Figure Telling: Steve Storz at Looking Glass Gallery

Looking Glass Gallery at St Johns Booksellers will present the work of its November artist Steve Storz. "Figure Telling". I first met Steve after I moved to Taos in 2008. What impressed me most about Steve's work, besides his consummate professionalism, was his infectious curiosity regarding electronic materials and their potential for the exploration of form. At the heart of Steve's work is a commitment to putting himself creatively on whatever ledge he needs to get closer to the unknown. With Steve's work one gets the sense that his pieces are dispatches from some mysterious place that hovers at that intersection between the world we have created and the possibility of something better...or worse, as the case often is. He readily recognizes the nightmare quality of modern life (one of his favorite places to explore in New Mexico is Los Alamos), and he shows us that Gauguin's famous dictum, "be mysterious" does not have to be a sugar coated daydream. Steve easily navigates between drawing and sculpture and recognizes that they are expressions of the same searching that drives him. Steve was gracious enough to answer some questions about his work for this blog. Enjoy!

1. Can you talk about what has been the driving impetus behind your development as an artist? Is there a common thread between the younger artist and the artist you are now?

Invention with materials at-hand to solve the idea that is foremost in my mind is probably the most obvious thread. Since finding a rusted spring in the alleyway behind our home in Texas City, when I was a young boy to scavenging electronic cast-offs in Silicon Valley dumpsters in my twenties to scribbling frenetic lines with garage sale pencils now in my 50's, I like the feel of art that is authentic to me through invention with unusual materials.

2.I often feel that artists will do things that may not make any sense to them (or others) at the time that they do them, that an artist may embark on feels like a lark or a diversion at the time, but they find later on that they put tools in their tool bag that would only become indispensable at some later junction. What have been the most important diversions for you in terms of your artistic development?

I still daydream. With daydreaming comes inspiration and contemplation. I simply don't make time for much social media, text, surf on the web, etc. I am in my studio. The daydream (tool, if you want to call it that) is a really important space for me to go into, and spend a lot of time there. For me, it is also where I can couple with a mystic state that reports back as almost all of my art. Some would call it a waste of time, but for me it is a crucial process. A diversion, but a crucial one.

3. You tend to use a lot of lightly worked negative space in your pieces to help embrace and define the density of your forms, which creates a pleasing contrast for the viewer. Can you talk about your conception of space as it relates to your forms? In the statement you wrote for this show, you talk about sound, which for me signifies the way that objects and forms resonate in space. Can you say more about that?

I think of space often as an almalgam of the energy of the positive and negative spaces in unison. I think i arrived at this through years of practice and training and critique from colleaguesand mentors. I find form as important as the negative space around it. That is not to say that negative space need be blank, but a supporting space that accentuates the form, folding around and through it, thinking all the while of what it would look like if it was a 3 dimensional object and I were able to move around it.

The "Telling" i wrote of in the statement came from the lines that emanate from the figure's faces. They seemed to be voicing something. After a few weeks of making those marks I began to recall ancient Mayan glyphs that showed, what appear to be, wisps coming from the mouths of ceremonial figures. I am also a fan of old horror and sci-comicbook art and admire the use of voice and thought balloons as a signifier of human sounds. This is my own version of those ideas.

4. Can you talk about displacement? Much of the sense I get from your figures feels to me like forms discharged into the ether, frantically sensate, scrabbling to adapt, and coping with their awareness, coping with the confusion of being alive. How do you see art's role in navigating this territory of being "outside"?

There is certainly an element of self reference in them. I feel as though I, myself, am (as you well put it) "scrabbling to adapt" and also see many other artists, formal and amateur, trying to gain ground on a surface that is more and more incongruous. In my daydream time a funnel of experiences rotates in maelstrom, gathering and discarding a huge mass of ideas and forces that I spew upon myself. Much of it is difficult, but makes life worth living so I have to continually try and reframe some of it, say from aggrevation into warrior, from inconvenience into challenge. Art, then is another aid in this, but has the added value of multiple languages and dialects that, coupled with craftsmanship and intent that, for me anyway, can bring this maelstrom into a focus and result in artworks that are genuine and satisfying to me. I think that all artists are essentially "outside", but a few have a designation, such as MFA, that only resides in a narrow field of the academic and can in no way replace the connection to creative self and an abundance of time in the studio. The work is the work.

5. We both spent time in Taos, New Mexico, and I would count my experience there as one of the formative experiences in my development as an artist, especially in the way I have understood the impact of landscape on our lives. Can you talk about what New Mexico has meant to your development as an artist who grew up in the Pacific Northwest?

Having just returned from a recent trip to Taos where I have a rustic studio and many art colleagues, it occured to me that the Southwest and the Pacific Northwest may be changing places. The land I have out on the Taos mesa, normaly sparce of vegetation, dry,  vast with blue sky, seemed moist, fecund, and perpetually cloudy. I revel in moody atmospheric conditions of both types and can easily move into a mystic state when they assert themselves around me. New Mexico, though, has given me a wider sense of the ancient knowledge that has been the foundation for humanity and who I am. I have always had, what some have considered, a primative (possibly outsider) quality to my artwork. Drawing on further studio work and associations with artists here in New Mexico (such as Timothy Nero, Ted Egri, Randall Lagro, Joel Lage, and more recently you) feels to have awakened an even deeper connection to humanity and the textures and lines of existence here.

6. With younger artists, I see a lot of self-censoring and a deferring of the rawness of the subjective experience to collective approval. I see a lot less risk taken, but I also see attempts to reclaim notions of sincerity and authenticity. How do you see the work of younger artists, and do you try to let that inform what you are doing as an artist?

I really enjoy teaching younger artists, particularly elementary and junior high kids, who are eager to develop their work. There is less to un-teach, and expectations are wide open. They are unfettered by censorship or the need for collective approval. I find the younger they are, the more I see in them that is inspired and relevant due to their innocence and continue to re-ignite that in myself. As today's younger artists grow I often become bored with much or their work. I think that they are often unaware they are being driven into stupefying mediocrity, largely as the result of prolonged exposure to current entertainment, much of which is absent of inspired creative value. I do praise any attempt at creativity though, with the encouragement that they continue to pursue craft and originality. For myself, Peer acceptance, taste acceptance, behavioral acceptance and similar aspects of my being cannot be held too tightly for me to get my work done. It is the harder path for sure, but it is my full authentic self and produces the most sincere and gratifying work I am capable of. From my viewpoint there is no shortcut, but to emmerse myself in my studio and work. I lament that many younger artists now are being miss-guided by some notion that they can achieve strong, sincere and authentic work in the space of a Google search, and with minimal effort (such as "work smart, not hard"). Art has a much slower, deliberate velocity. The rewards, the growing, the satisfaction, are spread over a more vast, endless scale and simply cannot be condensed. 

7. What are some of the more defining experiences in the development of your craft?

As a teen I learned some electronics and simple mechanics. In my early 20's I learned to weld steel and forge steel. I was thrilled when I gained these skills because it allowed me to upgrade my sculptures from fragile styrene plastic forms to steel forms and make any shape I wanted to, many that had movement and special lighting. I also had a great experience in my late 40's taking a drawing class from Timothy Nero at UNM (Taos). I accepted a lot of assignments from him that were way beyond my artistic technique comfort zone and I am grateful for his teaching skill and persistance. I also cherish my years working with the last of Taos Moderns, Ted Egri, before he died. It was extremely gratifying to work with a renowned artist who gave no attention to making what might be considered as popular, or acceptable. He made whatever he had in his mind, in his heart and mastered numerous techniques and materials that he shared with me, such as resin casting, drawing, and panting. 

stevestorz.com

Looking Glass Gallery@St Johns Booksellers

8622 N Lombard St

Portland, OR 97203

9718880793

Tatiana Piatanova Exhibits Her Work At Looking Glass Gallery Tonight!

It had been our intention with Looking Glass Gallery to start this blog sooner. Now that the bookstore is likely going to be changing hands and/or closing, we have three months to do some really great shows at a great space here in St. Johns. For the month of October, we are presenting the mixed media work of Tatiana Piatanova. The reception opens tonight at 6pm. All are invited to attend. What follows in the rest of this blog is a short interview with the artist. Here is her introduction:


"Was born in Russia and came to University of Alaska Fairbanks on Athletic scholarship where she studied English Literature. She took a drawing class by accident when she ran out of English courses to take and since then has been painting and drawing. She continued studying art at Parsons in New York, but after missing Alaska too much, came back to Fairbanks. After two more attempts to break the cord she now lives in Hillsboro Oregon and works for Pacific University as an Instructional designer. the job puts the food on the table, the art pacifies the soul. She wishes she painted more."


I was an undergraduate at University of Alaska Fairbanks in their BFA program when I met Tatiana. I made an instant connection with her that has spanned a friendship lasting 13 years. She and I were both passionately committed painters when I met her, and I greatly admired her figurative paintings which were bold and gutsy and quite large. After all these years, I see the way time has crept into her work and given that gutsiness the kind of teeth we never really know how we will attain when we are younger artists. There is much good in this work because it seems to lay foundations for future travels. Here is our interview.

1. can you talk about where you were when you started this body of work? what was your motivation?

Since I’ve moved to Oregon I have been missing Alaska a lot, so I have been talking to an artist friend of mine who is still in Alaska trying to make sense of the nostalgia and not knowing what to do with it. Out of these conversations came out a collaboration, an exchange of artwork (still ongoing). She sent me some pieces and asked me to add to them, then send them back. At first it was just that, like exchanging postcards from different places. When you work with another artist the process is very thoughtful and careful because you have to respect the work as you add your own voice to it without demolishing the integrity of the piece as it was. It became almost meditative. I have always been a very “fast” painter and also very physical — I did a large-scale abstracts for a while that were based on movement and a moment, and the emotional state I was in. It was almost like a workout. Get it all out and quickly. The collaboration made me step back. So, these new pieces became an extension of what I had put into the joined work, the continuation of thought, meditation, and mark-making.

2. How do you see the work now on the other side of this process or experience, how do you see your self?

I don’t really believe that there is a “yourself” in a singular form. There are many selves in each of us. Working on these pieces brought out a more peaceful side to light without obliterating the other “selves.” 

In a way, this work as a finished product does not really mean much to me because it became all about the process, making marks, remembering a part of me that is Russian, part that is Alaskan, some other parts too — the skeletons are made of bones :)  I am not attached to it as I used to be attached to the pieces before, And it is quiet liberating. I don’t think I got to the other side of this process yet. I’d like to stay there for a bit. I like it there. It’s my “pinnecolada on a beach.”

3. What do you see yourself pulling away from this series as you move forward?

Well, as I said before, I used to "drive" very fast, now I drive more like an Oregonian — 5 mile under speed limit (no offense). When you slow down you are able to notice more. And this is exactly what is happening with these pieces. I started paying attention to detail. It almost all become about the details. I am obsessed with details and mark-making. That is why, i think, it has this highly decorative feel to it. These pieces did not come out of beforehand ideas. They came out of making a mark, line, shape and continuing to form it into a detail, a part of something. It is a backward process and is driven more by curiosity of what will happen if I add more marks, lines, shapes... what story will I find there in the process. 

4. Can you talk about your experience being an outsider? I tend to see artists as outsiders par excellence, but being an outsider can mean a lot of things. For instance, I see both of us as being outsiders to this place (Portland and Oregon), and we offer very different perspectives, especially in our creative work. How has that experience informed your creative work?

I have been an outsider much longer than I have been an artist. Come to think of it, since I was 7 years old. I am a military brat, lived all over the place — Europe (where I was an outsider because I was Russian), Russia (because I lived in Europe all my childhood before actually living in Russia), then Alaska, New York, California, now Oregon. Moved a lot, never really stayed anywhere for long until I found myself in Alaska, staying for 20 years (which is why I call it home).  These experiences make you detach, disassociate not only from places and people, but from your own self. There is a beauty in being detached because as in driving slow, you notice more, even if it is un-intentional. I used to feel like a Peeping Tom when I was still learning English and people saw me as a deaf-mute. I have learned a lot of secrets then :) This experience is actually now starting to come up in my work through masks and bones and amalgamations of parts, species, cultures, symbols…

4. We have both spent some time in Alaska. How has Alaska shaped who you are as an artist and how you see this place, Oregon?

Well, Alaska is home. Oregon.. I do not know what Oregon is yet. I have only lived here for a couple of years, so I am still very very very much a detached outsider :) It’s a beautiful place. I love the coast, the Gorge. After living in Alaska for so long I still smirk at “Keep Portland Weird” slogan. I have good and bad experiences like in any place. This morning on a way to work I saw a guy sitting in a car on a side of a road. I stopped — purely Alaskan reflex — and asked if he was OK. He told me to fuck off. Clearly he was a California transplant. 

Only after I moved away from Alaska did I realize what a different breed of a person I am, all Alaskan’s are (and you know I am not exaggerating) — fearsly (is it a word?) self-sufficient, independent to the point of reclusiveness, taking 5 minute showers (and not because i want to help save the Earth, but because after living in a dry cabin and showering in laundromats with 5min water-run limits for years it became a habit), always packing a sleeping bag and a set of warm clothes and boots in my car, ignoring “stay on the trail” signs on hikes… those sorts of funny things that don’t make sense to others here...

As far as being influenced by it as an artist…  I think Alaska shaped me as a person, definitely. I really don’t know if it did as an artist. I think artistic influences are so complicated, they are a conglomeration of experiences that don’t necessarily tie to a place (at least not for me).  Artists are complicated… As Nietzsche put it, “No one is simply a painter; all are archeologists, psychologists, theatrical producers of this or that recollection or theory.” While I lived in Alaska learning how to be an artist I was influenced by all these big, brilliant, famous, dead, unreachable idols like Rothko, Chagall, Kandinsky — incidentally all Russian— because I was missing Russia. Now that  I moved away, Alaska does creep in my latest work — derivatives of totems, Alaska Native art elements… because I miss it. But I don’t think as an artist I was different between then and now. I am still an “archeologist, psychologist, theatrical producer” only with a different zip code.

5. You mentioned you worked intuitively on this series, which you said was something very new to you. For me, that signifies giving up control. I feel that work that comes from an intuitive place is relegated to a secondary status in the art world, that any work that privileges  the subjective over the collective, any work that has an internal logic as opposed to a visible and explicit rational is seen as retrograde, old fashioned, unimportant, whatever...can you talk about working intuitively and what that means to you?

This is a super loaded question :) People can make entire academic careers out of trying to ruminate on this one (and probably have). I think throughout the entire art history the hierarchy of statuses changed a lot. Art scene is like a woman with too many gloves. 

My work has never been intellectual. It has always been visceral. It changed from trying to attack and cover up the canvas into constructing something out of seemingly non-compatible, non-sensical pieces. Both were lead by an intuition, but in a very different way.   Going through the process of creating these latest pieces showed me how much I like un-control: I like accidents, I like surprises, I like discoveries (especially discoveries). Artistically, I trust my subconscious to bring me to the right place and I enjoy the journey to get there.

I do work intuitively.  It does not mean my work is empty.  Behind all these gut feelings and decorative elements my work is also a very clear derivative of cultural juxtapositions I have encountered throughout my life. It lies in the schism between Russian and American, Alaska bush and cosmopolitan, funny and dramatic, pretentious and unpretentious (to name a few).  It is a narrative of life in-between. It also makes fun of myself as a cultural juxtaposition.  Turns out Russian American in reality is not as smoothly joined adjective as it was intended to be by “politically-correct” champions. If it seems “unimportant” to some, I can live with that -- my work does not have an ambition to "make it" into the realm of "visibly rational." Rational is boring to me.

This exhibit will be up at Looking Glass Gallery in the neighborhood of St Johns in Portland, Oregon for the entire month of October. In November, we welcome painter Steve Storz from Gallup New Mexico and in December local journalist and artist Denis Theriault. The gallery is located inside St. Johns Booksellers.
Looking Glass Gallery@ St Johns Booksellers

8622 N Lombard St

Portland, Oregon

(971) 888-0793