Page 42 - the NOISE September 2013

THE BIRDMAN OF J-TOWN
Life-size wooden birds soar from the ceilings throughout Katie Lee’s and Joey van Leeuwen’s charming Jerome home. They perch on the fence outside and rest on window sills and book- shelves: a Barn Owl, a raven, a Peregrine Falcon, a Silver Gull, a Cardinal, an Ameri- can Kestrel, a Red-tailed Hawk, a mobile- like grouping of hummingbirds — some left natural, others painted.
Content to carve for pleasure — mak- ing gifts and performing the occasional commission — it seems a crime that more people aren’t able to appreciate Mr. van Leeuwen’s impressive carvings; graceful and life-like, hand-hewn with strength, delicacy and precision — and clearly by someone who knows birds (Mr. van Leeuwen is also the author and il- lustrator of a small beautiful book called The Birds of Jerome).
In his tidy, organized workshop in the cool lower level of their home, hum- mingbird books — his current bird of focus — are held open with clips on the workbench. Exotic feathers adorn the rafters, and photographs of the baby Barn Owl he rescued and nursed back to health before returning to the wild are pinned on the walls. Wood collected over a lifetime of traveling all over the world is stacked neatly in his shop or stashed on the property, patiently waiting for him to free the bird trapped inside.
“I have in my mind first what I want to carve and then I look at the wood until I see in that piece of wood this bird,” says Mr. van Leeuwen, who still speaks in the thick accent of his native Dutch tongue.
“And then I just take the surface of the wood away and there’s the bird.”
A small selection of Mr. van Leeuwen’s birds can be enjoyed by the public at The Wary Buffalo in Jerome. For a private viewing of his exceptional still-life aviary email Mr. van Leeuwen at jobird@swift- wireless.com
FLOTSAM & JETSAM IN REFLECTION
the random quality of the subconscious
BY SARAH GIANELLI
Rick (R.V.) Lovelace speaks of seeing his in distinctly desert settings — has pervaded wheel. Below is a vision pond and canyon
ancestors in passing clouds, of doorways opening in the sky, of messengers appearing in the form of ravens, of visits to an all-tur- quoise Key West, and epic journeys of discov- ery on Native lands. So seamlessly does the artist slip between the realms of waking life and dream world that I have to stop him pe- riodically to clarify which of the two he is de- scribing. His response is a quizzical look that asks “isn’t it obvious?” and “does it matter?”
It follows that his art draws from both sides of the divide, his canvas forming yet another dimension where “real” life experi- ences intermingle with equally lucid travels via the mind. From an art history perspective, his paintings demonstrate the influence of the Surrealists and Dadaists — the “random” flotsam and jetsam that bubble up from the subconscious and converge in otherworldly landscapes. They also reflect a childhood in Southern California where he was exposed to the futuristic architectural style of the 1950s (now referred to as mid-century mod- ern) preserved in the bowling alleys, low slung motels and car ports, neon signs, and overall Jetsons aesthetic of places such as Palm Springs, L.A. and Florida.
While traveling through the Southwest in the late 80s, Mr. Lovelace was taken with the colorful austerity of the land, and felt a profound connection to the spiritual and cul- tural heritage of the Native tribes, specifically Hopi and Navajo. Always inclined toward re- ligious studies, he embarked on an indepen- dent study of these people that would take him deep into Hopi territory, both figurative- ly and literally. Eventually, he left Oakland where he had lived and worked in graphic design for more than 20 years, and made his home in Jerome, where he had felt a déjà vu sensation that many people who end up moving here report. A more grounded qual- ity — Native American symbolism anchored
his work ever since.
While at Hopi Days at the Museum of
Northern Arizona, an old native man ap- proached Mr. Lovelace and said, “‘Man, I don’t know, there’s something about you.’ It was as if he could see my concerns and my truth,” explains Mr. Lovelace. “He invited me to the Third Mesa and took me on a big old trip. I met his mother, his sister, hung out with his cousins. He took me to see petroglyphs of his family’s clan. The Hopi are really kind of closed; they’re like onions. Most people never even get through one layer. My experi- ence has been different — I think it has to do with your sensitivities and your awareness of humans. They have such glorious customs and manners: treat people like they’re your brother or sister, because they are. There’s no reason to hate. The less you hate, the more you love; and the more love you have, the better a place is, and it just keeps unfolding.”
For the second month in a row, I have spoken with a white artist whose work incor- porates the religious symbolism of an indig- enous culture, and the irksome discomfort persists: Do artists have a right to co-opt the imagery of another culture, particularly one that has been sublimated and persecuted by that artist’s own race? But who can dictate what resonates with whom and what they do with it? And wasn’t it the Native Ameri- cans who tried to teach the white man that to “own” anything sacred is pure hubris?
Mr. Lovelace was confronted with these questions firsthand involving a piece called Purple Talking God. The highly detailed, al- most illustrative painting, created using wa- ter-based pigments, airbrushing and even some house paint, was inspired by Hopi and Navajo pictographs and petroglyphs he had studied in person and later saw in a dream. A fetish-like God figure is suspended over a desert-scape inside a geometric medicine
walls covered in ancient drawings of cloud people and shamans.
All of his paintings have fully developed stories embedded in them, and, in this one, “A figure comes from space, or the universe,
and has excellent knowledge of many things
I’m not aware of or understand,” he explains. “To me, it says, ‘Beware. The truth, if you’re not using discernment could be a lie, and may
come to confront you at anytime.”
The painting was hanging in a Prescott
gallery when a Navajo elder came in and said, “’What you’re doing is displaying witchcraft.’ I
got freaked out,” he says, “but surrealists bor- row from everywhere. I’m white and I’m us- ing these images that are very personal and religious to them. But that is my experience. If I go sit in a church and see a big crucifixion and I’m inspired by it, I’m going to paint it. Just like anything else. It’s not about race, at least not for me.”
However, the gallery owner was uncom- fortable and had him take down the painting. Mr. Lovelace brought it straight to Hopi Land and showed it to his friend, who laughed hardily, and said, “’We have artists like you — we call them modern.’ I had to go all the way up there to hear that,” he says. “But it settled everything for me. He saw my painting as a propagation — a continued story being told.”
R.V. Lovelace’s art is permanently on dis- play at the Jerome Artist Cooperative, 502 Main St., and will be the featured artist at the Arts Prescott Gallery, 134 S. Montezuma, from September 27th through Oct 23rd with an opening reception on Friday, September 28th from 6-8PM. You can also preview the artist’s portfolio at rvlovelace.com
| Sarah Gianelli enjoys the com- pany of experimental friends for a Sunday supper on the porch. sarahgianelli@hotmail.com
42 • september 2013 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us