I was beginning to wonder whether writing about art was a useful endeavor when I got to 500X. Renee Tanner's wall-full of bright shiny hubcaps on the right, first thing I saw, brightened by psyche.
On the opposite wall, a giant circle of well-worked work gloves cheered me even more. I don't remember anything else but a splash of color in the other work. Then Tanner's thoughtfully manipulated found-object, cardboard texture studies upstairs further widened my mind's eyes.
Bone-shaking trains clanging and whistling by just outside, and the open spacious, brightly-lit gallery's party atmosphere inside helped, but Tanner's work made my art week.
Then, to top off that art night's excitement, Kevin Curry, whose contemporary communications installation at DW-full of two- and three-dimensional stick figures, smiley faces and line drawings-flew full into the face of "accepted" art, let me drive his glistening, gutsy-sounding 1959 Chevy Bel Aire around the block.
Jesse Moroles' stacked stone sculptures at Wright Gallery were
simple but powerful-and provided substantial reason for my first-ever
visit to that McKinney Ave. salon
Margaret Van Waggoner's brightly hued constructions and Bert Scherbarth's art dec wood furniture with incuse punk symbols starred at Conduit gallery.
Art Walk 86 had more kitsch and bad art than ever before. I tried to see everything, but so much of it was so awful I simply couldn't face it. There were too many "artists" and too little taste involved in the event, sponsored by the Deep Elm Neighborhood Association.
Not all the stuff at Schlock Walk was bad, though. Like any good treasure hunt, there were a number of gems secreted away. Significantly appropriate were: A. M. Hudson's multi-media construction The Rules Are Unclear But It's Obvious They're Keeping Score with Money upstairs in the Murray Building deep on Canton St.; Mark Bartos' tongue-in-cheek booth offered "Genuine Signatures of the Unknown Artist--Worth Millions Someday" at the ugly green Mitchell building-both on the wrong end of Commerce St.
Billed as a concert with B L Lacerta "in conjunction with ceramic sound sculpture by Connie McCreary/Spencer," it was mostly Connie and some friends playing at art performance for her University of Dallas MFA show. It started off sounding and looking like a bunch of amateurs who hadn't even practiced.
Later, Lacerta joined in the semi-musical melee. Not with instruments, as I'd hoped, but beating on McCreary/Spencer's large ceramic structures. Gradually, the destruction level increased until departing Lacerta member Tom Green (this was his last performance with the group) wantonly burned bridges by smashing one of the grad student's prized pieces and threatening others. Embarrassing.
Houston found-object sculptor Ken Luce's superb assemblage exhibition at Eugene Binder Gallery was easily early summer's best gallery show.
Luce's giant, ten-foot tall wood and mixed-media mask-like wall reliefs were inspired by African primitivism and Houston industrialism. In tone, texture, color and arrangement, they are very reminiscent of the early cubist masters. Yet the feeling, being in their immense presence, is completely contemporary.