An artist’s life can be lonely at times. You can’t help but feel sorry for the poor painters who are stuck in a small studio with nothing but brushes for company. Sure, there are times when an artist goes out and about, absorbing inspiration from other people and places. But unless he’s into Christo and Jeanne-Claude-type collaboration, he’ll end up alone, completing his project mano a canvas.
Artists like John M. Dunnan and Robert Lange get around this by placing an occasional easel in their gallery space; Dunnan’s sits right by the window, so that he can watch King Street shoppers go by as he works. Others, like abstract painter Brian Rutenberg, nip out for a cup of coffee as often as possible, still dressed in paint-stippled coveralls.
At least those artists are confined by choice. Others don’t have that luxury. Art facilitator Phyllis Kornfeld has collected nontraditional pieces created by a group of people who are cooped up through necessity, with an eight-by-eight-by-16-foot workspace and a limited choice of materials ranging from soap miniatures to woven cigarette packets. They’re the inmates of low-to-maximum level penitentiaries, all channeling their energies into acts of creativity.
Cellblock Visions curator Kornfield describes the art as “miraculously fresh,” free from art school rigidity or media trends. The eclectic output is more Oz raw than Prison Break slick, varying from high-school-level watercolors to ambitious folk art tableaux. Most impressive is the use of materials, which include hankie canvasses, tattoo ink, and toilet paper.
The convicts’ teacher is an amazing woman with almost 50 years of experience, half of that within the prison system. She’ll be in town on Fri. Jan. 19 to talk about the show in the Recital Hall of the Simons Center for the Arts.
It’ll also be interesting to get her take on the show that accompanies Cellblock Visions at the Halsey Institute of Contemporary Art. One Big Self will fill the Halsey’s ground floor, continuing the prison theme with photographs of Louisiana inmates taken by Deborah Luster and text by poet C.D. Wright. Instead of straight mugshots, the photos are imaginative and sometimes fantastical visions of the willing subjects, presenting themselves as they wish to be seen.
Aside from keeping them out of mischief for a short time, the project also enables the prisoners to see themselves in a unique light. They keep a copy of the photo, which is a big deal in a place with no glass mirrors or still cameras. For once they can see themselves as confident, self-reliant, even beautiful.
Both shows have tie-in books and are presented by the Halsey under the umbrella title On the Inside. The exhibition is co-sponsored by Charleston School of Law.
Mike Dweck doesn’t have to work hard to find beautiful subjects. The highly respected photographer has spent decades in advertising and creative management, depicting the glamorous and dynamic culture of surfing. He’ll also be visiting Charleston this week, speaking at a Charleston Ad Federation meeting at the American Theater on Thurs. Jan. 18.
Dweck’s inspirations are the opposite to those of the Halsey’s featured artists. His photographs encapsulate freedom, open space, and the natural world; his recent book, The End: Montauk, N.Y., chronicled ’70s surf life in a perfectly rose-tinted way. Dweck has also produced work that eschews human subjects for mystifying landscapes — some, like “Architecture I,” are so dark or unusual that they become abstract. It remains to be seen what he’ll make of the Washout’s winsome waves.
Help keep the City Paper free.
No paywalls.
No subscription cost.
Free delivery at 800 locations.
Help support independent journalism by donating today.