Joseph L. Kagle, Jr. Essays

“Not knowing art is not the worse thing that can happen to a person but it ranks up there because you never see the splendor, the wonder and the magic of creative thinking. Bubba Jay is an intense person and he has his moments when he goes on a crusade (no, not that kind Crusade where you kills the enemy but the kind where you are just a little mad). This author with his Peace Journey went on the same kind of crusade but I was not mad, just glad to have a work of art that I loved to explore and could share.”

They’ll never know art

When an exhibition reflects only one person's taste, it fails its public

     Maybe it was the hair standing on end or the thrashing of arms, but I knew_, immediately that Bubba Jay was on a crusade.

   Bubba said that he had entered an exhibition in Tongridge, Tex­as, had been accepted, had gotten a 'critique in the mail which in­censed him. So he and Hummingbird Rose had gone to the open­ing.

(Tongridge is a made-up name. Some good people live in the real thing, and there's no use in de­faming the innocent.)

     Upon arriving, Bubba Jay and his wife had quickly figured out what was going on: an art event to forward the taste of one rich do­nor— one person's idea of what art should be. In a small Texas town, one family, one individual, can dominate taste, or at least hold it for ransom.

        That explained the dishonest and unasked-for review of Bub­ba's work.

     I looked over the comments. Bubba had good reason to be an­gry; The so-called insights into Bubba's creative work were framed in 19th century realism and pseudo-cowboy culture.

Instant gratification

      It is," said Bubba of the review, “a reaction pinned to in­stant gratification. If you can't understand something's meaning in five seconds that means it has no meaning.”

      He should have known. A self-appointed spokesperson for the festival had asserted at the open­ing that “no modern art will ever grace our walls. We are proud that our process is non-political.”

     "Sure," Bubba told me. “This person is one judge, chooses the other judge and asked last year's winner to be the third judge.”

     "What will you do about it?" I asked.

      “Burned once is their fault," he recited, suddenly smiling, burned twice is mine."

      Then he added, "I did get something out of the exhibition: material for my book."

     He handed me a bundle of pages, written in the Tongridge­ critique style. They read:

Liquid mud

     "Lack of real color sense. Paint placed on the canvas like liquid mud. No idea of ideal form. It would help you as an artist if you could take some drawing lessons at the Academy."

      "Whose work is that?" I asked.

      "Rembrandt," said Bubba.

        And so it went.

      "Ugly forms. No knowledge of anatomy. Just decoration without meaning. Looking at the work is like drinking gasoline and spit­ting fire. Too abstract. Will never be seen in my exhibition."

     That note was handwritten to Picasso.

    “Unreal imagery. Who has ever seen a man playing a fiddle and flying in the evening sky? Good sense of shading but no tra­ditional color scheme. Unless you change your style, you will never be successful.”

      Who? Chagall.

    “Cannot draw. Will never be an artist. Give it up.”

     This Tongridge-like critique did not have the artist's name. Bubba made me guess. Finally told me that it was a real quote from Vincent Van Gogh's early career when he tried to enter an art conservatory.

     The three of us sat in the grass and considered art which re­quires study, thought and insight. It is art which takes risks but re­wards the viewer by expanding his or her vision.

      We named some art which nev­er would be seen at the Tongridge "competition": Ruben's "Saturn Devouring His Sons" and Leonar­do's “Mona Lisa,” since the experts, were unsure whether the model was male or female or just a cross-dresser.

   “Tongridge is not Fort Worth, where they have four major art museums including one, the Sid Richardson Collection of Western Art, specializing in one collec­tor's taste," said Bubba.

     “Tongridge is in a small town and its museum should be many things to many constituents."

     Finally, Bubba recited a take­off jingle he heard from one brave Tongridge resident:

     “I think that I will never see a painting as lovely as a tree. In fact, unless the prejudices fall, I'll never see art at all.”

     That's the case, at least, at the Tongridge, Texas, “art competition.”