John Berry . . . continued from page 1
Even after this realization about his so-called "ugly desert," Berry still wasn't euphoric about the idea. "It was only after I really spent more time out there, after I had been away for twelve years, after school and the stint in North Carolina, I came home and delved into the land and it dawned on me that I was happy with the desert representing who I am and what I want to convey in my art work."
Berry's goal was to make the move from conceptual illustrator to independent artist a gradual transition, so that the money from his illustrating jobs could help finance his evolution as an artist. However, his plans were interrupted when, after September 11th, 2001, the number of available illustration jobs sharply declined. This sudden drop in the market made a quick transition necessary. "In a way, that falling-off after 9/11 kind of threw me headlong into my own art. And I had to figure out what I wanted to do, and what I personally wanted to say." Part of the advantage, he notes, of being an illustrator, is the chance to collaborate with other people -- primarily art directors -- and essentially interpret their ideas within the parameters and guidelines they set. "When I worked in illustration, I interacted with art directors. You played around with ideas; you had people to bounce ideas off of." Berry admits that it was difficult when he first began painting but necessary to "dig deeper" into his own self and begin to paint what he believed was important. Thus not only did he begin to experiment with landscapes as subject matter, but he studied with artists such as Matt Smith, Scott Christensen, and Ralph Oberg in order to master technique and learn about oils, "As a conceptual illustrator, I was used to working with acrylics, so I had to learn all about using oils and also study technique more in-depth."
Berry's first forays into painting the sparse, parched, and bleakly beautiful lands of rock and sand were attempts to copy and capture. "I definitely went through a documentary phase, where I was more into copying what was there on the land than in representing what the essence of a place was. I used to take pictures and sketch a lot when I was out in the desert, but now I've moved away from that. My goal now is to express the essence or spirit of an area, rather than just reproduce it. That's the direction I'm heading in." Now, his work may merge material from different areas into composite landscapes, using a representational style that he believes better conveys the essence of the desert and the West.
And what does the desert represent? "Starkness, light and color-- that is the desert." Berry's paintings, in seeking to convey the spirit of the desert land, convey a sense of space and stillness through a minimization of clutter in their composition. Berry himself asserts that his representational paintings are meant to be "stripped-down and simplified to the bare-bones, the essentials. I pay close attention to detail, but I don't stick in details just for kicks. Nothing that is not essential is included." His paintings present the play of light and color in the desert, while also imbuing the land with a sense of permanence. The rock-scapes that often make up his subject matter are juxtaposed with ephemeral clouds and the transitory shadows in the crevices and folds of buttes and rock formations. These contrasts of the land, light, and sky help to reinforce the solid sense that the desert always remains. Despite the ebb and flow due to the changes in weather and changes in light from day to day, the desert changes so gradually that it may not be evident within the frame of one life time.
In addition to painting wild and rugged landscapes, Berry enjoys spending time in those environments. His interests include fishing,|6| backpacking,|8| and rock climbing. He has learned, however, that his artistic endeavors and his jaunts in the great outdoors sometimes need to be compartmentalized. He says that wherever he goes he finds inspiration, but mixing a fishing trip with a painting trip usually doesn't turn out well for either activity. "They are different loves," he chuckles. "I've learned that I either have to go on a trip to paint and not to fish, or to fish and not to paint." This artist and outdoorsman also defines himself as having a mixed personality. When asked whether he is an introvert or extrovert he replies, "Recluse? Yes. Out-going? Yes. I have both sides. I guess that means I have sort of a dual personality. Depending on the people I am around and the situation I am in I may be quite reserved, or I may be dancing with a lamp shade on my head."
When asked where his art is headed, Berry frankly states, "I don't know. We'll see. I'm not concerned with forcing my art to go in a certain direction. It flows and evolves and I'm not going to worry about it; mostly, I'm just going to worry about doing what I love," and adds with a laugh, "and getting the right paintings in front of the right people." He will still occasionally take an illustration job, usually one or two a year, but illustration has long ceased to be his main focus. Yet, he is grateful for many of the skills he picked up during his illustration days. "As an illustrator, you work with people and deadlines. You have to have self-discipline to get things completed on time, and you've got to be able to get along with people. I've learned how to set goals for myself, both long term and week-by-week. Also, working with an art director on an illustration job is a lot like working with an art gallery; the business aspect of illustration was good preparation for managing my own studio."
In addition to learning from his own career as an illustrator, he also gains inspiration from the lives of illustrator-turned-artists who have come before him, such as Maynard Dixon, Harvey Dunn, and A.J. Casson. However, Berry is intent on carving out his own niche; he is interested in developing his own style and voice. "The best thing I can think of is when people can recognize your paintings because you have a distinctive style, and then, when they also understand what it is you're trying to do in your paintings." The influence and examples of previous artists is vital, but Berry emphasizes the need artists have to develop an individual, honest style that isn't just trying to meld or mimic those of other artists--a style that reflects the essence of the ideas behind the paintings. He sums up his philosophy of art when he paraphrases one of his heroes, Harvey Dunn, "Paint from your gut; paint what you know, believe, and love."
|
|
Exhibition Review: Salt Lake City
Full of Capabilities
The Glass Art Guild at Library Square
by Geoff Wichert
The twentieth century saw a number of mediums long relegated to the status of crafts recognized as capable of producing fine art. While Martin Puryear and Andy Goldsworthy were proving that just about any material could generate a satisfying aesthetic response, in the hands of sculptors like metal forger Albert Paley, ceramicist Peter Voulkos, and glass wizard Dale Chihuly, it seemed for a brief moment that specific materials could be used to make art in which, to use a Hollywood metaphor, they appeared as themselves rather than pretending to be something else. In a painting by Mark Rothko, mute canvas and earthen pigments conspire to create the illusion of an interior space brimming with spiritual light. In glass, transparency opens up real interior space and the palette of light the artist wields is genuine; its behavior is "live," not re-presented.
Alas, the audience never materialized. Before the century ended, the exquisite subtleties of tension, ductility, and luminosity that called for the continuing, intimate encounter of a connoisseur were swept aside by scale. Art became ensnarled in the search for sensation and spectacle, and it became entertainment. What does Chihuly's tower of glass at Abravanel Hall have to do with personal experience or with being human? It's not art; it's an inverted hood ornament that identifies the passengers instead of the car, telling us they, or we, have good taste, and lots of money.
Perhaps because we expect them to, most glass artworks resemble either paintings or sculptures. Julie Stutznegger, who made a strong debut in the Glass Art Guild's recent show at Red Butte Gardens, dominates the current member show at the Gallery at Library Square with abstract panels that display an impasto so thick as to approach bas-relief. Done on white with a few strong blacks and reds, their sparse yet eloquent calligraphic gestures against quiet, even laconic fields and patterns make for muscular if ambiguous statements. |0| In "Malleable," a black line navigates between a grey and a red square and beneath a large black umbra that resembles a fingerprint. It's a journey in which ports or persons are seen as events. Stutznegger has a vast vocabulary at her disposal that opens with longer looking. In "Malleable" and "Untitled 003" the surface is glossy, but in "River" the matte surface shows tool marks, as though the white were troweled on to cover and hide the red, which leaks through it the way pain does around the corners of a sufferer's eyes.
There are things glass can do that other mediums cannot. With their muted colors, Lisa Peterson's cubical sculptures look soft, like over-stuffed pillows. |1| Or the edges and corners, where the colors shift to richer hues, may suggest age and wear. In each, an implied cutaway of the skin reinforces the geometry while permitting a misty view into the interior space, which seems larger than the container allows. In an alternative reading, a contrast is created between the pure, empty form of the block and the painted surface. The one version is psychologically evocative; the simultaneous second one is pure aesthetics. Both coexist in the object as they do in the mind.
Fans of stained glass will appreciate how Donna Pence uses mosaic technique to create the effect of dalle de verre -- slab or faceted glass -- with the delicacy of Tiffany's copper foil lamps. In "Mission Dolores" she suggests the way sunlight consumes color in the desert Southwest. Christine Kende, who uses the multi-light window format to display fused and slumped panels, branches out here with "Waves," a deceptively naïve-looking tour-de-force of pate-de-verre: a slurry of crushed glass fused together with entrained air bubbles to produce a confectionary visual feel. Another window-maker and pate-de-verre master, Kathi Olsen, also strikes out for new territory here, embedding gold foil -- a Roman technique -- and dichroic glass, a true "space age" material, to explore the role of horses as dream material and icon of the imagination. |2| Despite their size, the tiny figures in "Stacked Horses," evocative of Classical Greek models, loom in the mind like Leonardo's lost monument. In the larger examples, the fugitive nature of mica and gold inclusions gives the subjects the quality of legend: present in gesture more than detail.
Anyone unconvinced of the versatility of glass should compare Sarinda Jones' three colorless sconces, pure modern gestures, with Jack Bowman's ageless, archeological towers standing nearby. Similar techniques create two completely different results.
Meanwhile glass, like most of what we used to think of as art, has been left in the hands of those who refuse to give up on objects that communicate what it feels like to be us. Transparency -- which allows what is solid to seem empty -- and translucency -- which allows what looks solid to gather light and seem full of energy -- combine with brilliant colors, rich textures, and fragile shapes to make glass a satisfying, evocative, at times compelling medium. Utah's Glass Art Guild easily overwhelms a poor critic with too many examples to permit doing justice here. Even a selection seems like arbitrary violence. Inclusion should not even suggest exclusion. Make your own justice by visiting the fourth floor of the main library, itself a light-filled glass box contrasting vast, visually accessible spaces with reflections that surprise and confound the eye. Thus one of architecture and glass's more successful public contributions doubles as a jewel box for some literal and figurative jewels.
|
