This Year's Outsider Art Fair Is More Wide-Ranging Than Ever In Its Definition of 'Outsider'
One wall of Dutton gallery's booth is committed to works by Australian bushman Selby Warren (1887-1979). Warren, who took up painting at age 76 and was discovered at 85, created memory paintings-executed with brushes made from his wife's hair-that incorporate such materials as mud, sand, cardboard, and grass clippings.
With my deepest apologies to all artists who want their work to speak for itself, in most cases the story behind its creation plays a big role in whether or not the end results stick with an audience. This goes double for most self-taught artists, and the late Rose deSmith Greenman (1898-1983) is no exception, as her first solo gallery show in New York makes clear.
Greenman simply didn’t make art until she began showing symptoms of Alzheimer’s in retirement. As the illness worsened, her dedication to drawing intensified—a phenomenon made more curious by the fact that every one of her subjects was either an entirely imagined scene or a rich embellishment of some simple reality she could usually see from her favorite chair.
It’s hard to put a new spin on the art fair. While the cities may change, once you step off the street and into the belly of the aesthetic beast most of these events share an unmistakable uniformity: In well-lighted white cubes, well-dressed patrons open their well-lined pocketbooks to buy well-polished works.
The modern art fair is said to have begun in a hotel: New York’s Gramercy, to be specific, which in 1994 hosted 40 dealers and a refreshment program/art installation offering $2 vodka-lemonades. Anyone trundling through today’s art industrial complex, with its endless cubicles stuffed into airport hangers or convention centers would be forgiven if they longed for a little hospitality with their shopping and networking.
Enter Arrival, the invite-only art fair held from June 12-15 in the tony Tourists hotel, a modernist complex of plywood and glass tucked into woodsy North Adams, Massachusetts. Founded by art dealer Yng-Ru Chen, artist Crystalle Lacouture, and advisor Sarah Galender Meyer, Arrival offered some 36 galleries a hotel room of their own.
I am happy to speak with Lauriston Avery following his successful recent exhibition at Dutton. Avery is an artist whose work challenges traditional notions of material and space. Through an intuitive and deeply personal process, he transforms unconventional materials—often those found in everyday life—into evocative, textured works that feel both raw and, at times, meditative. His practice blurs the lines between structure and spontaneity, embracing limitations as a source of discovery rather than restriction. In this conversation, we discuss Avery’s approach to materiality, the role of intuition and experimentation in his work, and how the idea of space has become a vital element in his practice. His work invites us to reconsider what we see and feel in our environments.
Artist Ted Diamond was tragically found in Boston Common, after committing suicide, in 1986. He had been obsessed with death. Fortunately, his one heir rushed to the psychiatric hospital, where he had long been in treatment for schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, to retrieve his notebooks, which are full of watercolor and gouache works, and preserved them for three decades. Diamond studied at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, but never earned a degree, and his only professional contact with the art world had been when he walked into Boston art dealer Stuart Denenberg’s gallery one day in 1966. Denenberg was so impressed that he bought two of his self-portraits.
Formed from lo-fi utilitarian materials commonly sourced from hardware stores and interspersed with found ingredients ranging from faux fur to dust, Avery’s works rely on the subtlety of white, muted hues, texture, light and shadow to express ghostly visages that are at once matter of fact and ethereal. Tightly compressed passages interwoven with structural and rhythmic line interplay over scarred psychic fields where super-sensory, celestial-like figures manifest in material substance and recede into abstraction.
The Art Gallery recently acquired Lake along with two other drawings, Comet and Dog and Goose Flurry, each made in 2023 by Melbourne-based artist Khaled Chamma. Using a graphite pencil and rhythmic movements of the wrist, Chamma builds up concentrations of small lines that ripple with energy. These lines shift in scale, direction and density across the surface of the paper and often cohere into spectral animal forms. Lake can read as whisps and billows of vapour, whirling particles of matter or the synchronised churns of a school of fish. Plumage comes into view in the bottom third of the drawing, and there is an impression of wings flexing in the cleaves between Chamma's roiling marks.
Sonia Dutton, the founder of the nomadic Dutton gallery, echoes Rosenstein’s comments. Her stand pairs two untrained artists from radically different contexts: Selby Warren (1887-1979), who she classifies as “a proper bushman” that began painting his memories after retiring in a rural village almost five hours’ drive from Sydney, Australia; and Rose deSmith Greenman (1898-1983), a hearing-impaired former clerk in Massachusetts who drew obsessively for seven years after the onset of Alzheimer’s disease at age 72.
On the opposite corner of the room, Dutton gallery’s colorful dual presentation of outsider artists generated quite a bit of foot traffic, for good reason. More than a dozen mixed-media paintings framed with scavenged wood by late Australian artist Selby Warren, who lived, worked, and tinkered in the backcountry before picking up the paintbrush in his 70s, hung salon-style on a wall.
Founded by Elizabeth Dee in 2022, the invitation-only fair boasts a newly expansive curatorial team that has skillfully selected 32 exhibitors. Fifteen groundbreaking spaces from around the world, like Alison Jacques, London; Gomide&Co, São Paulo; and Fair Warning, New York (Loïc Gouzer’s deftly curated auction platform), will present at Independent 20th Century for the significant first time.
Without fanfare, a small group of works by an important American artist of the twentieth century were given a rare showing in Sydney last month. Five drawings by James Castle set the tone of The Enclave, Dutton at Darren Knight Gallery, an exhibition that had nothing to do with the Leader of the Opposition but featured eight artists represented by Dutton, New York. Like Darren Knight, Sonia Dutton is an art dealer with a longstanding practice of exhibiting self-taught artists alongside their trained peers and in an understated way this exhibition suggested how prescient the works of the so-called outsiders of the twentieth century were in anticipating the psychology and materiality of much twenty-first century art, especially in the field of drawing.
Rose deSmith Greenman (1898-1983) didn’t start making art till she retired, and didn’t really get going till 1970 when, unable to sleep, she spent hours obsessively drawing flowers, family and plants. What makes her work so fascinating is its unusually delicate balance of the observed and the imagined. If her curling tendrils are as regular as paisley, she makes sure to apply them asymmetrically; if the leaves typically look all the same, the branches are always different.
I first learned about Kevin McNamee-Tweed from the poet Bradley King, who told me they both admired Joe Brainard’s art and writing. Shortly afterward, I received the monograph Kevin McNamee-Tweed: Ceramic Paintings (2020) from the dealer Steve Turner in Los Angeles. It includes an essay by the painter John Dilg, who was McNamee-Tweed’s professor at the University of Iowa and whose work I have written about a number of times. Although they have little in common stylistically, both artists are tonal colorists who share a love for celadon green. Both combine imagination, memory, and observation with their appreciation of the American vernacular, and work in their respective mediums on a modest scale, shunning the post-easel model associated with modern and contemporary painting in New York and Los Angeles.
The pandemic year has brought questions of access and disability rights into new focus, and the art world is paying attention. Recent signs of this shift in awareness include a collective of neurodiverse artists and activists, Project Art Works, being nominated for the prestigious Turner Prize. In addition, two works by self-taught artist Helen Rae entered the collection of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), New York, building on the steady growth of institutional interest in “outsider” artists; last October, the Ford Foundation and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation announced a Disability Futures fellowship. And, a new online platform, Art et Al, provides resources to help institutions, galleries, and other venues become more accessible to neurodiverse and disabled artists.
Alan Constable’s singular sculptures of cameras, telescopes, projectors, and binoculars are imbued with a heightened tactility and inner life. Legally blind and deaf, Constable began constructing replicas of cameras from cereal cartons and glue at the age of eight. To create works in his studio at Arts Project Australia in Melbourne, Constable holds research images or source objects millimeters from his face, committing the form to memory by tracing the surface with his fingertips. Every protrusion, button, and lens of a specific camera model is faithfully captured in intricate detail, down to tiny scrawled lines and letters. Perspectives shift and Constable’s re-interpretations become at times anthropomorphic vessels—totems glazed in lustrous, mossy, earthy washes.
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