Posted May 6, 2014
May 30th – June 1st; Embarcadero Bldg. at Historic Fair Park; Dallas, Texas
Posted May 6, 2014
May 30th – June 1st; Embarcadero Bldg. at Historic Fair Park; Dallas, Texas
Posted March 6, 2014
I met Terry McCullough near the beginning of his creative journey when our paths crossed at the Bloom Agency in Dallas. I was a young copywriter. He was a layout artist. Decades later, I buy and sell art. Terry makes art. But then, he always has.
Early on, Terry’s dad, a hand-set printer, and his mom, who did custom gift-wrapping, nurtured his creativity. “Mom had an awesome story book called Yama Yama Land that really inspired me,” Terry says.
That was just the beginning of a life-long creative journey.
While working at Bloom, Terry began exploring black and white photography.
In 1977 – before the era of personal computing and digital software – he was producing multi-negative prints. Not only did that portfolio win him a coveted place at the Visual Studies Workshop in New York, it led to his first one-man show.
From still photography, Terry made the leap to film. And within that exciting arena, the poet in him began playing, not only with imagery, but also with language, motion, lighting and sound. Film allowed him to put his creative stamp on an entire process and project.
In his thirty years of filmmaking, travelling from one global locations to another, Terry took his “kids” – his prized collection of Nikons along with him — amassing a vast library of black and white infrared negatives, many of which he printed using the classic silver gelatin process.
While producing realistic images for the screen, Terry started to explore the world of abstract art. Ever curious and always inventive, Terry discovered encaustic — an ancient painting technique using molten bee’s wax mixed with oil, pigment or resin. He loved the result– a textural complexity that couldn’t be achieved with paint alone.
Today, Terry’s abstract expressionist paintings are as richly layered as his own experience in the visual arts. Not only are his canvases and mixed media pieces featured in solo and group shows, they have captured the attention of individual and corporate collectors. We’re pleased to welcome this poet with a paintbrush to J Compton Gallery.
Posted February 4, 2014
In the fall of 2011, at a house sale in a modest Seattle neighborhood, a local picker combing through mountains of seemingly ordinary household stuff made an astonishing discovery. There, among stacks of sci-fi paperbacks, engineering trade journals and electronic paraphernalia was a collection of box after box of paintings, sketches and mobiles – hundreds of pieces in all.
The art was the work of a man who saw life and art through a different lens, self-taught visionary artist Larry John Palsson (1948-2010), the home’s only remaining occupant who had passed away the previous November. After high school Larry had aspired to be an engineer. But he was unable to hold a job because of an unspecified medical condition — possibly a form of autism based on what we know.
An only child, Larry was just 15 when his father passed away. He lived with his widowed mother his entire life. What little we know about Larry comes from neighbors, a Palsson cousin and a single spiral-bound notebook found with his art. We’re told he was forever buying rosebushes that he never got around to planting. Everyday tasks could send him into a panic. He kept to himself and neighbors saw him as a “harmless recluse.”
Somewhere along the way, Larry taught himself to paint, creating a trove of hundred of paintings that are, in turn, playful, provocative, elegant, mysterious and mind-blowingly inventive. His conceptual ideas and design ability are fresh and compelling, and when Larry is at his best, the brushwork is extraordinary.
As with many self-taught artists, Larry painted on found material — from cereal boxes and advertising brochures to particleboard panels and Masonite.
There are no records that document Larry’s creative journey – exactly when or why he started painting, no diary entries of discoveries and breakthroughs. But we can learn a great deal about the man and the artist from the paintings themselves. They were never framed; never seen by anyone other than family and friends; and, with one or two exceptions, never titled, signed or dated.
Larry John Palsson is one of those individuals whose brain was uniquely wired and whose creative abilities were driven by a deeply personal inner vision. J Compton Gallery is pleased to represent this exciting discovery.
For more about Larry and his work, click here.
To see paintings now offered for sale, click here.
Posted February 3, 2014
Now in its 18th year, the LA Art Show is known for exhibiting exciting work from around the globe and from one end of the art spectrum to another.
The 2014 show (January 15th-19th) didn’t disappoint, offering a broad spectrum, indeed: Contemporary bronzes by China’s Wang Dong Lai; master works by Marc Chagall; rarely-seen photography by Andy Warhol; progressive/contemporary art from Korea; and the paintings of a virtually unknown self-taught visionary artist from Seattle, Washington — Larry John Palsson (1948-2010).
In the year that I’ve represented Larry’s work, I’ve installed gallery-style exhibitions in conjunction with the Fort Worth Show of Antiques and Art and the Objects of Art Santa Fe Show. But as a first-time exhibitor at the LA Art Show — and the only gallery to represent the work of an outsider artist — I was able to introduce Larry’s work to its widest audience yet. And I couldn’t be more pleased with the response.
Visitors were astonished by the artist’s sense of color and brushwork so precise that the paintings were sometimes mistaken for cut paper collage. One of the most consistent reactions was sheer amazement at the level of sophistication from an artist who was completely self-taught.
Along with the paintings, we included Larry’s personal story, complete with snapshots of the artist as well as some of his quirky and even profound writings from the only notebook to survive him. The passage below appears just as Larry wrote it:
The public won’t bother to
come to art museums and galleries
by the thousands like sports games
Not enough excitement. Not
But every year the 2013 LA Art Show some 50,000 people, enough to fill a stadium. And I can assure Larry that in booth 1302 there was plenty of excitement, plenty of interest in his personal story his visionary art.
For more about Larry John Palsson click here.
To see paintings now offered for sale, click here.
Posted January 6, 2013
Some years ago, over dinner at the home of friends, I met a woman named Pat. She arrived with a friend and, with his help, walked slowly, aided by crutches under each arm. Had she been in an accident? As we began chatting, I asked her that very question.
Pat shook her head. She was recovering from bone cancer, she told me, after undergoing a bone marrow transplant. “If they can find a good match,” she explained, “they basically nuke your bone marrow and drain it out. And if that doesn’t kill you, you have a chance.”
That evening I learned that Pat had a home just a few streets from mine but had moved back home with her mom while she recovered. When I told Par that I was an antiques and folk art dealer, she brightened and said, “I have a house full of folk art, and I’m having a huge sale a few weeks from now to help cover my medical expenses. You should come.”
So I did. The morning of the sale eager buyers formed a line from Pat’s doorstep to more than halfway down the block. She sat on the porch, smiling and greeting friend and strangers alike as we filed through the front door into the treasure trove that was Pat’s home. Room after room was filled with handcrafted boxes, baskets, pottery and jugs, paintings, carvings, tramp art, folk art — all the things I love and collect — from folk-y to funky to fine.
Among the pieces I chose that day were two miniature folk art chairs, which I still treasure. By the time I left, the crowd had thinned but Pat was still sitting on the porch, crutches nearby. I stopped to tell her what a treat it was to see her collection — and couldn’t help but say, “Isn’t it hard, though, to part with all your wonderful things?” Her eyes sparkled as she leaned forward and chortled, “You should see what’s stashed upstairs — all the stuff I held back for myself!”
I’m sorry to say that I don’t know what happened to Pat after that, as I soon moved away. But I always seem to think of her as one year ends and another begins.
And I remember what she taught me. No matter what happens in our life, we all get to choose what we hold on to … and what we let go.
Posted December 7, 2011
Remember the scene in the original “Toy Story” movie where the family car and the moving van pull away from the house, leaving a handful of toys behind?
It’s a scene right out of my childhood. In the movie, of course, the toys that get left are eventually reunited with their owner.
My case was a little different. My dad was in the Navy, so we made lots of moves (I attended 11 public schools in 12 years).
With every transfer, the Navy provided a moving allowance for our belongings. And if we exceeded that allowance, the difference came out of the family budget. So, moving meant weeding out … having to choose.
And what I always chose first were my books, a cherished doll or two, and the occasional school project or award. To this day, I still have my childhood copies of “ The Secret Garden,” “Little Women,” and a handful of Trixie Belden mysteries. I also kept three prize-winning photos I took in junior high. And three dolls: a 1950s Madame Alexander Cissette; 1950s Littlest Angel; and the Raggedy Ann I wrote about in “Providence.”
A dozen years ago I started my antiques business after purchasing several collections of early Steiff animals. To this day, antique toys are an important part of my business. Like the early Bliss toy highchair I recently acquired, along with a J&E Stevens toy cast iron dresser, a pair of antique bell toys, a late 19th c. rag doll from Vermont, a handcrafted miniature sideboard and more.
I come across a toy with a date, a name, a place, a maker — something that anchors it in time, like David’s Doll, Helen May Neumeyer’s miniature table, Christmas 1886, and Charlotte’s Bear “Pierre,” pictured in this 1920s photo with Charlotte’s father (also named Pierre), who gave her the bear.
I don’t always know the origin of every toy I find. But I do know this: Eventually every toy finds its way home. And every toy has a story.
Posted March 18, 2011
One of the best, most memorable vacations my mother ever had was in 1977 when she went to Trinidad for Carnival. Her boss at the time had been to Trinidad a few years earlier to recruit employees for an oil refinery on St. Croix. One of the people he hired was a man named Vernon, a native Trinidadian. They remained friends, and Vernon was kind enough to arrange the details of mother’s visit. She stayed with his sister Vera and her family in the capital city of Port-of-Spain, which has celebrated Carnival since the late 1700s.
With Vera and Vernon as her self-appointed guides, Mom experienced Carnival, not as a visitor from the States,” but as Islanders do.
There were daily visits to family and friends where the mood was festive and the reception gracious. “Eat, drink,” the urged mom, as they passed around platters of food and served up rum and coconut milk punch in hollowed-out coconut shells. They took her to dinner at the famous “Up-Side-Down Hotel”; sat on bleachers watching parades by day, eating picnic lunches they brought from home; and by night they joined revelers following the parading masquerades through the streets and cheering their favorite bands.
Early in the visit, Vera and her family took mom to an open-air market to buy meat from the local butcher Pierre. Mom is a friendly, outgoing sort, so when she was introduced to the butcher, she reached out to shake his brawny hand — which he quickly wiped before grasping hers. Somehow that simple gesture meant something to her hosts. And wherever they went, whenever they introduced Mom to a new group of friends, they made note of the fact that “Margaret shook hands with Pierre.”
A few years ago, I came across a vintage hand-made noisemaker, the kind that’s seen in Carnival and Mardi Gras celebrations around the world. This one (pictured here) is European and could be from Spain or Portugal or even Trinidad or Brazil, given their cultural cross-pollination.
As I was adding the noisemaker to the Curious Objects Gallery, I thought of mom’s Carnival adventure: the island city, the food, the calypso music, the steel bands, the pageantry, and most of all, the hospitality that so completely surrounded her she was, for a time, Trinidadian.
Posted June 18, 2009
One of the most exciting things about the buying end of this business is finding a piece with great eye appeal (be it form, surface, originality, etc.), only to discover there’s more to it than meets the eye. Something that adds an unexpected dimension and makes it more unique and intriguing than I ever imagined.
The same thing’s true of people. You meet someone you find likable and interesting and then discover something so unexpected about him, it blows your mind.
That’s how it happened with my buddy Kevin Gordon. I was at FolkFest in Atlanta in 2004, happily browsing and shopping, when I wandered into the booth of a pale, kind of studious-looking guy with squarish black-rimmed glasses and a shock of dark hair. (Think Buddy Holly-meets-young-Elvis Costello).
It was Kevin, the unassuming proprietor of an excellent on-line source for self-taught and outsider art. At that particular show, he displayed a number of pieces by Willie Massey, and I flipped over a three-piece set of carved, unpainted miniature furniture. I didn’t buy them, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them. So, a week or so later, I contacted Keven through his website, chatted a while, struck a deal, and made a buddy.
He’s married with kids; I’m married with dogs. He’s got a mom the next town over from mine. He’s quirky; I like quirky. We share a passion for African American quilts. You know how friendships unfold. A year into that friendship I discovered “something more.”
Turns out Kevin’s not only a go-to guy for great folk art, he’s a Nashville-based singer-songwriter-guitarist with four albums tohis credit; a song (Flowers) on Irma Thomas’s 2006 Grammy-winning album; a rapidly growing fan base including other musicians who’ve recorded his songs; and a steady schedule of festival and club dates all over the country. (I know. I should’ve paid more attention to the Holly-Costello vibe.) When I played his album O, Come Look at the Burning, it was like– Wow! Behind that low-key facade is a heart that rocks.
Now, if the name Kevin Gordon hasn’t yet hit your radar screen, you can google him, of course. Or visit our links page and follow the link to Gordon Gallery. Or, if you live near Santa Cruz, the Bay area or Portland, Oregon, you can catch him on stage in the next few weeks at one of the following venues. Check him out. And discover, as I did, that incredible “something more.”
Santa Cruz Area
June 19 Brookdale Inn, 9pm, Brookdale, CA
June 23 Crepe Place, 8pm, Santa Cruz
June 21 Ace Ciderhouse, 8pm, Sebastopol
June 26 Tucker Farm Center, 8pm, Calistoga
June 27 The Music Store, 2pm; Plough & Stars, 8pm, San Francisco
July 4 Waterfront Blues Festival, 6pm
July 5 Laurelthirst Public House, 8pm
July 6 Sellerwood Riverfront Park, 6pm
Posted May 14, 2009
When people see me at antique and folk art shows – and see the display of old rag dolls — they often ask about my personal collection. I’m not sure they believe me when I say I made it all the way to 50 owning just four dolls: a “Tiny Tears,” an Aranbee “Littlest Angel,” and a Madame Alexander “Cissette” – store-bought dolls that Santa Claus brought for Christmas. Read the rest of this post »