"Moontalk by a poet who has not been to the moon is likely to be dull." Mark Twain

Well, Kiddies, time to wrap up
Small Works Folk Art Week.
I hope you've enjoyed getting to know a few of the artists who have helped pull me along in my journey. It seems to me that we'll have to indulge in a folk art week again soon, because I have so many friends to share (and selfishly speaking, it has given me great pleasure to be reunited with them).

Do you ever get the feeling that you've never really done anything of much consequence? I do. If I had just written "Phantom of the Opera," for instance, or been the costume designer for a "Cirque du Soleil" performance, I think I could go to bed happy at night.

Today I thought we'd visit one of what those in the business call a "Folk Art Environment." Usually these environments make me feel tired to look at . . .


Watts Towers

(this could be why I've never really done anything of consequence)

Detail, Watts Towers

But isn't it amazing and wonderful to contemplate the drive to create that would result in a folk-art-transformation of an entire place?

A folk-art-destination?



It seems to me that this kind of work requires not only tremendous vision, but a consuming desire to share that vision with as many people as possible. This isn't something that all artists seem to possess -- many folk artists amass piles of work in their barns, basements and attics which are only discovered by accident or after the artist is gone.

Simon Rodia (1875 - 1965, California) said: "I had it in my mind to do something big and I did."



Simon Rodia was the creator of the Watts Towers, the most famous folk art environment in the country. Although he held construction jobs on and off, his principal occupation was working on the soaring towers that slowly rose on his land. (The tallest is almost 100 feet high.) He averaged eight hours of work on them every day between 1921 - 1954. Then one day he deeded the property to a neighbor for the price of a bus ticket, saying "I don't want to have anymore to do with them." When he died, he lived about 500 miles away. He did not revisit.






The city of Los Angeles tried to demolish the towers in 1959, but luckily they were saved and are now on the National Register of Historic Places.

I saw the towers as a child when visiting my dad (my dad actually worked in Watts for awhile -- not a nice neighborhood) but I don't really remember them, I just remember him pointing them out. I have more memories of the scary hamburger stand my brother and I ate lunch at every day. Regrettable, but true. (Anyone who knows me is not surprised by this. I both love cheeseburgers and am easily scared.) But let's just say that as a grown up, I would realize it was definitely not safe for two kids from Salt Lake City to walk to lunch there, no matter how tasty.

Today, like any sensible adult, I would instead take my camera and drive over to spend time soaking up the creative energy of the Watts Towers.



Simon, for a regular guy with no education, but with some cement, bottles, dishes, seashells, mirrors and steel rods . . .

you certainly did do something big.

"Oh, watch that star, see how it run" . . . .

Today's title is from a Georgia slave shout song. In honor of this momentous week in our history (even more momentous for African Americans),
Small Works Folk Art Week is going to feature two of my favorite African American artists. Because there are so many, it was hard to pick, so I chose the two I know the most about.

Harriet Powers (1837 - 1911) was born into slavery. She was the mother of eleven children and two marvelous "story" quilts. The quilts are now in the collections of the Smithsonian and the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.

She was 49 years old when her children had left home, and she began the project of documenting her spiritual life. Since she could not write, she chose to record her diary with a needle and thread. The first quilt is made up of bible stories.



On the left, the Crucifixion. On the right, Judas and the thirty pieces of silver.

Harriet had a fascination with weather (as do I -- I'm a weather report junkie).


Her second quilt is like reading a record of meteorological events of the time.


"Cold Thursday, 10 of Feb. 1895. A woman frozen while at prayer. A woman frozen at a gateway. A man with a sack of meal frozen. Isicles (sic) formed from the breath of a mule. All blue birds killed. A man frozen at his jug of liquor."

There are also anecdotes about local people and events.

"Bob Johnson and Kate Bell of Virginia. Rich people who were taught nothing of God. The independent hog which ran 500 miles from Ga. to Va. her name was Betts."

A local art teacher purchased Harriet's first quilt for $5.00 (although Harriet asked for $10, she was forced to accept $5 "Owin to de hardness of de times.") The art teacher allowed Harriet to visit her "child" whenever she wanted, and recorded all of the stories that accompanied her quilts. This makes it so that we are able to have Harriet's own words -- for this reason, I guess we'll forgive her about the $5 thing.

Horace Pippin (1888 - 1946) began his career in art by illustrating his spelling lists.


Self-Portrait, 1941

He is one of the most famous black painters of the century. He was unable to finish high school due to poverty; he was forced to work to support his mother. He was gravely injured in World War I, and took up painting when he returned in hopes of rehabilitating his right arm. He had limited use of the arm for the rest of his life, but it didn't keep him from creating his art.

His work explored slavery and social injustice,

Old Black Joe, or "I's Comin", 1943


Domino Players, 1943

as well as the horrors of war.


The End of the War: Starting Home, 1930

But I love his still lifes with their outlandishly large flowers.


Summer Flowers with Two Chairs, 1944


Red, Yellow and White Roses, 1941

Horace Pippin once said, "Pictures just come to my mind, and then I tell my heart to go ahead."


Giant Daffodils, 1940

I can't help wondering what Horace might have painted to commemorate this week. I'm sure he and Harriet are both celebrating, somewhere.

I felt it was an honor to celebrate with them here.

Tomorrow -- last day of Folk Art Week! Here's a hint: some people have too much time on their hands. . .

If it's Wednesday, it must be mysteriously lurking figures in dreamy jungle settings . . .

I guess the news of Small Works Folk Art Week has gotten around, because look who stopped in to say "Bonjour"!

Myself, Portrait Landscape (detail) 1890

At first Rousseau was a little irritated at being included as a folk artist (he correctly asserts that he did sometimes play with the big boys),

but I had to very gently remind him that he was, after all, a toll booth operator who never left France despite his many stories and paintings depicting adventures to the contrary.


The Snake Charmer, 1907



Tropical Landscape -- an American Indian Struggling with an Ape (detail), 1910


I also told him that the trait I found most endearing was his reluctance to paint feet (he felt inadequate to draw them properly) -- I share his pain because I can't draw either, remember?


Child with a Puppet, 1903


He was not amused,

Happy Quartet, 1902


so I tried to make him feel better by telling him that visiting his paintings at the Art Institute of Chicago was perhaps my favorite thing about living in that great city.


Child with a Doll, 1904-05




Les Joueurs de Football, 1908



I actually think Rousseau's most endearing trait is that he kept enormous scrapbooks filled with his reviews, most of which weren't really favorable, including many duplicate copies of the same reviews to make the books look more full.



He also threw himself parties celebrating his achievements as an artist, but many of his friends who attended did so tongue-in-cheek, although he didn't realize this. I did not break the news to him in my kitchen -- I just let him enjoy his diet coke.

(I could perhaps have told him that I've probably had a similar experience at some of the shows my friends have been kind enough to attend . . . .)

Then I thanked him for his marvelous eccentricity, his wildly dream-like vegetation and deeply moving colors, his relentless desire for greatness . . .

and lastly for smashing the glass ceiling for folk artists everywhere.

He merely bowed and bid me "adieu", dropping the diet coke can in the recycling on his way out.

Merci, Monsieur Rousseau.

You say you want a revolution . . . well, you know . . . we all wanna' change the world.

As a continuation of Small Works Folk Art Week, today I picked a few pieces of patriotic-themed folk art to help you get excited to go to the polls. Patriotism and US History seem to be common subjects for folk artists. I guess love of country is a universal emotion and one that people are eager to express (and some of us don't ever wear lapels and therefore don't ever wear lapel pins. Which does not make us less patriotic.)

Did you know that, long before women could vote, they were expressing their political views in their quilts? Some are thinly veiled and some are blatant, but I find all to be fascinating. I probably would have been one of those women. Thank goodness we have the vote now, so that I can spend my time making people with a variety of strange and wonderful heads instead.

So without further ado (we've had enough ado waiting for Nov. 4 to roll around), on with the show!


Commemorative Patriotic Quilt, Mary C. Baxter
New Jersey, 1898




Lady Liberty, Artist Unidentified
New Hampshire, 1875




Flag Gate, Artist Unknown
New York, 1876



Malcah Zeldis
Oil on corrugated cardboard, New York, 1987



George Washington
Andrew Johnson, 1985




Uncle Sam (Blow Oskar)
R. A. Miller, 1989



Lady Liberty in Teal & Purple
me, 2004
(bad scan - sorry!) Iraq war protest piece

Poets are born, not paid. (Addison Mizner 1872 - 1933)

When I first started to become interested in art, it was in large part due to my study of folk art and self-taught artists. There are about a million definitions of "folk art" and an ongoing battle as to what kinds of art should be included under that heading. I've come to the conclusion that the important elements, for me, include:

1) an artist who is not academically trained in design or technique, and/or

2) an artist who creates to fulfill a need (i.e. "we need a quilt for that bed, and why not make it interesting to look at?", or "I really need to see and do something besides housework or I'm going to go insane!")

I was intrigued at the passion and creativity of ordinary people, and the masterpieces they were able to produce using only the materials at hand and only the time they could find after their other responsibilities were fulfilled.

Mostly, I guess I felt drawn to folk art because I knew I was not an "artist" but I also knew I needed to create things in order to feel alive. I figured this out at an early age, but it was not until about age 30 that I began to really sense how vital it was to my everyday happiness.

So this week, (since it's November and there's not a whole lot else going on worth talking about besides the election which will thank goodness be over tomorrow or at least Wednesday morning when we wake up), I'd like to share some of my favorite artists with you. I'd love to know whether any of them speak to you they way they do me -- some are works that have had a profound impact on my life, a power that I find to be thrilling but also curious.

I can't always explain why.

Morris Hirshfield (1872 - 1946)
Morris Hirshfield was a garment worker (NYC - Polish immigrant) who began oil painting after his retirement.
(be sure to click on the images so you can really see them)

Girl with her Dog


Waterfall

I think part of what I love about his paintings is that they convey his obvious love of lush fabric and pattern.

American Beauty

It is easy to see that his career in clothing continued to influence his art even when he switched from fabric to paint.


Beach Girl


Girl with Angora Cat


Bill Traylor (1854 - 1947)


Bill Traylor was a freed slave who could not even write his own name. He began drawing at age 83.

Man and Large Dog

In just three years, seated on a box on Monroe Street in Montgomery, Alabama, he produced more than 1500 works, some of the most important modern American drawings. He often used the thin cardboard recycled from laundered shirts.

Untitled (Radio)


Blue Dog

Bill Traylor once said, "I wanted to be plowing so bad today, I drawed me a man plowing."

Man with Mule Plowing

When he was old and quite sick, sleeping on the floor in the back room of a funeral parlor, his life near its end, he was still able to tap his lifetime of experiences and create art out of them.

Possum Hunt


I hope you've enjoyed meeting (or being re-introduced to) Morris and Bill.

I'll invite more of my friends over soon. We hope you'll stop by!

Small Works is brought to you today by the letter "S" . . . and by the number One.

Welcome, Friends! Come in to my very sincere pumpkin patch. Today it's my blog Halloween party! I'm glad you could come. First, let's have a story:




Mac will do exactly what I would do . . .


Because I am really such a scaredy-cat. That's why the letter S: S for Scared.
But why the number one, you ask?

Because one is the loneliest number. (Now I hope I haven't put that song into your head, because I want you to get in a scary and lonely mood for the next Halloween story . . .)

Ready?

I grew up in a very big house. Seriously. I don't have a picture handy, but if I did you would say, "Wow. That's a big house. I wouldn't want to be in that house alone in the dark."

You would be correct to think that.

Here's a picture of me in my parents' bedroom, and I think it captures quite well how I felt living in that big big house.


Do I look like a tiny little scaredy-cat in a great big room? Because that's what I was, for almost my entire childhood.

(For the record, I must admit that it was also an incredibly cool and wonderful house, but this is a spooky blog story . . . we'll have that story another day.)

Raise your hand if your house had a suit of armor in the dining room -- because mine did. It also had funny names for the rooms (it was the kind of house where you would give the rooms names, like "the receiving area", "the music room" or "the butler's pantry." It was a little like growing up on a "Clue" board, except instead of Professor Plum we had Professor Harold Hill.)

One of the places in the house was "The Long Dark Hall."


The "LDH" was indeed long, with a dark wood floor and two iron gates at either end. There were floor-length red velvet drapes hanging on sets of french doors all the way down one side. There were two medieval-looking chairs against the wall on the other side.

And there were ghostly footsteps in the hall when I would lay in bed at night. I think the steam in the pipes made them, but they sounded exactly like slow and deliberate steps made by a ghost in black heeled boots. When I had to pass the yawning entrance to the LDH at night, (which I did have to in order to go upstairs), I would of course run. And I think my face looked like Mac's face.

So in honor of Halloween, I thought we could venture down the long dark hall together and have some spooky fun. I bet it isn't as scary as I thought it was.


First, let's have some spooky organ music.












That's the Long Dark Hall
(now imagine some iron gates . . . scary, huh?!)







Ready?
Let's tiptoe together.


















I wonder what we'll find?


Here's a door -- let's open it . . . .

cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .




EEEKKK!!! I knew it! That's the kind of thing I always knew lived here!
That's it -- I'm running . . . .


Here's another door.
Should I open it?

cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .



THE RACK??
I expected scary but I didn't expect the rack.

Still running . . .

Next door . . . cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .



CRAZY MAD SCIENTIST PERFORMING BIZARRE EXPERIMENT ON MONSTER BABY??
Should we go on?

Okay, just one more door . . .

cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .



A DENTIST WITH AN ENORMOUS X-RAY???!!!!

This is much scarier than I intended. Enough film noir . . . black and white films are always scarier than color films. Let's change film before we open the next door . . .

cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .



A nightmare of being chased by Man-Eating Fish?
By an artist I really admire?

This is getting better.

I think we should continue. . .

cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .



Whew!!! It's just Leaf-Man.

(I don't know what Li'l Russ has to look so grumpy about. I think his mom did a fantastic job bringing his vision to life. Speaking of which, I used to be very sad and jealous because I only got store-bought Halloween costumes. I felt like my mom didn't care enough to make me cool costumes like Leaf-Man. But I was recently talking to a friend who told me they always felt sad and jealous because their mom didn't care enough to get them store-bought costumes. There's a Halloween moral there somewhere . . .)

But shhhh! I hear talking . . . .

cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .



Oh good!

It's just three adorable little trick-or-treaters, Li'l Russ, Dave and Big John, the cousins from next door. They must have been told to either look tough or to look like the sixth grade bullies just stole their candy.
(Li'l Russ, you are a darling scarecrow but didn't you ever smile on Halloween?)

Now I'm feeling much more relaxed. We're almost to the end of the hall, and the gates are open so we won't be trapped here.

Another door . . . cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .



Now here's a happy memory! I'm sure Lindsay's must be the one in the middle and Chelsea's must be the one on the left. Judging by the tablecloth, Hannah was too young so Russ must have carved the one on the right for her.

Alas, no little pumpkins in my house this year! Our first empty-nest Halloween. (Maybe we'll go out to dinner.)

Well, now I'm pretty out of breath. We're at the end of the LDH.

All I see is the HALLOWEEN VAULT.
Should we open it?

It looks a little scary . . . . cccrrreeeaaakkk . . .



Whew! It's only full of Susan's old artwork:




And Li'l Russ yelling . . .





BOO!






















Happy Halloween!