning Bush"

Battles fought by an artist on canvas are not any less tragic or heroic than those fought in the trenches. It is after all about territory and how you occupy and build on it. Torluemke paints in mythical proportions, every square inch of paper or canvas is constructed of intertwining silhouettes, interlocking blocks of vivid color, veils of mosaic patterning, spurting, spilling, hovering transparent figurines blend in and out of the picture plane, every form, every color, every shape cascades onto the canvas, saturating it, soaking it in its pure sweat of physical and sexual energy. To rinse the eye, the viewer searches in vain for a visual place of refuge, a place to rest a moment, but there is none as you discover that you’ve been absorbed into another dimension. Torluemke’s paintings are complex organic and sometimes frightening chaotic works that can be difficult to read in all their allegorical wonder – it is to this viewer, their strength and weakness. It hardly matters though once you’ve witnessed the spectacle before you. It is a one man show, a circus of surrealistic exhibitions and high-wire bravado, led and orchestrated by its ring leader, its Shaman of impressionistic magic and pimp of cock-sucking nymphs, of slithering voodoo spells and concocted potions, fed through the fertile and vivid imagination of Torluemke himself. These are great paintings and they are not left in the hands of mire mortals such as us. No God, no Poseidon, no Zeus would entrust such a gift, such a power to those who serve them and neither does Torluemke.

"Cream Pussywillow"




"Fertilization"

Torluemke is more often than not the lead character and director in his paintings; he is - a la fois – voyeur, exhibitor, victim, the innocent child, lover and conqueror. He is the artist’s model as well as the artist, the conductor as well as the orchestra – he leaves nothing to chance. He also has a huge dick and portrays it well. This isn’t a case of some school boy’s fantasy nor some hard-up loser who needs to get laid or even wishful thinking for that matter; he is simply man at his most primal and instinctual level.

It is difficult these days, perhaps only in conservative America, to portray sexual imagery in art. I’m not arguing that you have to or need to, Torluemke chooses to as it is a motor for the universe he has created. Some of us still remember 1989 when artists like Andre Serrano (“Piss Christ”) and Robert Mapplethorpe’s picketed and subsequently closed (censored) exhibition at the Corcoran in Washington, D.C., rocked the moral and religious foundation of the entire nation. It was also the blackest day for the N.E.A. and left thousands of artists wondering what they could or could not paint and how to survive without funding. Had “Big Brother” finally infiltrated the cultural ranks? Artists such as Serrano and Mapplethorpe were able to break the chains of a 19th century romantic and very classical image of the nude in art. I believe living today in an age of MySpace and You Tube, amongst the John Mark Karr’s, Miss Nevada’s and amateur videos of school shootings to convenience store robberies, it is far too easy to get trapped into any moral discussion about right and wrong and the portrayal of someone’s penis. Sex is politics and politicians have sex, Paris Hilton and Britney Spears strut their sex in front of the camera to sell records, and record labels hire fat bottom girls to sell their videos – it is all in one way a form of power and control, of image management and sophisticated propaganda. It is most of all confusing to the public’s eye.

"Isle of Love"

It is confusing because we have overall lost the ability to discern between what we believe in and what others believe, the ability to trust our instincts and basic human values, and the capacity too “see” clearly. If you can’t “see” past the sexual frolicking, the erect penises, the eroticized vaginas and heaving bosoms in Torluemke’s work, if you fail to see that these are tools, energized and powerful symbols and metaphors for encompassing the feelings and emotions of one’s struggles, victories, battles, passions, loves won and lost, death and re-birth, memories, the entire flotsam and jetsam of the entire universe and mankind’s history on this earth ad naseum, well my friend, you may have cheated yourself out of the “plus belle histoire du monde” – your own. The experience, don’t you see it, the experience of been there, done that, felt that, lived that, tasted that, saw that and even fucked that – not mediocrity or boredom, but the curiosity and courage to keep searching for the elusive, never satisfied never dissatisfied, the journey, the desire to be better, this is and only this can an artist like Tom Torluemke bring to us and forever enrich our lives through his art.



HOWEVER, Torluemke is much more than the one-dimensional figure you see on the canvas, he is obviously a human being very much in tune with the events that affect him on a daily basis. The facility and energy that Torluemke holds in his hands is boundless and the imagery he chooses is limitless. The glue that holds it all together is to portray his vision by peeling back the layers of time, peeling back the layers of the human psyche, ridding oneself of all the excess of a materialistic and over zealous religious beliefs and returning to simpler times, to more innocent times, to the moments before Adam took his first bite. But we all know what happens next. Temptation and then banished forever from the Garden of Eden, forced into the nature without shelter, food or clothes. Torluemke’s figures stumble and fall, are lost and frightened, wondering aimlessly through the barren and treacherous landscape. With every action there is a reaction, a consequence, and a choice to be made and a price to be paid. Works such as “At the Edge,” “Fleeing the Lightening,” “Meteor Shower,” and “Keep Swimming” are apocalyptic visions of a 21st century Garden of Eden, spent and used, raped by the excess of man’s undaunted desire to exploit, conquer and destroy all of its natural and God given resources. Mother Nature has thrown in the towel and there is now Hell to pay.

"At the Edge"
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For all of the impending horrors bequeathed in this series of paintings, not all is lost, there is somewhere the sense that the survivors those lucky few, will somehow make it through the darkest hour. There is hope to be found in “Keep Swimming,” as a lone swimmer slices through the still waters after a disastrous Tsunami, the entire city underwater as he pushes on towards the setting sun. Or there’s the somewhat ironic “At the Edge” where millions have been herded to a lake or ocean ablaze in oily fire with nowhere to go as a fire storm rages behind them. Yet, there are people obviously singing and dancing as a lone tuba player belts out a song. These paintings can also be as tender and comforting as “Looking Up,” a couple stands naked, alone, embraced while gazing up towards the Heavens at the moonlit sky through a clearing in the thickly forested landscape. Or they can be comical as in “Meteor Shower,” as huge red hot meteorites coming crashing to Earth interrupting a couple’s amorous encounter. Despite their Biblical and Nostradamus-esque finale, these newer works by Torluemke are succinct and moving reminders of the power and responsibility that Man has in co-habiting with the environment and his fellow human beings.

"Meteor Shower"




"Keep Swimming"

In a more recent body of work, of many in Torluemke’s repertoire, there are paintings that are simply some of the most exciting to be seen, combining a lovely blend of vivid color and an economy of line. Once intersecting planes of color and pattern have retained their respective amoeba like boundaries, providing a clearer, more precise formal language – less is more they say and it works to Torluemke’s advantage. It’s as if the artist has grown tired of the intricate design and hidden symbols of previous works and has re-discovered the joy of painting with a quicker, looser line work, almost child-like in their rendering, almost ridiculously simple in their execution but oh so rich in their energy and presence. They bring to mind later career works by DeKooning and Phillip Guston in their joyful expression. Torluemke has always had a strong graphic underpinning in his work which enables him to compose and orchestrate his figures and imagery into one cohesive whole. “Keeping Watch” is an exquisite jewel of a painting so beautiful, so effortlessly constructed, so formally delicious of what probably could be the artist’s left hand cupping his fingers into a mock telescope that is holding, projecting, reflecting the artist’s big blue eye surveying a cove or fortress at the water’s edge. “Throw it Back” is another wonderful work in all of its geometric abstraction and infantile rendering and literal meaning of a fisherman doing just that, throwing back his catch as what looks like a pelican or sea faring bird flies overhead. “Perplexed” is an intriguing little work of a couple standing naked, holding hands in front of the lawn furniture, like some impromptu wedding portrait, even though the artist’s head has been replaced by that of a Cyclops. Once again, Torluemke has refused to relish in the possible and has reached for the elusive. That one Muse of pure imagination rests squarely on his shoulder, providing an endless vision of infinite possibilities and meaning, and a path to the soul that many artists can only hope to be blessed by one day.

"On The Way To The Hukilau"

I’m proud to have known and worked with Tom Torluemke since our early days in Chicago those many years ago when he came into my gallery. He is truly one of the finest artists I’ve met that has not once compromised his vision or his integrity. He has remained true to his art and has managed to seamlessly incorporate his life into it without once stopping his production, all the while helping others through community projects, and inspiring many art lovers and young budding artists in the making. He is a force to be reckoned with, has balls of steel and is the “nouvelle vague” in a contemporary art world drowning in uncertainty who’s job it is to, and I quote from Hunter S. Thompson: “… finally to tell it as it is, trying to see it all and especially the best, for to miss that part is to shovel shit on men who were born in quicksand and find no novelty in the heave and smell of doom.”

Kevin Freitas

More information:
Tom Torluemke
Uncle Freddy's Gallery

"Turning Point"
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Spun by Art as Authority at 08:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Yours for the taking, just for asking. Send us an email, tell us how much you like us (we won't blush), or dislike us (we won't get upset) or tell us what you would like to see more of on Art as Authority and we'll send you a brand new spanking ballpoint pen (black ink) with our logo on it. Not bad ehh..? Don't miss another appointment or telephone number because you don't have anything to write with. Trust me, you'll never want to lose this pen, but if you do, we'll send you another one. Write us. artasauthority@artasauthority.com

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I was behind the wheel of a purple 49 MHz Ford Shelby GT (my dream car), while Richard was cruising in a yellow-and-white 27 MHz 1963 Volkswagen Bus Pickup.

Destination: Ray at Night, a monthly art gallery opening here in San Diego. The weather was perfect (tit-freezing as Richard likes to say) for a night of drag racing and figure 8’s. The course: a blocked off section of road, about two blocks, complete with slalom pylons already in place – well, actually they were plastic garbage cans but they served the same purpose. Equipment needed: charged batteries, warm socks, a bonny for the head, and a bit of manual dexterity. At the finish line, nothing but fun.

I’ve been living here close to 2 years now and have gone to Ray at Night perhaps a couple dozen times. Trust me; you don’t need to go every month. Let’s be honest, there’s not a whole helluva lot that goes on down there except for the changing monthly exhibits – yes I know that is what is supposed to happen, but the variety and quality of the work being shown is rather lacklustre and boring. Ray at Night typically draws a pretty good crowd of young wine drinkers and pretzel eaters. There are of course exceptions to every rule, and Planet Rooth Studios does a pretty good job of keeping things interesting – thanks in large part to Poor Al who introduced Planet Rooth to a whole new extraterrestrial group of hipsters, graffiti and tattoo artists and Low Brow painters with a street savvy and discipline unmatched by a large group of artists currently showing here vying to be the same. At Planet Rooth you can almost always anticipate a radical décor, spray painted walls and compelling art. So, what were a couple of guys like us, vivid memories of childhood slot car racing days dancing in our heads doing here, with radio controlled cars in hand and a couple of chairs? Performing.

Richard has for the most part, lived his life here in San Diego and knows as well as anyone the gallery and Ray at Night experience. One of many observations over the years led him to witness the amount of open yet “dead” space available to any passer-by willing to conquer and perform. This dead space, in actuality the cornered off street, is nothing more than a thoroughfare to one side of the street or the other and the occasional fast-food wrappings being thrown into our beloved pylons. It was ripe for the taking. Richard has had an interest of parallel worlds, of mundane events, actions or circumstances wilfully placed into seemingly unfamiliar, unlike contexts and unrelated content, which somehow magically neither disrupts nor changes the two separate entities. They neither feed off nor drain the energy from one another but seem to make a stronger more coherent, logical whole. You can also find this in the works Richard produces as a “plasticien.” Our goal, Richard’s goal was to introduce fun and play into an art spectacle “opening” for the masses by providing a parallel spectacle of innocent fun not typically offered nor sought out in the art world.

The plan was quite simple: bring two folding chairs and place them on opposite sides of the street facing one another, turn on the radio-controlled cars, set them on the ground and let them pirouette their way through the slow moving crowds.

Well, I pretty much sucked at any driving skill let alone any eye-hand coordination to prevent my Shelby from running into the curb, garbage can, chair, parked car, even driving straight seemed a daunting task. Richard had no problem out of the gate and was literally driving circles around my stuttering race car. There must have been more than one curious anxious spectator awaiting deft manoeuvring and synchronized Blue Angels choreography along with death defying close encounters but helas, there was none, at least for my part. There was however, a good time to be had by all with bit parts spontaneously played by dogs barking and kids unwilling to give up the remote. The performance ended, and we packed up once the batteries ran down and the Shelby refused to climb out of the gutter.

Spun by Art as Authority at 07:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

More information:
Uncle Freddy's Gallery

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As the Santa Ana winds are burning up beach front property in Malibu, Arizona winds are stirring up (once again) controversy (won't they ever learn that graffiti is ART) by none other then our contributing writer to Art as Authority and good friend, KAI1. Damn we're proud! Check out more below. There's also a lexicon for you graffiti newbies. Article by Ashley Houk and the Tucson Weekly. KF

Tagging Tales
A night inside Tucson's street-art community

The sweet, acidic smell of spray paint surrounded us like a cloud. Two graffiti artists--"Kai" and "Exit" are their tag names--made letter outlines for their bombs, large names and graphics, in a 30-foot-wide wash under the midtown Padre Kino statue. More


Bomb: A bigger name or graphic, often with two or three colors of paint. More

Tucson Crews (so you know what that tag stands for) More

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I WAS recently asked by Linda Dorman and Tom Torluemke of Uncle Freddy's Gallery (Hammond, Indiana), to write an essay about Tom's latest paper installation work and current paintings, to be published in a catalog. Here is the following article and some of Tom's latest creations.

In AD 105, a Chinese official by the name of Ts’ai Lun, invented papermaking using textile waste and is considered to be the birth of paper as we know it today. Since then, paper has been used by artists, society, and the government as a very vital and necessary documentary tool that links us to a rich past and increasingly perilous future.

And herein lies the rub. A classic example and struggle between the old and the new, an industrial age versus a technological newer one, craftsmanship versus commercially produced, made in America versus made in China, Taiwan, India, Mexico ad naseum, outsourced jobs that lead to outsourced unemployment in foreign countries outsourcing further still to more cost effective foreign competitors with not surprisingly, lower labour costs. The list is long, yet we still all have a dream no? Is it uniquely an American dream?

Are Those Gundrops?

Most artists have a dream, Martin Luther King – though not an artist, had one. I bet even Rodney King had one. Henri Matisse had one – though much simpler and more formal and I know Tom Torluemke has one. Dreams come in many shapes and sizes, at different costs as well, for Torluemke though, his come in the form of paper.

It’s difficult not to make comparisons to Matisse’s “Découpages” when looking at Torluemke’s paper sculptures, though the similarities quickly dissolve when Torluemke’s works “pop-up” from the flatness of Matisse’s heritage. “Cutting into color” Matisse was often quoted as saying of his brightly hued gouache cutouts, “reminds me of the direct carving of the sculptor.” Torluemke has learned this lesson well and has employed it throughout his long and satisfying artistic career. Torluemke “cuts” or carves into the picture plane with such deftness and clarity that it makes any seasoned draftsman look amateurish. Torluemke’s ability to crossover from watercolour (on par with any work done by Francesco Clemente) to his vinyl collage work with shelving paper to masterful line work in any of his drawings to his intricate and highly symbolic paintings to large scale mural work and then onto his delicate, lacy, sexy, aggressive hybrid paper sculptures, and to do it with such ease by capitalizing on and using the strengths of each moves his work, as Robert Hughes refers to, “toward a natural decorative formality.” A decorative formality with a political wallop. A decorative formality that has become a means to an end, the icing on the cake, the bow on the box, the key to Pandora’s box – or to paradise.

Pushing Daisies

Matisse said his goal was to establish “a sort of hierarchy of all my sensations.” Torluemke too has established his hierarchy of sensations, the only difficulty he has is choosing the medium in order to, as Hughes states again, “possess and minutely articulate the nuances of feeling.” The works in paper by Torluemke are but one nuance of existence. Hughes continues, “there was nothing more decisive than the actual process of cutting, the shears slicing through the painted paper, dividing the final form from its surplus without ambiguity.” Torluemke uses the lessons from the past merges them seamlessly into the experiences of the present with the perspicacity of the future.

Flesh and Blood

Torluemke’s most elaborate and significant work in progress, entitled tentatively “Flesh and Blood,” and scheduled for a major exhibition/installation in 2007 is perhaps the outcome of socio-political views groomed, harboured, sequestered within an un-harnessed artistic spirit and art making machine, trying to cope with a stifling PC correct, war mongering freedom less government, depriving its people and artists of their civil liberties and distancing itself from its middle class – the backbone of America. Less we forget, Torluemke was born in Chicago – the city of broad shoulders. So what do you do?, you make art. You don’t look back and you sure as hell don’t hold back. Torluemke does neither.

American Eye Pull-Up Bar

There are many foreign and dangerous elements in “Flesh and Blood,” many very unassuming, many decorative and “pretty,” tantalizing to the touch, harmless maybe but somehow unnerving in their peacefulness, sprung like traps, hidden like I.E.D.’s. Some are simply bizarre, comical, like one that appears to resemble a Flinston-esque club, paper spikes and all with a frilly tassel for a handle. And then there’s “Flying Holster,” what other symbol epitomizes perfectly the passive/aggressive shoot ‘em up cowboy mentality of the American west. However, this holster has perhaps been transformed into a symbol of Peace, like some reformed dove, flying away, the arm of destruction absent. “The American Eye Pull-up Bar” is perhaps the most frightening work. A pull-up bar is wedged in between two painted wide open unblinking eyes, the bar penetrates both pupils, blood streams down the face and lies in pools on the floor below. There is a small wooden step stool that allows the viewer access to the bar, several have passed before us as the blood spattered steps and bloody footprints bear witness. Go ahead grab the bar, two red markers indicate where you should place your hands, hold on now and release yourself from the stool. Congratulations, you now have become executioner as well as the executed, the judge and the jury, the murderer and victim of the American dream. You have been blinded by the weight of your ignorance, weakened by your hypocritical beliefs, bloodied by your senseless aggression. Welcome to America.

Strawberries and Cream

However, the cliché says that every cloud has a silver lining and that can be found in other beautiful and exquisite works by Torluemke, it’s just that you can’t shake that feeling that there is something horribly awry in Candyland. Even a piece as simple and elegant as a white cone immersed in a twirling downward spiral of chocolate ecstasy, oozing outward at its base, is nothing more than a metaphor for the shit that always runs downhill. The range of Torluemke’s paper sculptures run the gamut from the most simple and ecstatic forms to the more complex and intricate – what I like to call, exploding Piñatas. Torluemke is a master découpeur. This is not some poor man’s origami!

Robert Hughes in his review of Matisse’s cutouts, referred to him as the Sultan of the Mediterranean, emphasizing the greatness and purity in the old man’s (my words) art works citing others as examples such as Rembrandt, Titian or Bernini for their greatness and achievements in their Golden years. “Young prodigies in art are as common as seagulls; the rarities are old,” says Hughes. Not true I say, there are a few exceptions to every rule, Torluemke being an excellent case. A young man of 47 with a breadth of experience and art making to rival any artist twice that age, that shows no sign of slowing down, nor desire to, that pursues a unique and solitary vision, ingesting and transforming anyone or anything in his path, mastering his domain with authority and decisiveness, ingenuity, goodwill, honesty, humor and a healthy dose of humbleness. No, I say Tom Torluemke is the Sultan of the Midwest.


Kevin Freitas

More information:
Tom Torluemke
Uncle Freddy's Gallery

Wow!

Spun by Art as Authority at 10:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

As you might recall, the gallery in Brussels was situated at the corner of a rond-point. In most cities in America and abroad, areas designated as parks or thoroughfares or even major intersections and the town square are typically named after some famous war hero, general, president or "illustre inconnu" - my rond-point was no exception. However, as you'll discover in the following article by Paul Simonetti, the rond-point once named after a rather famous Belgium painter, Eugène Verboeckhoven, and was nicknamed otherwise during a rather heated race between the incumbent mayor of Schaerbeek and his political foe. The paintings shown are by Eugène Verboeckhoven; no, Dumbo is not to be found anywhere in the work.

Autour de la gallery
La Place Eugène Verboeckhoven
Dite la "Cage aux Ours"

Paul Simonetti

Eugène Verboeckhoven (né à Warneton, 1799 – mort à Schaerbeek, 1881), peintre d’animaux, marines et portraits. Elève de son père, le sculpteur Barthélemy Verboeckhoven et des peintres A. Voituron et B. Ommeganck. Nombreux voyages en Europe. Connut une réputation internationale grâce à sa peinture d’animaux qui évolua peu. Production abondante vaches et moutons, moutons à la ferme, brebis et agneaux, troupeau de moutons battus par une averse, moutons en pâture, moutons à l’étable, vaches, moutons et poules, moutons à la côte, mouton couché, moutons : Eugène Verboeckhoven "offre l’exemple extraordinaire d’une création qui n’a été troublée par aucune influence; à la fin de sa carrière, il est le même qu’au début, et pas plus qu’il ne connaît l’épuisement, il ne connaît les variations." (Camille Lemonnier, 1846-1913. Romancier et critique belge).

Ce qu’écrivent deux Français

Adolphe Thiers (1797-1877). C’est lui qui réprima la Commune (semaine sanglante de mai 1871), lors de son bref exil à Bruxelles, visite l’atelier du peintre à la mode et note (déc. 1851) : "La vue de ses belles études de la nature, si saisissantes et si vraies, m’a procuré de bien douces distractions." Autre exilé, Victor Guichard, originaire de l’Yonne, ajoute (mars 1852) : "Les admirables tableaux de M. Verboeckhoven me rappellent mes troupeaux et mes champs. Je remercie le grand peintre de m’avoir fait voir la patrie absente en me montrant ses chefs-d’œuvre."

Du côté de Walt Disney

Et les critiques d’art? Pour Lemonnier : "Ses petits moutons, sous leurs laines frisottées, d’une neige immaculée, ressemblent à l’agneau mystique. Ses grands bœufs eux-mêmes portent sur leur large face l’indice d’une songerie presque humaine ; chez les uns et les autres, la gloutonnerie est tempérée par le respect de soi-même, et l’on dirait qu’ils ont été élevés à la musique des vers de Virgile…" Plus technique, P. Fierens (L’Art en Belgique, 1947) : "Fortement teintés de romantisme, ses paysages et ses animaux sont invariablement traités d’une facture lisse, blaireautés dans une lumière dorée."

Plus près de nous, Norbert Hostyn remarque que dans ces étables – viennent-elles d’être nettoyées?-, la paille est fraîche et le fumier inexistant. "Endimanchés", les animaux reluisent de propreté et semblent poser. Enfin, "Dans leur regard, dans les relations entre les animaux qui apparaissent dans le même tableau, Verboeckhoven a su mettre une expression extraordinaire, presque humaine : ses animaux préfigurent en quelque sorte ceux des dessins animés de Walt Disney." (Du coq à l’âne. La peinture animalière en Belgique au XIXème, 1982). (Principalement mais non exclusivement, peintre du bétail, soit à l’étable soit en pâture, Verboeckhoven a toutefois systématiquement banni le cochon.)

Une réputation internationale

Doué, consciencieux, Verboeckhoven avait exposé pour la première fois, à Gand, en 1820. En 1824, dit-on, il avait déjà composé plus de deux mille dessins. Médailles, succès, honneurs suivirent. Mais, son style ne variant guère et le réalisme ayant fait son apparition, la faveur dont il avait joui longtemps, régressa à partir de années 1860. Nommé directeur des Musées de Bruxelles par le Gouvernement provisoire, après la révolution de 1830 à laquelle il participa activement, Verboeckhoven a été échevin de l’instruction publique (1861-1867) de la commune de Schaerbeek où il s’était installé en 1837.

La "Cage aux Ours"

Le rond-point, officiellement dénommé place Eugène Verboeckhoven, fut créé en 1876, lorsque la commune décida de prolonger la rue Royale-Sainte-Marie (avenue Maréchal Foch depuis 1919) jusqu'à la nouvelle gare de Schaerbeek.

Au cours de la campagne électorale de 1878, un adversaire du bourgmestre d’alors, lequel avait lui-même imaginé et fait décorer le rond-point avec grilles et rochers, en critiqua le faux pittoresque. Comparé au fameux site du zoo de Berne, le surnom lui est resté.

FIN

Spun by Art as Authority at 07:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Last spring the unsolicited magazine gods began mailing me free monthly copies of Ranch & Coast, "San Diego's Luxury Lifestyle Magazine."

For persons outside the target demographic, R&C makes for fierce entertainment: it's glossy, beautifully designed, and filled with ads and articles broadcasting the obsessions of the nouveau riche: real estate, travel, fine dining, kids, fashion, fast cars, and above all, all possible means -- whether surgical, physical, or spiritual -- of attempting to regain one's lost youth.

In short: a good read, with the occasional delicious tilt into sublime moments of absurdist horror.

After receiving a few issues I decided to reciprocate the publisher's generosity by deriving simple (i.e., uni- or dual-element) digital collages from the pages of each issue, and emailing them to the R&C editor. Artwork as payment: a time-honored barter.

Some of the less easily identifiable collage sources include a Corvette review, a high-tech leakproof silicone breast implant, a blonde bouffant hairdo with dark roots, a computer-spell-checked article showcasing a fifteen-acre ranch estate, a New Year's-in-Rio panorama, Breakfast With Shamu, and an article on teeth-whitening.

Spun by Richard Gleaves at 08:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

2925 Lincoln Avenue (North Park)
San Diego, CA
Opening reception: January 13 - 6pm to midnight
www.DarkVomit.com

Curated by Poor Al

http://toyroomgallery.com/underdogs.htm

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