THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, February 10, 1996 TAG: 9602090058
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY TERESA ANNAS, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 172 lines
THESE ARE portraits of people at work: Latex brains on pink and blue platters. A cut-up photograph mounted on iron skillets. Snapshots of a person peeking through business envelope windows atop an overflowing filing cabinet.
No doubt, it's a broad idea of portraiture.
But these were among the results of a unique project undertaken by the Virginia Beach Center for the Arts - to pair artists with non-art professionals, such as chefs and administrators. The assignment: To meet and explore each other's manner of working and, finally, to create a portrait of the other.
While the artists created as per usual, the non-artists could make a portrait using any means or materials they chose. The participants made use of their options: Installed in the arts center's galleries for the exhibit ``The Art of Work - The Work of Art'' are filing cabinets, videotape, compact discs, gutted television monitors, glass shelves, time-management charts, cutout mirrors and hospital sheets.
And, of course, paint and canvas. But the painted canvas is signed by a chef, Sydney Meers, owner of The Dumbwaiter in Norfolk.
And that's just the Hampton Roads portion. Besides the eight local pairs, the exhibit contains work portraits by 15 duos from the Washington, D.C., area. Actually, it was after the center's curator, Jan Riley, booked the D.C. show that she got the idea to enlarge it with local participation.
The show makes a point about how seemingly different occupations actually have much in common. In addition, ``The Art of Work'' is a showcase for nontraditional portraiture.
``Portraiture has to do with making a portrait of an individual. But it doesn't have to be a representation of an individual,'' stressed Riley. ``It can be a symbolic portrait, using pieces from a life to evoke a personality. It can be very abstract. It does not have to be recognizable. But I think all of the portraits in this show are accurate, whether we recognize them or not.''
When Norfolk artist Bob Sites set out to portray Judi Browne, senior vice president and chief marketing officer for First Hospital Corporation - Options Mental Health, he did not exactly draw Browne's face.
Instead, Sites ordered a brain-shaped Jello mold from a catalog, and with it made a series of latex brains. He set his eight wiggly, rubber brains on eight colored plates, each one labeled with one of Browne's business concerns. The brain with a rubber bat stuck in it was labeled ``Batty/Eligibility.'' One surrounded by marbles was labeled ``Lost Your Marbles/Risk.''
In a statement installed by his work, Sites explained:
``I tried to envision the most familiar colloquialisms for mental health problems as literal physical manifestations. Then I attached to them the most visceral brains I could construct. Setting them on plates was analogous in my mind to providing a service.''
Now it was Browne's turn. After meeting with Sites, the top administrator was amazed how Sites found time for two careers - teaching art at Norfolk State and then making his own multimedia art.
So Browne, a Virginia Beach resident, made a portrait just as abstract as Site's. She made a construction with three glass shelves. The panes are printed with images that have inspired Sites, along with a time-management chart concocted by Browne showing how he might plan for an art show, Riley said.
Sites achieves so much because of his use of ``project management principles,'' wrote Browne. Surprised by this discovery, she said the encounter changed her thinking about artists.
Previously, ``I envisioned artists waiting for creative thoughts/ideas to emerge by spending as much time as possible in remote, romantic settings,'' she wrote. Now, Browne has ``a better sense of `commonality' regarding the way we work.''
``The Art of Work'' project originated at Pyramid Atlantic, a print workshop and gallery in Riverdale, Md. The show opened there in April, then traveled to various sites around Washington, D.C. It was organized by D.C. area artists Richard Dana and Susan Goldman, along with D.C. attorney Lewis Segall.
The original show includes established D.C. artists paired with a variety of non-art professionals, from a policewoman to National Public Radio cultural reporter Susan Stamberg.
Last week, Riley said she booked the show because she ``liked the linking of art into the community in a concrete way. And in a way that involved a number of people who might have prejudices against art. And to actually get them involved with real, working artists.''
In pairing area folks, the center staff ``thought about their personalities, and about their interests. But it was mostly intuitive,'' she said.
Most of the local pairs were strangers. Many of the participants are well known in the community, such as the duo of Virginia Beach real estate developer Andrew Fine and Portsmouth artist Deborah T. Small.
At the opening reception last month, Fine and Small stood before the crowd of 575 guests to testify.
``I thought he was probably some stuffy business guy,'' began Small, who appeared in striking contrast to Fine. She wore funky red eyeglasses and artsy patterned clothing. He wore a dark suit and conservative eyewear.
For their first meeting, Small said, ``I was late. But he was waiting patiently. I thought, `This is a nice guy,' '' Small told the gathering.
``After I got to know him, not only did I realize he was a person of diverse interests, but a very intelligent and compassionate person.''
Her multimedia portrait of Fine shows his evolution through his ages - as a boy with his toys, as a devoted family man and as a businessman in triplicate.
Installed nearby was Fine's rendering of Small, also a multimedia piece. As suggested, Fine utilized the tools of his trade - a filing cabinet, files, business envelopes. He split his portrait in two. The filing cabinet depicts Small's life as a commercial artist; her face, photographed by Fine, is tucked into and peeking out from envelopes. Her bills are visible in a bottom drawer; this is the job that pays her bills.
On the right, Fine has conveyed Small's fine art life, symbolized by a zillion vivid cutouts of her hands near examples of her work.
``Debbi has to work in a 9-to-5 every day,'' Fine said. ``So I came up with this bifurcated image of this cleaved person. Then I discovered other parts of her. You know, her studio is more organized than my office. But that's how she manages to keep two careers going.''
Fine's wife and children are artistic, he said, so he's familiar with the creative process. Yet, ``until it came together, I was sort of un-nerved.''
One night, he woke up and began fretting about the project. ``From 2 a.m. to 6 a.m., I put the whole piece together in my mind.''
To put his own creative vision on display, he said, ``was a self-validating kind of thing for me.'' The resulting friendship was a bonus.
``It took about 30 seconds to discover we were two old souls who had been around for centuries,'' Fine said. Since then, ``we developed this seamless relationship that I'm sure will continue.''
If Fine and Small came together like two old souls, chef Meers and fine art photographer Brenda Wright were a funny odd couple.
``She's too organized for me,'' said Meers, who wears nutty shirts and has an explosive, stream-of-consciousness way of expressing himself. ``We were sitting there for our first meeting. I noticed she had on these beautiful, expensive shoes and these nice pleated pants. And she was real quiet.''
Next time, they met at Wright's Norfolk studio and frame shop, called Shooting Star. After a brief visit, Meers dragged her to a wine-tasting party. ``And I got her a little tipsy. She loosened up and was a ball of fun.''
``Drunk? Not in his lifetime,'' said Wright. ``I think he would love to see me get that way. He would love to see me out of control.''
Wright felt a little disappointed that Meers didn't do the process as prescribed by the arts center. They never had the serious dialogue about work she had wanted. Meers said he was just too darned busy.
Even still, both were fascinated with each other's portraits.
Meers, who is color blind, made a large and very loose painting of the slightly fictionalized life of Wright in the wee morning hours the day the painting was due.
``I have to do my paintings in five hours or less, because I can't remember what colors I've used.'' Meers only knows his palette by reading the tubes.
His canvas tells tales on Wright - how she folds her fancy socks, hates garlic, and has both a dental lab in Chesapeake and a Norfolk studio. Meers titled it ``Brenda Louise.''
Wright took a deep breath. ``Louise is not my middle name. My dental lab is in Suffolk. And I do not fold my socks. I roll them in a ball.''
For her part, Wright made a huge color photographic portrait of Meers, and cut it into squares. She took out the face square, and replaced it with his face in black-and-white. ``I did that to represent his color blindness.''
Then, she mounted each photo square on the back of a black cast-iron skillet.
``When I saw that, my mouth fell wide open,'' Meers said. ``It blew me away. I was speechless. It was nothing anywhere near what I thought she would do.
``And I don't know how she got them all on there straight. Mine would have all been crooked.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color staff photos by Christopher Reddick
[photos of Sydney Meers; Brenda Wright; Andrew Fine; Deborah Small]
For complete cutline information, see microfilm.
Photo by BRENDA WRIGHT
Bob Sites' portrait of Judi Browne, administrator for a managed
mental health care firm: eight wiggly, rubber brains. One
surrounded by marbles was labeled ``Lost Your Marbles/Risk.''
by CNB