Daily Breeze, Aug. 2004
Putting
the
p-a-i-n
in painting
BY COREY LEVITAN
PHOTOS BY BRUCE HAZELTON AND COREY LEVITAN
Everybody is an artist, said the German postmodernist Joseph Beuys.
I'm currently testing his theory at the Art Walk in Hermosa Beach, site of my debut as Pablo Sticcaso. Master of the stick figure, Sticcaso's paintings have won prestigious art festivals in France and Newark.
The Art Walk is the Pier Ave. street fair where serious local artists gather to show how their years of schooling, training and practice have paid off.
I'm not here for that reason.
"Come see ze paintings!" I yell in Inspector Clouseau's accent. I'm wearing a moustache and beret from Lelands of Hermosa Beach, and no deodorant. (Oh, come on, I kid my French readers! I was never down with that freedom fries stuff!)
The top painting in my
sidewalk display is Self-Portrait (Acrylic On Canvas, 2004). It was inspired by
my greatest love, as is everything in my life. (That aspect of my character
requires no acting.)
Self-Portrait is priced at $1,250.
For most of these adventure columns, a professional trains me in what I'm about to try. But modern art proved that painting is about expression, not training or even talent. The need for realistically documenting the world for posterity was obliterated by the advent of the camera.
The Museum of Modern Art in New York is full of colored dots on canvas. Who can't do that? And that Miro guy? I painted better than him in third grade.
I'm not knocking art by saying that, but celebrating it.
OK, maybe I am knocking it a little.
The bottom painting in my display is House (Acrylic On Canvas, 2004). It is inspired by a house. Like Self-Portrait, House contains the Sticcaso trademark: a sun with a five-spired halo.
"Zees is how you tell ze painting is an original Sticcaso," I tell passersby, explaining that hundreds of four- and six-spired forgeries litter disreputable galleries worldwide.
A "sold" sign hangs on House. This shouldn't surprise anyone familiar with the real-estate market in L.A., where anything remotely resembling a domicile goes for ridiculously more than it should.
"Don't mess with perfection!" screams Ed Hart as I go to add a smidge more green to the grass. Hart is trying desperately to get into this article, although I already promised him a place. He lent me the easel, paint and a spot in front of his hair salon, Maximus. And he'll probably be kicked out of the local business association for his complicity.
The middle painting in my display isn't even a painting but a "tester," a textural sample of various oil-based paints made for Walser's Art Supplies, the Torrance store that kindly donated the canvases for me to foul.
It's priced to sell at $750.
"For you, I make special," I tell one inquisitor. "Only $700."
The most common reaction to my work is of the euphemistic "that's interesting" variety.
"It's very simple and nice -- with an emphasis on simple," says a fellow artist, who declines to give her name.
Art Walk judge Ron Gardiner calls my work "magnificent," adding, "and your comedy is great." He proceeds to pin a ribbon on my shirt.
"You're first place!" he says, before removing it and proclaiming, "for one second!" (Your comedy is great, too, Ron.)
But the reactions that really interest me are the honest ones.
"I wouldn't let you paint my house!" barks one man. (He's probably the owner of the Jeep Grand Cherokee parked nearby, the one with the "Boycott France!" bumper sticker.)
"Twelve-hundred-fifty what?" asks another man. "Lira?"
Little children are particularly fascinated -- no doubt because they paint similar things in art class and want to know whether they're sitting on a goldmine, too.
"See mom? I told you, $1,250 -- just for that!" says Alex Yee, 8, of Yorba Linda. He is shushed and told to be polite.
Hart has hired nine models
to display colorful extensions he calls "hair art" during the street fair. I grab one
of the models, Stephanie, and begin
painting a portrait of her that is destined to soar in value upon my death.
A little gold for the hair, some red for the lips. That elephant who paints has nothing on me. (Well, OK, maybe she does. Tarra -- of the Elephant Sanctuary in Hohenwald, Tenn. -- at least signs her paintings. I forget to.)
"Is this some sort of social commentary or protest?" asks one observer.
"Wee wee, I agree!" I reply, pretending not to understand. "Sticcaso can paint you next!"
The woman grows hostile.
"You're not French!" she insists.
To prove her wrong, I profess my love for Jerry Lewis and forbid her from using my airspace.
But I've painted myself into a corner. She asks me a question in what turns out to be her native tongue.
"I'm sorry," I reply after an awkwardly silent few seconds. "I do speak French but I am 'ard of 'earing."
I excuse myself. It's time to check out the competition anyway. Below the Esthetic Laser Hair Removal sign a couple doors down stands Brian Sisson, whose oil paintings include the Hermosa Beach Pier from a distance ($1,300), a swingset on the beach ($1,500) and a garbage can on the beach ($1,000).
Little did I know my work was competitively priced.
"Your paintings, they are good," I tell Sisson, who does not question my painfully bogus accent. "But not good enough. They require stick figures."
Sisson laughs. He's either been tipped off or has the best sense of humor of anyone at Art Walk.
I return to a shocking sight: six people staring seriously at my canvases. They seem to be searching for hidden, intrinsic layers of value justifying the pricetags.
"The supervisor at my Getty
internship in Long Beach told me that if you look at a piece of artwork for
three seconds, it's considered art," says Candace Allen, another of Hart's hair
models.
If that's true, my paintings belong in the Louvre. At one point, an Asian couple approaches, snapping dozens of photos.
People didn't pay such attention when I stood next to my work. This leads me to believe that, had I not dressed and acted like Salvador Dali's unwanted love child, I might have actually sold a painting or two for my asking price.
"Oh, I told you it was a joke," a man tells his female companion upon my return. The fact that this question was even in play blows my mind.
A stick figure I painted an hour ago, in just 10 minutes, is on sale for $1,250!
Suddenly, a bidding war erupts. Two women lay into one another.
"I'm taking it!" screams Hermosa Beach resident Gila Katz, waving a wad of money at Self-Portrait.
"No, I saw it first!" the other woman yells.
Did I mention I put them up to this? (Katz is a friend of Hart's and her rival is Candace Allen.) Their bad acting gathers a crowd of about a dozen.
None of the spectators is fooled. In fact, they seem upset that our comedy routine isn't more elaborate -- like at Venice Beach, where performers rap insults to you on roller skates while their friends pick your pockets.
Confession time: Believe it or not, nobody purchased House. After the Art Walk, I hang the unwanted painting on the wall in Maximus. In fact, I switch three of the salon's paintings for mine, trying to get Hart to agree to $3,250 in haircuts as a trade.
"I'm sorry," Hart replies. "I am 'ard of 'earing."
