337 Project: The “good” part four.

For the fourth and final review of my favorite works from the 337 Project, I’ve chosen another work without any attribution. So I’m going to call what may be my favorite thing in the show, Untitled (Door). And I could probably take an educated guess as to the artist. But I’m not going to. Why ruin the intrigue of unmarked art?

Untitled (Door) was just inside the main entrance to 337 Project. Its strange content, skillfully-rendered imagery, and visual foolery asked a basic philosophical question about the entire 337 affair: “Is this art or just a great big circus?”

The painting's zaniness seemed strangely at home in the overwhelming clutter of the 337 Project, even while standing out from the mess. The trompe l’oeil style made a Magritte-like, this-is-not-a-door statement. And what about that rabbit with the paint brush? I say why not! If four-year-olds are artists then bring on the rabbit painters?

The front of Untitled (Door) was just the beginning. The door was bolted in place so it couldn’t swing freely, but if you worked your way around to the back, you found equally engaging art. It was dark and sinister with fake flies and a face peaking through a small window. A cleverly painted note appeared to be taped to the door and read, “I’ll be gone for 2 weeks—Back on the first. Thanks!” I just wonder if the whole place won’t be gone by then.

Untitled (Door) accomplished a lot in a little space. It was not only interesting on its own but also as part of the surrounding chaos. Maybe someone will rescue that happy rabbit before the wrecking ball strikes.

337 Project: The “good” part three.

As I mentioned earlier, much of the art at the 337 Project was not labeled, making it difficult to give credit. So I’m calling this piece Untitled. And I have no idea who created it. But for a complete list of all participating artists, you can visit http://www.337project.org/artists.html. Trying to guess the artist might be fun. And feel free to choose your own title.

I liked Untitled because it seemed grounded in the past. The old floating boots acted as spirit guides to the building's previous inhabitants; remembrances of characters that wandered the rooms in their heyday. But now, just like the structure, they’re old and worn out.

Or, maybe floating boots are just cool.

337 Project: The “good” part two.

In the continuing review of the best works from the recent 337 Project, today’s highlight is Growth by Michael McGlothlen and Eric Williams. Located in an attic-like area of the building, this work was open to the sky thanks to missing sections of the roof. The work felt like a mash-up of Tara Donovan and Andy Goldsworthy.

Layers of ordinary building debris such as sheetrock, shingles, and particle board were arranged to create a canyon, a geological record of the building’s history. The cliff tops were covered with soil from which grew occasional blades of grass. With its theme of new life springing from the past, and as the farthest work from the entrance, Growth was a rewarding last stop in the 337 progression.

337 Project: The “good” part one.

Impermanence of Containment by Shawn Porter was recently on display as part of the 337 Project. (Only a handful of works in the show were clearly labeled. I’m not sure if this was because it was too difficult to label all the work or because the artists didn’t want their names attached. Oh wait, I’m trying not to be “Mr. Art Snob.”)

Impermanence of Containment works because it speaks simultaneously to the ideas of destruction and potential. Created from concrete spheres and thin wooden slats, the work reminds one of rubble, the aftermath of an explosion or wrecking ball. Installed in a soon-to-be-demolished building, the sculpture questions our throw-away society, our willingness to just tear it down and build something new.

At the same time, the tension created by the wooden slats and the cascade of concrete spheres wonders what might happen if the walls were gone; what might spring into existence if the materials could escape from the current confines.

Mr. Porter used free space and clean walls to distance him from other work in the building, creating an oasis amid the overwhelming clutter; room to contemplate our obsession with new and better.

Art house.

Let’s say you have a building to tear down. Why not give it a chance to say goodbye? That’s the idea behind the 337 Project. Adam Price, the owner of the building at 337 South 400 East, decided that before demolition, he’d invite local artists to transform the structure into a temporary exhibit space. 337 was open for just 11 days with big crowds and long waits to get in.

The result? Let me start with this; I love the idea and congratulate Mr. Price on such an ambitious project. I was also happy to see such a response from the community, particularly the attendance. I like to complain that Salt Lake can’t support visual arts projects because people just aren’t interested. The 337 Project may have changed my mind (but only a little).

The art was a mixed bag. Most of the work was pedestrian, resulting in an exhibit that was messy and temporary. I guess that’s expected when the work is to be destroyed in a week or two. But for me, it was too messy, a free-for-all that seemed to say, “it doesn’t have to be good because it won’t be around anyway.”

Part of the problem was the extreme inclusiveness, with more than 100 artists and no selection process. I talked to one artist who gestured toward a nearby four-year-old and said, “He created a work.” No offense, but four year olds don’t create works of art, they color on the walls.

Much of the work was street art. While I like the idea of street art as fine art (see Haring, Basquiat, and Banksy) not all street art can make the jump. At 337, the good and the bad were so indistinguishable that neither made much of a statement. It would have been more effective if one artist had created a vision for large areas and invited graffiti artists to help realize that vision.

I know what you’re thinking, “Oh listen to Jeff, Mr. Negatron, Mr. Art Snob. Who made him the expert in scheduled-to-be-demolished-building art?” So before you totally hate me for criticizing the cute child artist, let me try to redeem myself. There was some good stuff. So in the next several days, I’ll select some of the works I liked best and write brief reviews. I’ll try not to gripe too much.

On the road to nowhere.

I like to say that if you’re in Worland, Wyoming you were on your way to Worland, Wyoming. Worland, my home town, is not on the road to anything. OK, maybe if you want to take the long way to Mount Rushmore, you might find yourself driving through Worland. But trust me; the trip to Mount Rushmore is long enough, no need to make it any longer.

I recently travelled to Worland to visit the family and help prepare for the closure of the family business. While the trip can be long and boring, I decided to make the best of it. So, I stopped often on the road to nowhere just for the experiences.

If you’ve travelled through central Wyoming in wintertime, you’re likely familiar with South Pass. In the winter it can be treacherous, even closed due to snow and wind. I planned a trip to Wyoming in April but had to cancel because the pass was closed for three days.

But in May, with wild flowers blooming and mountainsides greening, South Pass was beautiful and dramatic. At about the highest point of the pass, you can take a 10-mile detour to South Pass City. This mining town hit its heyday in the latter part of the 19th century and was largely inhabited until the early part of the 20th century when the town achieved ghost-town status.

Now, as a Wyoming State Historic Site, visitors are once again welcome to town, which now boasts a population of “about 7.” The best time to visit is from mid-May into September, when the town is officially open, allowing entrance to many of the buildings and talks with the “locals.”

During my visit, in what seemed like a set for a television commercial, the local UPS truck showed up for a delivery. I would have preferred the stage coach or at the very least a Pony Express rider.

South Pass City isn’t the only thing to see on the 10-mile detour. Atlantic City is just a short drive away and also shares a mining history. The town is still home to a local population with a strange sense of humor. I was actually mooned by a local while driving through town.

It may not be worth taking a trip just to see South Pass City. But if you’re already in the neighborhood, the detour is worth the time.

I wanna be a genius—or maybe just a little crazy.

I know a guy who is a painter. He’s not a professional painter but he paints. He used to paint the occasional scene, a canvas here and there; but not long ago he started painting obsessively. He painted multiple portraits of the same person in hopes of capturing some intangible. He saw a woman in a park and snapped clandestine photographs of her so later he could paint her over and over and over and over. The walls of his house are now covered with unsold canvases. No one buys his paintings but he continues to paint. Relentlessly. Obsessively.

I’m intrigued by this devotion to creating. I can’t decide if it's the spark of genius or if it’s someone who’s gone a bit crazy.

Recently, in a strange park, I contemplated the questions of genius vs. insanity. Gilgal Garden is near downtown Salt Lake City and features sculptures by Thomas Child. The sculptures were an attempt by Child to give physical form to his religious convictions. Included in the gardens are 12 sculptural arrangements and over 70 stones engraved with scriptures, poems, and philosophical texts.

Work on the gardens began in 1945 when Child was already 57. The sculptures consumed much of the artist’s time and money until his death in 1963. Many of the stones in the sculpture garden are monolithic (weighing up to 62 tons) and were gathered from Utah mountainsides and streambeds. Heavy machinery and herculean efforts were often required to get the rocks to their current resting places.

The result of all this effort is strange. From the sphinx with the head of Joseph Smith to the artist’s self portrait paying homage to the masonry trade, Gilgal Garden is a weird stew of styles and ideas. I wouldn’t categorize the work as genius. In fact, I’d argue that the sculptures are just OK. But there may be genius in the creative effort. Or maybe, Thomas Child was just a little crazy; a man who didn’t know when to stop; a man who couldn’t stop until he expressed something. Either way, Child left behind something engaging, even mesmerizing.

Maybe someday I’ll be struck with such obsession, be it genius or otherwise.


Visit Gilgal Garden at 749 East 500 South in Salt Lake City.