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.
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.
* denotes required fields
We will process the personal data you have supplied in accordance with our privacy policy (available on request). You can unsubscribe or change your preferences at any time by clicking the link in our emails.
This website uses cookies
This site uses cookies to help make it more useful to you. Please contact us to find out more about our Cookie Policy.