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Sunday, May 11

outsider

I came to NYC in 1981 to be a painter.

I had some crazy idea that the art world of New York would embrace me.

It’s fairly laughable now, to think that this teen-age runaway, who painted fairly primitive portraits mostly using red and black, who knew no one in power, had no conception of what proper art was, how to play the game, what to wear, what net-working was and what art school’s might teach would somehow be embraced by Soho.

I learned quickly.

But being somewhat of a rebel and a survivor I joined up with other throwaway artists. We were as alien to the thriving art business of 1980’s NYC as seagulls are in the Sahara dessert.

So I threw my own shows, pooled my pennies with other poor slobs and rented an outer Soho loft. We took over a vacant store who’s owner felt sorry for us and let us hang our works until someone came along and rented the place.

We did whatever to keep showing ourselves mostly just to each other and other poor slobs.

By the time I was 28 I had painted myself into a state of hatred. I hated the art world, hated my own work, hated the prison that my canvases started to feel like.

I put down my paintbrush and picked up a pen.

Didn’t touch a canvas for 8 years.

Didn’t miss it.

Then the year before September 11th, I felt a pull to doodle, just play around and see what happened.

I painted mostly portraits of people I knew. Nothing really deep happened. It just felt good like I was un-corking myself. I knew my real style wasn’t coming up yet, but I was stirring the sauce, waiting for the flavor to leap forward.

I gave most of them away.

Then “911” happened.

And once I got through the adrenalin of being down there, once the black smudge was gone from my nose and my throat, once the fear had settled in for a nap, I was left with two things to see me through; my pen and my paintbrush.

It was through my writing and through this web site that I was able to describe the real images I saw in those terrible days of the fall of 2001, but it was through my paintbrush that I was able to capture the feeling of those images.

Then I watched my work change. Before my eyes it was noticeably different, the colors the shades, the texture, the messages. It was this change that prompted me to join up with other artists, again searching for kindred renegade spirits and to have a show. My good friend Dror provided the space and the partnership I needed to lean against and the multimedia group show “Reaction” was born.

1,000 visitors, a nice chunk of press and several sales for a great cause later, the show closed.

Last fall I stopped painting again and didn’t touch a brush until two days ago.

What has just inspired me is a magazine.

It talked about “Outsider Art,” “Art Brut,” and Raw art.

I'd heard of "Outsider Art" of course, but a scene that to me, used to seem like a haven for home-less artists and assorted left out, twisted souls, had of late seemed to be more of a tag line for anything in the art world slightly off the beaten path.

Same old story, I assumed...the true freaks start things, then are shut out.

But the true freaks were in this magazine. It showed photographs from artists who had never been to art school who were cut off from the mainstream art world, who found their own way. Their work was un-orthodox. They were fantastically un-hip; one was a retired grocer, one was a factory worker, one lived in an insane institution. Their works had a childlike quality.

I am not a student of art or art history or a learned scholar of any of these movements.

I really don’t know the difference between “Art Brut” and “Outsider Art.”

I have heard by some, that these were supposed to be the same thing.

I really don't know.

I only know that one paragraph I read which described “Outsider Art” said it was work created by a self-taught artist. The work was highly un-orthodox and often raw.

Then, too "Raw" and "Naiive art" are other terms which may mean other things.

AAAAKKK. It's a lot to digest isn't it?

But the tie of all this is the work; rough, simple, defiant and embraced by galleries all around the world.

I wondered where this embrace was in the early 80’s when I felt so shut out of any kind of scene in New York. I'd heard the term "Outsider" bantered about back then, but it never touched my door-step. It never opened any doors to me.

I wondered too, if now that "Outsider" art seems to have broken into the mainstream, if the nice, safe life I have created for myself, by running my own business makes me a person who would no longer fit into this world.

Does surviving being an outsider mean that you are no longer an outsider?

Am I an outsider by whatever definition the art world uses or would they put some other label on me?

At least now, I know that there are other people out there who remind me of myself in 1981 who are being accepted.

At least now I know that the feeling of being shut out, creating despite the mother-fuckers in their safe white walls with their clipboards and their heads shaking “no no no,” is part of a bonofide movement that the art world is beginning to recognize as something “real.”

Yes, I know on some level that these terms have been around for awhile. I think "Art Brut" was coined in the 1940's, but these terms never filtered into my world before. They meant as little to me a "pop art" or "surrealism."

But maybe, just maybe they mean something now, something welcoming.

How ironic that the term outsider might feel like a welcome.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet?

No matter, because what the magazine did was get me back to work.

I just finished my first piece since last fall.

It's a bit more wild than my work has been since I was teen-ager, a bit dark, a bit rough, a bit scary...a bit hopeful...

Hmm.. yeah. I think I like it.

I don't know whether my work can be called "Outsider" or "Art Brut" or "Primitive" or just plain wacko.

I only know that knowing the art world is embracing the freaks...really thrills me.

Of course that may be the beginning of a whole bunch of faux posers pretending to be freaks, but hey, let me just roll in the good part.

Okay?


Oh FYI...the magazine was called "Raw Vision."

You can probably find it in any artsy fartsy book store
or on the web...

got an email address for them too

info@rawvision.com


see ya

oh FYI again ****

you can check out the work I did for my last show here...lemme know what ya think....

dnastudio