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       July 2010
Published monthly by Artists of Utah, a non-profit organization    
Silvia Davis and dog Banjo outside her Teasdale home

Artist Profile: Teasdale
Penetrating the Ordinary, Bringing Out Its Beauty
An Interview with Silvia Davis

When we arrive at Silvia Davis’ house in Teasdale, Utah, we are greeted by two calm and friendly dogs. They don’t belong to Silvia and her husband Paul , they just like their place. It is a charming, peaceful setting, with an old gingerbread-trimmed house set back from the road, Silvia’s studio to the right of the driveway, her husband’s studio behind it, and two large piles of wood alongside the two studios. One pile heats Paul’s studio in winter, the other is Silvia’s rescued barnwood from which she creates sculptures.

These sculptures are well-know among afficionados of the Utah art scene. Davis has been commissioned for works in public all over the state, and has exhibited almost every year since 1982. She works primarily with wood and bronze, sometimes in clay. Her wood sculptures of cats, dogs, horses, and inanimate objects are staples at Phillips Gallery in Salt Lake City. Her bronze works have a good market in Santa Fe. Davis grew up in Utah and got her undergraduate and graduate art degrees at the University of Utah, where she met her husband of thirty-one years, Paul Davis. Both are established artists with successful art careers and their contributions to the art community have included teaching as well as making art. They own a studio in Helper (see page 5), where Paul has often worked with David Dornan (another well-known Utah artist), but make their home in Teasdale, a small community at the foot of Boulder Mountain.

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Artist Profile: Timpanogos
There's Always A Way
Carole Alden continues the artistic life behind bars

It turns out that it’s pretty hard to get into prison if you don’t commit a crime and you want to take a pen and pad of paper with you. After of month of bureaucratic phone calls, background checks and a letter to the warden’s office, these are the magic words that finally got me admitted:

Clad in maroon scrubs with INMATE blazoned on her pants leg in white block letters, Carole looks like any other inmate except her scrubs are festooned with multi-colored paint splatters. She apologizes for her appearance, but is appreciative of the brightly colored sweater I wore for her benefit. “Wow, that’s sensory overload,” she laughs as she shields her eyes. “We don’t see that much color around here.”

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Susette Gertsch