Jeffry Mitchell, Portland Art Museum Finalist

The Seattle native Jeffry Mitchell is excited and reflective. This June he celebrated two important events in his life: his half century birthday and his opening as one of five Pacific Northwest artists selected by the Portland Art Museum for their inaugural Contemporary Northwest Art Awards, a biennial awards exhibit that honors emerging and nationally under recognized professional artists living in the Northwest.

It’s been an interesting journey for Mitchell, who never saw an art museum until he moved to Texas to attend college. By his own admission, Mitchell grew up in a cultural vacuum. His dad worked for Boeing on military contracts, and the family traveled across the Northwest and Midwest to be near the bases. In these small towns of 30 to 40 thousand, there were no art museums. But that doesn’t mean he was not exposed to the creative experience.

His grandmother was a cultivator of Mitchell’s inner artistic voice. Originally from Minnesota, she moved to Seattle and married a Norwegian fisherman. Mitchell’s grandmother had her own business sewing for others, and that’s where Jeffry Mitchell learned to sew, knit, and crochet. He liked to work with his hands, and would make furniture. “Kinda crafty,” as he calls it. His work is still considered crafty by some. Being a gay kid, and living in the towns he lived in, shaped his imagination. If he hadn’t gone to art school, Mitchell admits he would have been a crafter.

But he did go. He majored in art at two very different universities. The first one was the small and very conservative University of Dallas, where he earned a BA in Painting. It was chosen without too much thought except that his sister received a scholarship there. With the second school, Mitchell knew he wanted to receive his masters degree in printmaking at an art school that was near the big art centers on the East Coast. He chose Tyler School of Art, Temple University in Philadelphia, for the proximity to the major museums, and because Tyler had a campus in Rome, Italy.

Because his family moved frequently, and spent all their time in smaller towns, seeing an art museum for the first time was a life-changing experience for Jeffry Mitchell. The museum was the Kimball Art Museum in Austin, Texas. He was, as he admits, “blown away” by the architecture, designed by Louis Kahn, as well as the collection. It all began to make sense. There was so much history. When he visited Philadelphia and Boston, he began to understand the impact of history on art and culture.

While at Tyler, Jeffry would frequent the galleries in New York City, Boston, and Washington, D.C. Here is where he began to look at art seriously. He spent his second year at Tyler’s campus in Rome, Italy. Then everything fell into place. Rome was a giant art gallery, so full of history. He loved every second there. After graduation, all his classmates moved to New York City. Mitchell didn’t have the ambition at the time to live in New York. “It takes too much money, too much drive,” he stated. Besides, his large family (he has four brothers and four sisters) lived in Seattle. His friends were there, so Seattle became his permanent home.

Jeffry Mitchell didn’t expect to make money as an artist when he graduated from Tyler. He thought he would do “this” for a while, and not worry about what lies ahead. In reflection, not worrying was part of his immaturity, and it haunted him for a long time.

Mitchell remembers when things were financially pretty grim. One time he received an unrestricted $9,000 grant from the Banky Foundation; not a lot, but it made a huge difference to him. He was very low at the time, and this grant was a life saver. He paid off some debt, and got a cheap used car, because he didn’t have a car at the time. A car was crucial, especially carrying large amounts of clay. Unless its a lifestyle choice, Mitchell reflects, not having a car is demoralizing. He did what he had to do to survive, including manual labor to receive medical benefits for an old knee injury.

While recuperating from knee surgery, Mitchell heard of an opportunity to teach English in Japan, whose culture fascinated him. Mitchell fondly recalls his experiences teaching English at the cultural center in Nagoya, and studying ceramics. He lived in the small pre-war town of Seto which is the site of ancient kilns. The Japanese word for ceramics is either “yakimono” or “setomono,” a center for ceramics. Mitchell explained that the Japanese pottery foundation is based upon Korean potters who were kidnapped and forced into slave ceramic labor. Seto had numerous Koreans who had lived there for generations. He attended several tea ceremonies. The tea and ceramic heritage is based upon Korean customs brought over from those kidnapped Koreans. Mitchell reflects on his life in Japan and believes there is something remarkable about the tea ceremony, where one take the time to ritually consider the ceramics, the tea, the hospitality. To him, the traditional lifestyle seemed very civilized. Jeffry Mitchell shares a photograph of some work he did 20 or 30 years ago, and a recent magazine illustration on international culture. They are remarkably similar, and reflected his Japanese experience with its colors and shapes.

He first thought of himself as an artists in Japan. If someone asked him what he did, he replied, “I’m an artist.” The words felt right. Though he wasn’t making a living as an artist, he was learning ceramics, and working for a potter there. Surrounded by the simplicity of rural Japan, Jeffry Mitchell felt infused in the process of art. He remembers the procedures involved with ceramics there. How technically challenging, how labor intensive.

If he were to put a label on the style of work he produces it would be in the traditions of decorative and folk art, with a good dose of personal experiences. His work does have a crafty appearance, an homage to his childhood apprenticeship with his grandmother, and covers three major disciplines: printmaking, illustration, and ceramics. All are very detailed, with animal and plant motifs, a reflection of his Scandinavian heritage. Illustration, he believes, is challenging; there is an idea to consider before one begins. Drawing and watercolor are immediate, and he likes that. Ceramics are technically challenging because the process is long and involved, which can be tiring at times. Mitchell’s ceramic pieces are made up of numerous individual designed and fired plants, small animals, and the word “HELLO,” which is a societal way of communicating; sending a message for a response. Then there are his elephants.

His proclivity for elephants come from somewhere; but he is not sure. Babar, the fictional character created by Jean de Frunhoff comes to his mind. Dumbo, the floppy-eared Disney character is a favorite. But he is also fascinated by Asian interpretations of the pachyderm. In fact, Asia has a powerful force on him. Why?

While he doesn’t believe in it per say, he does think reincarnation is a good explanation why he has specific predilections and attractions to other cultures, especially Japanese. He loves the superflat artists, and specifically mentions a show curated in LA by Michael Darling, Seattle Art Museum modern and contemporary curator.

Most of his work is in white. When asked why white, he remembered when he was 18, and a student in Rome, he visited Switzerland. Robert Ryman [American b. 1930] had a show there. All his painting were white. “There must have been 40 paintings exactly the same size,” Mitchell recalls. “They were square. They were hung high. It was like heaven. Some people would say, ‘Oh my God, what is this?’ But I thought it was sublime. I thank that is one reason I use white. I think my own reason might be that I am kind of fair, it is somewhat self portraiture.”

Being gay, and coming out when he was 28 years old, has effected his process. He was “deep asleep,” as he remembers, perhaps because he was closeted for so long. His art is a reflection on his sexuality, and his desire to liberate himself on his uptightness about sex that is associated with his Catholic upbringing. Some of the images are visualizations he has while having sex. There are holes, which represent sphincter muscles, and penises are occasionally embedded and camouflaged in his intricate pieces.

Because the family moved a lot when he was young, Mitchell was never confronted by school bullies like most other gay kids. But it still makes him uncomfortable. He recently completed a residency in Knoxville, Tennessee, that was at a private school. Mitchell recalls, “The kids were great, but I still get tense when fourth grade boys beat up on each other in a friendly way, and call each other ‘faggot.’ I still get that ugh, crunchy feeling. In high school, it’s all about fitting in, and to be labeled a faggot was awful. People sometimes called me a sissy. But no one knew I was gay.” Everyone in his immediate family is accepting and loving. He has a niece that just came out. A sister is very religious and would prefer he not be gay. “She thinks,” Mitchell admits, “it’s curable or something, or a deficiency. Isn’t it funny? It is so sick, that you wouldn’t want everyone to be fully themselves like the wonderfulness of that.”

His selection for the award by the Portland Art Museum was through a process of a nomination by anonymous arts professionals in the area. The museum contacted different art pundits and asked for their advice, and he was nominated. Mitchell has a sketch of what he will exhibit in June. It is a cabinet of sorts, made up of stacked boxes, with a Northwest Native American design on the solid side. The opposite side of the box will be open and contain a lot of small white ceramic pieces inside. “One thing on one side,” he pointed to the sketch, “and one thing on the other.” Jennifer Gately, Portland Art Museum’s new curator of Northwest art, has seen the sketches, and knows what to expect. Mitchell is excited that he was accepted. The twenty-eight finalists received studio visits, and from that, they selected five artists. When asked about the studio visit, he said, “You know, it’s like a job interview, its hard to read.”

Though he is considered an established artist, Mitchell has always worked other jobs. He’s done manual labor, taught art at the University in Seattle, and taught English in Japan. For the past ten years, he has worked a couple of nights a week in a Seattle restaurant as a wait person. The owner was a student of his, and Mitchell has watched the restaurant become very successful and high end. Some of Mitchell’s work is in the restaurant, and he has sold pieces there.

He now thinks he can make money from his art. He is realizing what it takes to be a successful artist: believing that people want it; it is worth something; they will pay you money for it; and working with people who will sell it. Perhaps it was his time period in school, but Mitchell admits he used to have this distorted idea about art and money. “If you made things for the market, that was a betrayal of something.” He remembered, “But it’s okay, now. The Internet is changing the world.” He admits he needs a website, and he is in conversation with someone about that. “Everybody asks about your website,” he laments.

His advise for artists? Don’t go out on such a financial limb as he. Don’t be financially irresponsible. Twenty years ago there was more of a margin to live on the fringe, with a possibility to make money. It is important for everyone to make money, and there are different ways to make it. He has seen others become demoralized and ground down by years of living in poverty. He admits that he thought the poverty path was the freer path. Now he knows that is wrong. And, he advises, look at those who have succeeded. What got them there?

While in school, Mitchell didn’t get much mentorship from professional artists on what it took to make it in the art world. Nowadays, he reflects, they do have some classes on the business of art. The best lessons, he believes, are from those who have made it, not necessarily from a university job. While he had a great experience in art school, Mitchell has seen situations where artists have stopped doing art, have gotten into the educational system and have become bitter. They became anti-art. Having rotating, visiting artists, Mitchell reflects, is really a practical role model for the students.

He has gotten over the anger of someone who is making it as an artist with what he might believe inferior skills. “It doesn’t get you anywhere,” he states. What does amaze him is when he sees artists who work hard at their craft and are good, and who aren’t collected as widely as they should. It baffles him. However, he is not focused on the negative, he is focusing on making money.

There is room for everyone, he believes. The standard commercial gallery is not the fit for everyone. Things have really shifted, he admits. The gallery is still the focus, and its where people look. Criticism is broadly assimilated from work in a gallery network and institution.

Jeffry Mitchell is represented by two art galleries: James Harris in Seattle and Pulliam Deffenbaugh in Portland. How was he selected? They selected him, Mitchell shares, “That gallery thing is always by introduction. Cold calling never works that way. Someone they trust and respect says you should look at this work. They look at the work, and the relationship either goes or it doesn’t go.”

Jeffry Mitchell is having a remarkable year, and when his friends toast his birthday and his show at the Portland Art Museum, Mitchell can reflect that he has come a long way from small town hopping with his family. He has learned to collaborate more with artists, and to be more open and help others. Mitchell is all about community, and he is trying hard to help emerging artists. As an undergraduate, he had a powerful teacher who gave a lot of meaningful advise, but he wasn’t ready to listen. Years later, those words finally sunk in. It’s good, he believes, to have suggestions.

Scott Rohlfs, More Than Meets the Eye

His portraits stop the viewer. Those giant eyes are riveting, and so realistic. People gasp in awe. They have never seen anything like Scott Rohlfs’ Big Eye Beauties before. A room full in a solo show gave one viewer the creeps. “They are all looking at me,” she said. Others have asked for personal portraits made or custom tattoos designed. For the artist, Scott Rohlfs, life is truly grand.

Pop Surrealist, Scott Rohlfs didn’t think of becoming a professional artist, even though he loved to draw. In high school, he took all the art classes he could and received A+’s. He spent his time doing “boy” things like playing sports, and didn’t sit around drawing. He confesses most of his friends didn’t even know he loved art.

Life was not easy for the Rohlfs’ family. Scott’s dad deserted when Scott was two, and the family moved from Alaska to Manteca, California to be near relatives. His mom struggled to make ends meet by working three jobs. That left his older brother, Brooks in charge of the day-to-day existence. Scott remembers eating the sack lunches that Brooks fixed, while everyone else was dining on cafeteria food.

Though he has the artistic gift, Scott Rohlfs didn’t hesitate to go after blue collar jobs to help the family out. Upon graduation from high school, he worked in a fast food joint for a while, then got a job in a warehouse, which, as he remembers, was backbreaking, and going nowhere.

His life changed when he met and married Shelly. Scott realized he needed to be the bread winner, so he went to technical school, and came out an internet guru. Landing a job as an IT specialists for a fast food chain, Scott was finally making the money and enjoying life. During his spare time, He was drawing and painting. People liked what they saw, but he never considered quitting his IT job to focus on art.

In 2006, Shelly convinced him to move to the more affordable Portland area, where she had a corporate job. He could quit the world of IT, and focus full time on his real passion, his art. At first his style was all over the place. He was trying to find himself as an artist. Then he realized that he needed to focus on one style, and slowing develop it. He began painting in a Pop Art style with simple objects and bright colors. His work was starting to sell, but he became bored with the same things. That’s when he started painting his Big Eye Beauties.

At first he used photographs of Shelly as inspiration. Then he glanced through some of Shelly’s fashion magazine, and watched TV commercials looking for provocative women that would inspire his art. Slowly his skills increased. He began to add other elements, such as tattoos, flowers, and bugs. They were a hit, and Scott Rohlfs the Pop Surrealists was born.

Always wanting to tweak the style, Rohlfs has begun to make his art a bit more edgy, due in part to his love of the lowbrow art. The tattoos were a start to this transition. He has also begun using skulls, and even snakes in his art. As soon as the paint is dry, there is a request for one of his works. If the original sells, Scott Rohlfs will sell a print. One of his biggest print sellers is a portrait of a Beauty lying down with her still beating heart held in one hand. His work is in the homes of CEOs, and Ron English, a lowbrow artist who was recently at Art Basil Miami, owns a Scott Rohlfs.

Scott Rohlfs is available for commission work. He can be reached through his agent, Barbara Hart. Her email address is info@art2hart.com.

Kehinde Wiley

Photo courtesy Kehinde Wiley Studios
Kehinde Wiley’s massive oil paintings cannot be ignored. The urban dressed African American males stare down from their place inside the canvas challenging you to turn your eyes away. “Look at me!” the paintings say, “I will not be ignored!” And I suspect Kehinde Wiley is content that he has caused the viewer to look closely at the role reversal he has created. For me, when I saw his work at the Portland (Oregon) Art Museum, I became transfixed.

His paintings were hung on the top floor of the museum, on the far east wall. They were massive portraits of young urban-dressed African American males posed in the style of the Renaissance masters. The negative areas were filled with a delicate pattern, that somehow related to the subject of the work. Surrounding each portrait was a massive, intricately designed frame, similar to what would be found on a classical painting. What struck me were the images themselves. The men were larger than life, and posed in a way that when the painting was hung, the image would look down on the viewer in a smug, self assured way. Wiley’s work was detailed. Each portrait looked like a photograph. Each young man looked haughtily superior to the viewer.

I sat down to absorb the room. I was surrounded by Kehinde Wiley’s work. Why was I so fascinated? The detail was as real as one could achieve. But it was not only the detail. It was the unusual juxtaposition of young urban black men in their street clothes, posing as if they were famous subjects painted by the Renaissance Old Masters.

I had heard of people becoming affected by art, but it had never happened to me. Yet here I was, mesmerized by something so different, so beautifully executed, I had trouble pulling my eyes away. I felt as if I was in the room with greatness.

I wanted to more about the artist. His bio stated he was 30 years old, and had a Masters Degree in Fine Arts (MFA) from Yale University. Upon graduation, he had exhibited in some of the most prominent galleries in the United States. At 30, he was literally an instant success.

Kehinde Wiley came from South Central Los Angeles, one of the toughest neighborhoods in the area. His mother was aware of Wiley’s talents, and enrolled him and art classes where he excelled. He received a Bachelors of Fine Arts from San Francisco Art Institute, and his MFA in 2001. Scores of articles and interviews have been published on his “Hip Hop Art,” and he has appeared on television. When I heard that Kehinde Wiley was going to visit Portland and talk about his work, I could hardly wait to see him.

My initial impression of him is that he is not a tall man, has a soft, gentle voice, and is smart, and articulate on what inspires him and where he is going with his craft. With large projected images on a nearby screen, Wiley explained why he painted the way he did, and what was the purpose.

Throughout history, Kehinde Wiley explains, portraits were painted of famous or rich white men. They were depicted in their grandeur, many times along with their most valuable possessions. As a child, Wiley would visit museums and art galleries where the portraits of these powerful white men were shown. Wiley recalled one of the turning points in his career was when he saw Gainsborough’s portrait of The Blue Boy at the Huntington Library. The language of this portrait was a disturbing to him. He felt alienated; he could not relate to the image of a white, wealthy man.

In his research, Kehinde Wiley realized that the paintings of wealthy people were purposely distorted. He noted that the works by Titian and Tiepolo depicted the gendership of the subjects. The message had been codified to wealth and power--the wealthy would commission paintings where they would be draped in their finest jewels and dress in their most expensive clothing. The men would pose in a less masculine manner, yet still have the power associated with their wealth. In these Old Master paintings, external beauty was emphasized along with wealth. In fact, throughout history, gender and male beauty is abundant in paintings.

Wiley desired to create a statement that connected social adjustment, while keeping the integrity of the painting’s theme--money and power. He decided to transcribe Hip Hop and early Gangsta Rap into his version of a visual opera. When the Old Masters painted, they come from an era where the artists pushed the boundaries while placating the patrons. Wiley placed societal hypermasculine African American urban males in less masculine poses associated with these classical paintings. He pushes the viewer to consider the class struggle these portraits represent. Film producer, John Morrissey owns three of Wiley’s works. Morrissey believes, “[Wiley’s] engaging a cultural style associated with excess, where diamonds or bling become the status symbol that may have been a royal crest or emblem on a jacket in the past.”

These giants of history could also be mounted on horseback. For example, Kehinde has referenced David’s Napoleon Crossing he St. Bernard Pass with his Napoleon Leading the Army Over the Alps. What Kehinde Wiley found interesting, was that the equestrian figures were painted much larger than the scale of the animal. Here again, one witnesses the power of the individual who overtakes the powerful equine figure. And the animal itself is shown in a more effeminate fashion, with a delicate fetlock, and flowing mane. It is the juxtaposition of the masculine rider overpowering the feminine horse.

Kehinde Wiley not only realized the importance of masculinity in secular depictions, he noticed that religious-themed art elucidated the figures in a form of rapture; that light played a tremendous part in the illusion. He is continually pushing the boundaries and creating tension between figuration and decoration.

Wiley is also interested in wall paper, and how it is used in art during specific time periods. Some of the images showed the patron’s possessions behind him in a landscape formate. Other’s wealth was added as background elements of the interior scene. Wiley began to create a false world of flattened out space that was intricately detailed in a pattern that related to the history of the theme.

Massive frames that reflect the historical period are designed and placed around the portraits. In keeping with his masculinity theme, Kehinde Wiley uses sperm in some sections of both the frame and within some of the portraits, reducing masculinity to its basics.

His subjects are taken from the street and are between 18 and 34 years--the demographic age used to drive the cultural economy. They are selected because of their self possession. Kehinde discusses his idea with each one: that of using the subject as the centerpiece for a counter-culture viewpoint of great art. Wiley then gives the youth a book of classical painted images, and has him select which pose he would like to assume. If the selected subject model appears to be more aggressive, softer, gentler suggestions are shown.

Wiley has a team of apprentices working with him, similar to the Old Masters of long ago. His apprentices do most of the work, leaving Wiley the task of the portrait itself. The subject is photographed, and digitally altered. The backgrounds are painted as well as the body. The massive amount of work completed requires a large team of skilled craftspeople.

Kehinde Wiley has taken his Brooklyn, New York studio global and into China and the African countries of Dakar and Lagos. His most recent work outside the United States is in China, where he has imported African American models to assume the politically inspired classical Mao era propaganda art. In most of the poses, the models are smiling--an artifical-looking grin--to convince the population that the Communist leader’s rules are better than the old ways. Wiley has his models pose in exactly the same way, with grins. However, to show how artificial these grins were, Kehinde video taped the models grinning for 30 minutes. After a short while, the grins became forced. It was almost impossible to have a sincere smile. That is when the image was captured. There is a similarity between Eastern propaganda and that of the West, and Wiley wanted to show it using his Brooklyn models. African Americans from urban cities are beamed by satellite throughout the world and have become an international stage. The images used in his Chinese paintings question identity both locally and internationally. In his Chinese-inspired paintings, Kehinde Wiley incorporates the traditional Chinese textile backgrounds with lacquer frames.

Wiley now is considering the world as his studio, by bringing teams to work together. His African studio uses models from Dakar and Lagos. He is engaging the local population and including studies from the sculptures made during colonialism. The backgrounds will focus on the the patterns and colors of Africa, and the frames will be of local woods.

While he has certainly become an international sensation, fame has only given Wiley the opportunity to explore more areas of art and society. kehinde Wiley continues to push himself in territories where he doesn’t feel comfortable and, by doing so, challenges the viewpoint of what is acceptable culture.

All graphic images are used with the permission from Carrie Mackin of Kehinde Wiley’s studio, www.kehindewiley.com. I want to thank her for her assistance. For current information on lectures, exhibitions, and special projects, visit his website.

Bill Dean, Master of Nostalgia

Bill Dean is a comfortable artist to be around. He is like an old shoe, or that baseball glove you finally broke in. His art, like himself, is part of a comfort era many collectors seek: a peek into the past that triggers nostalgia. Bill Dean is an assemblage artists who finds old treasures that people have donated to thrift stores, or who’s estate doesn’t want. He takes these forgotten pieces and puts them in a three dimensional framed box setting that in itself is a bit of history. When I visited his studio, he had four such pieces. Each one was a one of a kind. And each one triggered a distant memory. Just like talking to Bill Dean, I felt a comfort looking at these boxed objects, and realized that here was something that one would include in one’s collection.

Growing up in Oakland, California, Bill’s college major was art, but didn’t finish his final year. He moved to Portland in 1972 to distance himself from the People’s Park demonstrations in Berkeley. He had no car, and no umbrella, which was somewhat of a disadvantage, because 1972 was an exceptionally wet winter.

His big break came in 1977 when he was selected by the Portland Art Museum to exhibit in the Arts of Portland show. He submitted a drawing. He met, and later became friends with William Jamison, the influential Portland restaurateur and gallery owner. Jamison liked Bill’s work, and would include it in group shows. Through him, Bill met many individuals in the Portland art scene, including Jane Beebe, who owns PDX Contemporary Art. He attributes much of his success to them. However, Dean did not take his art seriously, focusing his energies on his day job of sales and public relations.

He did not become serious about art until he was 52. Before that, Bill would dabble creatively, and talk to others, and make a lot of friends. Because of his ability to make and keep friends, people would contact him for gallery shows.

Good as it appears, having friends cannot keep you in the art scene, there has to be talent, and Bill Dean does have talent. He goes about his work like a detective, remembering one piece he has and matching it with others to create his boxed memories.

On a given Saturday, one will find Bill at estate sales, or thrift stores where he heads straight for the back storage room—usually the place, Bill confides, that is not on the most buyers’ must see list. In these hidden corners is where Bill finds the memories that make up his art. These old pieces tell part of a story and, when all the elements are together, Bill places them neatly in his custom boxed assemblages for new owners to enjoy. The fun, Bill admits, is in the hunt, and as a result, he is more interested in the intuitive part of the process, rather than the analytical.

Many of his art pieces include old photographs. These photographs are matched with objects that might go with the person in the picture. For instance, a person dressed in a baseball uniform might find a new home in a box with a baseball, ticket to a game, and an old glove. Bill states that when he sees something, and buys it, he files it away in his memory bank until all the components are there. Then he builds the entire piece.

Bill admits he has a pretty good visual memory for the objects he has collected over the years--and he has them neatly placed on shelves or in drawers to be picked out when he has collected a few others that trigger a similar response.

He has no muse, however Bill Dean admits to being influenced by Marcel Duchamp, John Cage, and Joseph Cornell. As a child, Bill’s dad took him to museums, and he was, and still is, a voracious reader, and admits that Whitney Otto, author of How to Make an American Quilt, was also an important influence, as a supportive friend and collector.

Dean is at an age where he is comfortable with himself, and he doesn’t take himself serious, like so many younger people. He visits art shows, reads journals, and likes sculptures. No one single artist on the scene today seems to command his attention. He thinks a lot of the current art is media and consumer driven—art for art sake. For amusement, he plays the ukulele, and has a group he plays with who go to retirement homes to entertain.

Those who are interested in getting hold of Bill, can contact him at billwhichway@yahoo.com.

JOROKO-Loaded Art!

The artist who is known as JOROKO grew up in Denver, Colorado, and, aside from a few years in Baltimore, calls Denver home. He comes from a family of creatives. Both his mother and brother are artists. Though he considers himself introverted, when it comes to his art, he is passionate and persistent.

The type of art JOROKO creates is called “LOADED ART!”, and it has evolved from the anarchy of punk rock groups he was associated with, to the assemblage techniques that combine found object, stenciling, and a plastic/gauze wrap. The idea started forming in 2001 when he was working on his senior college thesis statement for his class. His classmates were all doing something similar, and he wanted to be different. At first he used upholstered items and metal. Then it evolved into the use of stenciling He was drawn to American Flags in many positions, the decayed-look of stained gauze/plastic wrap, and punctured holes. When JOROKO used the flags, the work made an impact on the public, which some associate with the politics since 9/11. After the 2004 elections, “LOADED ART!” was born. Some viewers were angry, some were touched. The idea of protest art--art for change, and not profit--was formed.

The minimalist colors used in his work reflect back to his Punk roots, where most of the images were in black and white. Even in college, he preferred working in black and white, and hated using pastels, enjoying charcoals instead. Now, “Loaded Art” continues the narrow color palette, with the stained gauze background wrap that is a light coffee-tan color, stenciled lettering (again from Punk and graffiti artists background), and black images. The piercing or punching of holes are stained in black. There may be a touch of color, but nothing to distract the viewer from the impact of his statement, which at this time is anti-war, anti-big business financing the war, and anti-Bush.

JOROKO discovered galleries are reluctant to show his work because most are conservative. He finds he works best in co-ops and collective galleries. It is apparent that in those venues, the artists seem more passionate about their work. But any time JOROKO has an opportunity to show his art, he will hang it. Some of the more popular sites are restaurants, because there is more exposure in the restaurant than in a gallery opening night.

His art has evolved, from more abstract upholstery and vinyl materials, to stained gauze with shapes, of what it is today. He finds, if people see the work and connect with it, there is an emotion. If someone is offended, they move on, although galleries have been told to take JOROKO’s work down, and some have put a disclaimer on their entrance, nothing really extreme has happened. JOROKO recalled in Baltimore, a man punched one of his pieces, impacted by what he saw.

Does he make money? Yes and no. JOROKO states that he does have a day job, which pays his living expenses. Again, with the Punk influence, he believes that making art for change, not profit, would defy his core beliefs. The sale prices of each work is affordable, although in some higher end galleries, where there is a higher commission and a minimum selling price, JOROKO has been known to raise the price a bit. These sales, and those from other sites, enable him to make enough money to construct his pieces. Traveling expenses comes out of his day job’s wage. When he lived in Baltimore, JOROKO could drive his artwork up and down the east coast, as major cities were close together. Now that he lives in Denver, he must connect his work to galleries by mail. Shipping costs add up quickly. The nearest art town to Denver is Kansas City, Missouri, about 600 miles to the east. When I met him in Portland, Oregon, he was 1250 miles from home. But he tries to make every show if possible.

JOROKO recalls one of the most interesting shows he was involved in took place in 2004 in Washington, D.C. A group called Art-O-Matic (www.artomatic.org) took over a 100,000 square foot building that was going to be gutted, and brought in 700 artists. The artists could do anything. For three and one-half weeks, the all volunteer organization ran the show. There were even bands and poetry. It was amazing.

So how does he make contact with people? JOROKO is always looking for venues for his work. He scours the internet, reads newspapers and magazines, responds to calls for art, juried shows, and solicit to galleries who have ongoing shows. Whenever possible, he tries to make personal contact with gallery owners who can place a face with the name. But the one source that seems to work the best for him is his place on MySpace (Myspace.com/j0r0k0). Someone else had the O’s in his name, so he substituted zeros for the O’s. He has a following in Denver and on the Internet, however he doesn’t know of any other similar artist in the Denver area.

In fact, the Democratic National Convention will be coming to Denver in 2008, forty years after the violence-proned convention was held at the same sit. There is a push for a Recreate ’68 Group, an organization which is recruiting protesters for the 2008 convention (www.recreate68.org). JOROKO is looking online for alliances for his protest art. He is concerned that because there will be extensive security, his art will not be seen within miles of the site. Even the galleries in Denver are reluctant to show his art at that time. JOROKO believes they want to capitalize on the convention.

I asked him if he could meet with anyone about his art, who would it be and what would he talk about? He said he would like to talk to the jurors who make the art selection decisions in the higher, more prestigious galleries and museums. However, upon reflection, he admits that this idea seems a bit off. He feels if he is accepted into a more prestigious gallery, his art would suffer; it would be polluted.

His current project is about four foot square. It incorporates telephone poles, holes, and backwards US flags visible through punched out holes. A teenaged female suicide bomber is positioned up front reading her last will to the viewers. These more figurative pieces are getting more recognition. JOROKO’s art is evolving, and seems to be more recognizable to more viewers. To them, each object has a meaning. There tends to be stronger viewer interpretation, which is good for his protest message.

JOROKO has not been shown overseas, however he is involved with the New York based Antagonist Movement (www.antagovision.com) whom he met online and saw in New York City, and who plans to put together a traveling show that would go to Berlin, Germany. JOROKO will ship some of his art to New York to be apart of their show, and then include his work as it travels to Berlin.

Something that is scratching the back of his mind is the 2008 election. He figures he has about 1-½ years of good protest art going before the national presidential election. After that, he is not sure what he will do. He began his art using vinyl, upholstery, and found objects. Perhaps he will go back to that.

JOROKO invites you to view his website, www.JOROKO.com. Comments are always appreciated, as he reads his email daily. And, of course, he is always looking for gallery space.