Over the years, I have had the good fortune to have met and known some pretty good artists. Their personalities and styles vary considerably, but the common similarity is that they are fascinating people. In boarding school, I knew few guys who were really gifted, and one of them is now running a very successful art gallery in Manhattan. Presently, I have three friends whose art I love. One, a sculptor and multimedia artist, clearly my most outgoing, gregarious artist friend, is a guy named John Tracy. I met John in Buffalo over thirty years ago, and he opened my eyes to so many different aspects of art. He once introduced me to the bizarre performance art puppetry of a woman named Pat Oleszko. I watched her do an outrageous x-rated performance art rendition of Homer’s Odyssey once, using among other things, naked bodies for props. It could have been a disaster, but it was in my opinion, brilliantly entertaining. Among other things, John works with fired pieces and has done some amazing works in porcelain that have been displayed in prestigious galleries. One of his many styles was to make impressions in porcelain out of found objects and scrap. Anything from a child’s toy to an impression from a glass jar might find its way into John’s work, and in this way, his spectacular art becomes a sort of archeological map of the times in which it was created.
Another artist I met and befriended in Buffalo is a gifted painter named Peter Stephens. I rarely buy art but I invested in one of Peter’s painting because I simply loved his work. For me, this is the only reason to buy a work of art, because it moves you. Peter’s work does that for me and one of his beautiful paintings, done with various tints of shellac, hangs over the bed in our Toronto apartment. I’ve known Peter for a long time as well, although I’ve not seen him much since I moved to Toronto. I always had a lot of fun with Peter because he has an acerbic wit and, like me, he has little patience with fools. I caught up with him about a year ago while I was in Buffalo attending to the needs of my failing Mom. He had a show of new paintings and I went to the Buffalo gallery to see them, but Peter wasn’t there. When I saw him a few months later, I learned that his mother had passed away shortly before mine did, and we shared a consoling hug about that.
The third artist, featured in the header of this week’s report, is a guy named Frank Riccio, and I got to know him when I was attending Trinity College in Connecticut. The above work represents one of his many styles, though I am most familiar with his prints from (I believe) woodcuts. He’s done some beautiful work in this medium. Together, we belonged to one of the cooler fraternities on campus. Our chapter of DEKE allowed women in as equal members (to the scorn of the national organization), had the highest grade point average on campus (no thanks to me), AND threw what were widely regarded as the wildest and most entertaining parties. DEKE definitely had the best live bands. Of all of my artist friends, Frank is probably the guy with whom I have spent the least amount of time. Ostensibly a quieter more peaceful human being, Frank is clearly a still-waters-run-deep kind of guy. He is, among other things, a successful illustrator of books, specializing I think in children’s books. I know he has collaborated on one or more of his own children’s books, and as we all know, that is an art unto itself. I feel I have come to know Frank better through our written correspondences after college than I ever did while we attended Trinity. As an avid collector of hand stamps, I always enjoyed a letter from Frank, because it was usually hand-stamped with an example of his art.
I realize my boring recollections of a few friends will be meaningless to most of you, but I mention them because art has changed me. A few weeks ago, I talked about meaning as something to which I aspire. I’ve been writing and performing songs since about 1982, and within the framework of that medium, I have had some measure of my growth (or stasis). Admittedly, it’s not much to hang my hat on, but it is something. It has made me more aware of creativity in others, and it has made me a better observer. To be able to monitor the tangible evidence of my changes is a great gift, and knowing these artists as I have, and watching them grow and develop, has been one of the joys of my life. I have known many artists - talkers, actors, singers, sculptors, painters, writers. Some are “successful,” most are struggling, but one thing they all have in common is that they are not boring.
- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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