Kevin Orth had walked just 20 feet from the front door of his studio on truck-laden west North Avenue, but he already had the makings of a mobile, maybe the beginnings of a sculpture or the finishing touches for a painting.
At the curb, the 32-year-old artist had picked up a three-inch horseshoe-shaped piece of smooth steel. “It’ll have a musical sound,” he said. In a sidewalk’s crevice, he’d spotted some craggy strips of red plastic from car reflectors; a few steps away, a piece of pulverized metal and, simply because it had “a nice patina,” part of a car antenna.
“So much stuff comes flying off cars and trucks,” he says, crossing the street near the red bridge that spans the Chicago River.
He heads for the railroad tracks, meanders along the riverbank, marvels at a “surreal” bicycle wheel hanging from a tree, all the while filling his canvas tote with more detritus: rusted railroad spikes, a piece of metal that elates him because he sees in it “a Mayan face.”
The dumping ground is his treasure trove; it’s here that he discovers some of what he eventually shapes into art.
It’s the kind of art that fills every wall and even the air space of his third-floor studio in a warehouse. Circular mobiles made of hubcaps and wheel rims that dangle fishlines with dented spoons and light bulbs in lieu of bait. Word paintings that have funky, chunky frames composed of slices of wine crates, courtesy of neighbor Sam’s Wine & Liquors. Old wood-framed windows whose glass panes serve as canvases that are oil-painted with elaborate swirls, birds, dots and dashes. Bottles and more bottles-some still sporting their liquor labels, some trimmed with sequins, buttons, feathers-enough bottles to form a shrine, complete with candles and flowers, fake and real.
There’s more of the same, actually the creme de la creme of Orth’s art, on display at the Terra Museum of American Art on Michigan Avenue, part of an exhibit, through July, called “Reclamation and Transformation: Three Self-Taught Chicago Artists.”
It’s an unusual exhibition for the Terra, generally a haven for 19th Century art rather than the startling street-smart sort of works currently on display.
All three of the self-taught artists-Mr. Imagination, David Philpot and Orth-salvage objects and materials from the urban environment and change them into their own unique art works. Among Mr. Imagination’s creations, for example, are myriad objects made of bottle-caps, including a throne; sandstone carvings; paintbrush people. Philpot carves exquisite walking sticks from “stinkweed,” those pesky ailanthus (Tree of Heaven) trees that thrive on vacant lots; the exhibit includes a forest of his staffs.
Both “Mr. I,” as some art aficionados refer to him, and Philpot are well-known, particularly on the local art scene.
It is Orth who is unknown, even to many in the art community. And in some of those circles his name and work have aroused everything from discussion to controversy and, at least on the part of one person associated with a gallery, “outrage.”
Some question whether he has “arrived” artistically; others admire his talents, wonder if he’s ever shown before. Other questions have more of a philosophy-of-art bent and deal with terminology, the parameters of self-taught art and the definition of self-taught artist.
But the biggest question is quite basic: Who is Orth and why is he in this show?
Turning waste into art
Gerald W. Andelmann, the man who had the idea for the exhibit, decided on the artists and was responsible for getting their work into the Terra, provides the answers.
Andelmann, a collector of self-taught and folk art, is the executive director of Openlands Project, a non-profit organization devoted to protecting open space in Chicago and northeastern Illinois.
One of Openlands’ projects, in conjunction with the Chicago Youth Centers, is construction of a sculpture park and playground on some vacant lots adjacent to Elliott Donnelley Youth Center on South Michigan Avenue. All three artists are collaborating in creating the park.
Andelmann says the idea for a show dawned when he realized what strong ties these artists share: “They’re socially committed, interested in the environment, in the inner city, in working with young people. And they’re people who transform the waste of society into inspirational art.”
Orth, says Andelmann, “on the surface, didn’t have much in common with the others. They’re African-Americans, their work is more recognized and they fit the mold of what you consider a self-taught artist. But their art does hold together because all three use found materials, they’re involved in recycling and transforming, they’re Chicagoans and they’re self-taught.”
Andelmann proposed the exhibit to the Terra Museum and the project got under way.
Jim Yood, art critic for Artforum magazine and teacher of art criticism and theory at Northwestern University, concedes that Orth has generated “special interest” in relation to the Terra show “because one of the controversies in contemporary art today is about self-taught artists, as in `What makes a self-taught artist?’ “
Yood explains that, traditionally, such artists, “from Grandma Moses to Mr. Imagination and Lee Godie, used to be called naive, folk or outsider because they usually come from outside the normal structure of art. Often they were people of color, people not artists by profession, people who did not have much academic training.”
That’s why Orth is a surprise in the Terra show, he says. “Some of the proponents and collectors of self-taught art prefer their artists to come from the streets; they believe their art is formed by their lower class experiences. And so some are suspicious of Kevin. Though not educated as an artist, he is college-educated. He’s very literate, with high verbal skills. His work raises the question: Can anyone be such an artist simply by exercising their visionary skills?”
Orth, he says, is a good example of someone who can.
Art over `credentials’
Victoria Lautman, who hosts the weekly “Artistic License” on WBEZ, believes some may have a problem with Orth because he doesn’t fit “their expectations of what an artist from this self-taught genre should be. Orth doesn’t come from a life of hardship. He didn’t get touched by the gods at some point. He’s a nice, middle-class white kid with a degree who’s making art. Does that detract from his work? To my mind, no.”
And certainly not to Regenia Perry, professor emerita of African-American Art at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, Va., who says Orth is “totally deserving to be in the show. As long as he hasn’t studied art, it makes no difference what his background is or whether he’s a newcomer or not.”
A prominent local art maven, however, argues that Orth’s work “comes from a different wellspring than the other two artists,” who are “real dreamers,” while “Orth takes an idea and tries to make it his own.” It’s the equivalent, he asserts, “of listening to blues in an all-white establishment as opposed to listening to blues in a place where the blues really is the emotional outlet of the community.”
Tom Patterson, curator of the Terra show, says: “There’s kind of a reverse snobbism, actually a reverse racism, among certain collectors who dare anybody to present themselves alongside people of African-American heritage. The thing is that all three of these artists do extraordinary things with castoff objects.”
Orth asks: “Do I have to have a label? Be an `outsider,’ or `self-taught’? Can’t I just be an artist? I’m someone who started painting. And once I started, I didn’t want to stop.”
He’s definitely not an “insider,” he jokes, referring to the local art community.
“I’m kind of a square,” he says. “I don’t dress like artists do, I’m not a socialist, not a vegetarian. I used to have long hair, a thick moustache. But I realized I just looked intimidating, that’s all.”
Chicago’s ocean of refuse
He’s an engaging young man. Frank Miele, who will host a solo show of Orth’s work at his New York gallery in the fall, says: “People are very enthusiastic about Kevin’s work that I have hanging now. They’ll be even more enthusiastic when they meet him. He’s such a neat guy-warm, bright, real.”
The son of a lawyer who played the piano and a mother who painted as a hobby, Orth was born in Cleveland, grew up in Akron, got a degree in English literature from Ohio State University, then for eight years wrote poetry and film reviews, and worked for various regional and weekly publications.
When he “finally got tired of freelancing and especially of living in Akron,” he took off for southeast Asia, visited a friend, was inspired by some signs in Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia, bought some paper, brushes and inks and started painting.
He remembers that when he was 8 or 9, and again in his teens, he had moments when he liked to make things out of “stuff.” But it wasn’t until he started experimenting with a “kind of wild calligraphy” that he knew he wanted to paint.
When Orth returned to the States, he headed for Chicago, simply because that’s where a sister and a girlfriend were living.
“It was when I got to Chicago with its ocean of refuse that I started doing my kind of art,” he says, “and it became obsessive.” He lived in Old Town, then Lake View, worked at Barbara’s Bookstore and scavenged alleys for castoffs that became art.
In the last six months, he’s begun saving “interesting” sticks and anything that suggests music. Somewhere along the way, he taught himself how to play some instruments. He also composes.
Back in his studio, Orth picks up a small red concertina, plays a little, does the same on one of his two accordions, later sits down to play at a keyboard placed across a director’s chair.
He’s confident, he says, that if he turned from art to music and “devoted myself full time to it, I could be in music,” meaning he could make a living at it just as he does with his art.
Cans, light bulbs and color
But for now, he’s concentrating on experimenting with art. There’s a suitcase full of crushed cans that he might turn into something, ditto for bushels of wrenches, washers, light bulbs.
There is color everywhere, whimsy here and there.
Curator Patterson says it’s Orth’s use of color that he finds most appealing. “His work is very festive, highly celebratory. It exudes a positive energy and he communicates that through color.”
Northwestern’s Yood describes Orth’s art as “lively and rambunctious. It has a bit of what I call bells and whistles. It calls attention to itself.”
Kara Hughes, curator of Idao gallery in Bucktown, believes Orth is “in a category all his own” with his word paintings, which she calls “mystical, magical.” The gallery will feature such paintings in a solo show in November.
“Beyond Experimentation: The Art of Kevin Orth,” is the title of another show, this one at Miele’s New York gallery in September. Miele, who represents self-taught artists, says what he finds “intriguing about Kevin is his capacity to see the artistic possibilities in even the most mundane discards. He responds intuitively to how he feels about such things. There is such spontaneity and joy in his work.”
Visitors to the Terra also have had warm reactions to Orth’s works.
Some, including Roger Dell, director of education for the Museum of Contemporary Art, comment about “relating” to the work.
“It makes you feel capable of creating too,” said Dell, “and it is wonderful when art makes you want to mimic the artist. It makes people look at the world differently, makes them want to experiment.”
Terra’s curator Scott Atkinson says the exhibit has been one of the most popular at the museum. “The response-attendance, guest book comments, reactions to all of the artists-has been overwhelmingly positive.” And Orth’s presence in the show, he says, has been “crucial” in proving that self-taught art is not exclusionary.
Orth says the comments in the museum’s guest books-the ones from what he refers to as “real people”-have been the “most moving” to him.
Not that he minds some comments that have come from art pros, either, such as one offered by Patterson: “He was doing well before this show, but now, I think Kevin’s reputation is going to spread beyond Chicago.”
