louisiana
Snapshots from Summer 1
Snapshots from the Spring 3
Snapshots from Almost-Spring
Autumn Snapshots 4
Autumn Snapshots 3
Autumn Snapshots 2
Autumn Snapshots 1
Hope Don't Rust - River Oaks Show
This show was at River Oaks Art Center in Alexandria, Louisiana, from September 4th-26th, 2020. Here is a virtual look at the show for those who couldn’t make it!
Summertime Snapshots 3
Strange lights, strange flowers, blue skies, red hens, around Acadiana.
Summertime Snapshots 2
Early mornings, golden spiderwebs, maypops, the donkey up the road, a kingsnake the cats caught, and more snapshots from around the house.
Summertime Snapshots
Snapshots with my phone from around southern Louisiana. They are mostly from morning walks, the yard and studio.
Outsider art? Folk art? Art Brut? Raw art?
This is a question i am asked often. Usually, i sort of look slanty-eyed at the person asking it, as though they are saying “are you sure you’re an outsider artist?” Though they never mean it that way - it’s a genuine question. “What is an outsider artist? You’re a folk artist!”
It’s a good question. The answer is sort of a funny one. My definition is someone who doesn’t fit in. That can mean socially, but i mean it more in terms of genre. Where would you put my mules? They’re not part of a movement, they’re not fine art. They don’t fit in neatly anywhere, and as someone said recently, outsider art is “art with an accent.” Love that idea. Art that is distinctly of that person and their own little outside current from the river, making their own art-creek. Upon investigation, i am still probably wrong. Not sure where my mules belong.
But so much for my flourishy folky explanation. There are a lot of terms that can be used almost interchangeably. Folk, naive, outsider, art brut, raw art. All essentially terms to describe someone who is making art outside of the Art World. They don’t necessarily show at galleries, or even show their art to anyone else, or call what they’re making art. These are the definitions but the gist is, outsider art and folk art are nearly the same, and generally refers to people who did not go to school to learn how to draw. There is a BA in art studio to my name, but i don’t think the handful of painting classes i took taught me how to paint - i had never used acrylics before college - and i still ain’t understand them now!
Outsider art:
“Art produced by self-taught artists who are not part of the artistic establishment.
Self-taught or naive art makers with little or no contact with the main stream art world of their institutions. They may exhibit extreme mental states, unconventional ideas or create elaborate fantasy worlds.”
Folk art:
This term is used in European countries to define art made in the context of folk culture; clothes, toys, cookware, jewelry- Mexico’s alebrijes are a good example. More commonly over here, it is used to describe untrained or artists, whose work is shaped by experience and not by formal art training. They may make art with what they have on hand, like Howard Finster - house paint, old wood, car doors, bicycle grease. Algiers, Louisiana, has the Folk Art Zone as maintained by artist Charles Gilliam. He makes art out of wood that has washed up out of the Mississippi river near his house.
Examples include Henry Darger, James Hampton, Annie Hooper, Leonard Knight, Howard Finster, Charles Gilliam, Missionary Mary, CM Laster, Butch Anthony, Clementine Hunter.
Art Brut or Raw Art:
Art Brut is the French term for outsider art, first coined in 1948. “Work created in solitude and from pure and authentic impulses-where the worries of competition, acclaim and social promotion do not interfere.” - Jean Debuffet.
“Raw because it is 'uncooked' or 'unadulterated' by culture. Raw because it is creation in its most direct and uninhibited form. Not only were the works unique and original but their creators were seen to exist outside established culture and society. The purest of Art Brut creators would not consider themselves artists, nor would they even feel that they were producing art at all.” - https://rawvision.com/about/what-is-outsider-art
Examples include: Bill Traylor, Adolf Wolfi
Naive Art: “Simple, unaffected and unsophisticated - usually specifically refers to art made by artists with no formal training.” - the Tate.
”The definition of the term, and its "borders" with neighboring terms such as folk art and outsider art, has been a matter of some controversy. Naïve art is a term usually used for the forms of fine art, such as paintings and sculptures, but made by a self-taught artist, while objects with a practical use come under folk art. But this distinction has been disputed. Another term that may be used, especially of paintings and architecture, is "provincial", essentially used for work by artists who had received some conventional training, but whose work unintentionally falls short of metropolitan or court standards.“ - wikipedia.
Artists include: Maria Prymachenko, Grandma Moses, Henri Rousseau, Horace Pippin.
This was written back in August, and after a review i suppose y’all can see it. Be interested to know what y’all think. The heck is outsider art anyhow?
The Mule Mural Movement
Well, maybe not a movement. Just some alliteration. So it all started with artist Susan David’s murals around downtown Lafayette. Two-story paintings, saints hidden in alley ways, squids crawling across entire buildings. They were everywhere, they were beautiful, and they were big! She also did a yearly live-painting with local artists called Project Rooster Teeth.
Here’s a snippet about it from their website:
But Art is the process of making and creating and it is a very rare treat to be able to experience. So an artist at work is rare like rooster teeth. Now we’re vibing! The old wives tale about Rooster’s Teeth and Hen’s Teeth is that they are so rare that they do not exist in nature. And when an artist doesn’t have something, normally they make it.
Project Rooster Teeth is designed to literally take our voices and practice to the streets to encourage a dialogue between our areas local artists, the art enthusiasts, the general public and those whose experience with visual arts, public art, and urban street arts is limited which will ultimately benefit the Acadiana area and beyond.
This year i had the chance to participate, after admiring Project Rooster Teeth and Susan David’s work for awhile. There were six artists and five walls, all 8 feet by 8 feet. It was exciting and nerve-wracking to paint at such a large scale in front of so many watching eyes! The artists i got to paint with were Shelly Breaux, Sarah D. Ruiz, Hannah Gumbo, and students mentored by artist Susan David.
The sketch is a rough idea of what i hoped to accomplish. It was intimidating to paint at something so big, i wasn’t sure where to start.
We painted from 4ish - 8ish at the Acadiana Center for the Arts in downtown Lafayette. Time absolutely flew by. It was amazing to interact with people interacting with the painting. All types and all ages came up to see it and comment on it. It was especially neat to see young girls come up and connect with the mules, or horses, in the same way that i would have done at their age.
Despite stepping back to get perspective, it was tough to free hand such a big piece, so it’s a little wonky. But it got done. We took photos, talked with the other incredible artists, and went home in the rain. It was a strange and wonderful kind of euphoria after the thing was said and done. I was ready to paint more! The bigger you paint, i think, the bigger you keep wanting to paint!
“We was born in the same house” is a line i picked up and have been carrying with me from a Faulkner book. It meant something different in the book, but to me it means we’re all the same folks, no matter what. It’s hard to keep that in mind sometimes. That translated to this painting, which i thought up while i was on a run. It kept in my mind for a little while, and i felt good enough to not sketch it. But there’s learning in sketching, too, so i did that a couple times to prepare.
That 8 x 8 foot painted helped me get comfortable going ‘really big,’ and had me used to climbing a ladder and slinging paint everywhere by the end of it.
Summertime came around and i was asked about doing a painting for some folks in New Orleans. They have four big paintings on their walkway outside of their very beautiful home in the Irish Channel. So in July, in between New Orleans summer storms, i was climbing ladders and slinging paint.
The past two months have seen me in my studio doing smaller paintings, usually 6”x6” on wood. It was an unexpected exhalation and mediation to get to use an arm roller to reach the 8 foot height on this wall. It about two days, and ending in a drizzling rain, the mule got it’s crown and it was done. The individual that commissioned this painting is an artist as well, living by the ‘you buy art, i buy art’ principle. Which i think is so important! You can check out her amazing art here: https://www.hollysudduth.com/
Driving over on the second morning of painting, it was just this electric feeling of luck all over me. The drive took me over the Mississippi River, i could see the skyline of the crescent city on my right. Down Tchoupitoulas to my destination. Growing up and visiting New Orleans, filling sketchbooks with drawings and lovingly photographing the city, i don’t think i ever would have dreamed of this reality. It is really such a blessing to be here now, in this life, and feeling awfully like i was born lucky. If my mule paintings can be one thing, i hope they’re a love letter to the person who gets to bring them home.
Faulkner's Ode to Mules
This is an outtake from Flags in the Dust. Most readers are familiar with his quote “a mule will labor ten years for the chance to kick a man once.” Was astounded to find it is actually a much longer ode to the south’s four legged laborer. Flags in the Dust is a long and colorful story, this particular aside was a small and unexpected gem in a muddy backyard creek.
”Round and round the mule went, setting its narrow, deer-like feet delicately down in the hissing cane-pith, its neck bobbing limber as a section of rubber hose in the collar, with its trace-galled flanks and flopping, lifeless ears, and its half-closed eyes drowsing venomously behind pale lids, apparently asleep with the monotony of its own motion. Some Homer of the cotton fields should sing the sage of the mule and his place in the South. He it was, more than any other one creature or thing, who, steadfast to the land when all else faltered before the hopeless juggernaut of circumstance, impervious to conditions that broke men’s hearts because of his venomous and patient preoccupation with the immediate present, won the prone South from beneath the iron heel of Reconstruction and taught it pride again through humility and courage through adversity overcome; who accomplished the well-night impossible despite hopeless odds, by sheer and vindictive patience. Father and mother he does not resemble, sons and daughters he will never have; vindictive and patient (it is a known fact he will labor ten years willingly and patiently for you, for the privilege of kicking you once); solitary but without pride, self-sufficient but without vanity; his voice is his own derision. Outcast and pariah, he has neither friend, wife, mistress nor sweetheart; celibate, he is unscarred, possesses neither pillar nor desert cave, he is not assaulted by temptations nor flagellated by dreams nor assuaged by visions; faith, hope, and charity are not his. Misanthropic, he labors six days without reward for one creature whom he hates, bound with chains to another whom he despises, and spends the seventh day kicking or being kicked by his fellows. Misunderstood [portion removed with regard to modern times], he performs alien actions among alien surroundings; he finds bread not only for a race, but for an entire form of behavior; meek, his inheritance is cooked away from him along with his soul in a glue factory. Ugly, untiring and perverse, he can be moved neither by reason, flattery, nor promise of reward; he performs his humble monotonous duties without complaint, and his meed is blows. Alive, he is halted through the world, an object of general derision; unwept, unhonored and unsung, he bleaches his awkward, accusing bones among rusting cans and broken crockery and worn-out automobile tires on lonely hillsides, while his flesh soars unawares against the blue in the craws of buzzards.”
This is taken from the book, and i will be glad to remove it if it infringes upon any rights of anything. This seems useful to describe the why and how of mules, with Faulkner’s rich and perhaps arrogant prose. It was also difficult to find online! Had to remedy that for the legions of mule folks struggling to understand their history and past purpose.
Faulkner Sketchbook Mining 4
The sketches are from “Flags in the Dust,” the latest novel i’ve read by Faulkner. Time for a Faulkner break, i think. Some of these drawings have already transitioned into full paintings that i hope to share soon.
Excerpt
Beginning To Beller
Well, i sat down to the typin board yesterday and avoided doing any work by spending an hour looking for a good photo to use. Then i realized i should probably go get my photo made again. Then i ran out of coffee. Then i ran away from the typin board.
Reading books about how to be an artist, how to make the leap, how to become the story, the first step was to always claim yourself an artist. Just say it already. The next was to learn what your limitations are. Well, i didn’t think i was afraid to call myself an artist. And i didn’t think i had any limitations with sharing stories.
Turns out neither of those things are truly true. So maybe once i have that sorted out, i can come back to y’all with the artist’s story. Right now i need to write it.
In the meanwhile, in that passing time, this blog will be there for all those things y’all wanted to know. What’s involved in the process, who and what inspires me, history-stories, poems, studio practice, and sketchbook glimpses. So lookin forward to sharing those that i love with you here. It turns out not every-body knows who Ma Rainey or Walter Anderson are, after all.
Hey friend, take my hand, let’s head down to the crossroads together.