Unwanted Stealth
Some art and artists flying below the radar deserve to be spotted
by
Cork Marcheschi
Since my childhood I have always wanted to know who was the originator or who made something their own. I don't know where this predilection came from but it was and is still with me. I wish I could say that this is kinda like prickly heat or gas but it’s not. These obvious omissions trigger mechanisms that dwell not in the mild irritation zone. NO! It is more of a spiritual laxative that will not let me rest till I have thrown open the world's window and screamed – LOOK AT THIS!!!!!! When I see mediocre artists/musicians being recognized for work that was created by others that have remained nameless, I go nuts. Fortunately, my wife likes the person that emerges when I am on a crusade or I would be living alone.
My earliest memory of this was in 1953, hearing "Shake, Rattle 'N' Roll" by Big Joe Turner and then hearing it by Bill Haley. My eight year-old body felt a difference. I would be lying if I said I knew what the difference was but the Joe Turner version spoke to me. Then it was "Tutti Frutti" by Little Richard and Pat Boone – what a joke! Lawrence Welk had so much more soul than Pat Boone. There was no question about that one. I found myself discussing the gentrification of music when I was only eight years old. I have no idea what my arguments were but I can remember becoming incredulous when COVERS were played of R'n'B originals. I showed them: I left the party. Talk about commitment! As I got older, my focus became more defined and I was able to defend my position. I was saddened because most people didn't care. People seemed to be happy to accept what they were given. As far as they were concerned, this was the original because it is what they heard or saw first.
Here are three major examples of what I’m talking about:
#1 In 1995, a friend brought me to see the Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy. This Hip Hop band was supposed to have melded Jazz with Hip Hop and Rap. They were terrible – the jazz players provided barely audible wallpaper. I left the Filmore Auditorium very unsatisfied. We went back to my home and I told my friend about Oscar Brown, Jr., one of the jazz greats from the late 50s. His use of language, lyrics and the ability to put it together with melody was astounding. So I played a few songs and the few songs became four albums. The next day I went out to buy the CDs of the albums I had played the night before. To my surprise, Oscar's albums had never been transferred to CD!? I called my friend Alicia Clancy at KCSM (America's only all-jazz station). She assured me that the CDs had to exist – it wasn't possible that they didn't…but they didn't. I went home with an itch deep in my head and it stayed with me for a couple of weeks. I was about to install a large sculpture in Madison, Wisconsin. When that was done I would have some mad money. Others would have invested in their retirement: I invested in my life and went looking for Oscar Brown, Jr. It took two weeks of intense searching, calling friends at Fantasy Records, Ben Sidran the jazz musician and musicologist, Robin McBride at Mercury Records – I called everyone I could. I decided to contact Columbia Records and find out about licensing "Between Heaven and Hell" and "Sin and Soul," two classic Oscar records. I finally got to somebody who controlled that section of the Columbia catalog and they just didn't give a shit about me or Oscar. I was just a pest from San Francisco.
Eventually I got kind of a tip. Oscar's daughter was supposed to be living in Chicago. I called the number and got a very tentative Maggie Brown on the other end of the phone – every answer was a maybe or just left hanging. It became clear that I needed to assure her that I wasn't a bill collector, or the IRS or the representative of some other nefarious organization. I convinced her that I was somebody that wanted to know if her dad was still active because I wanted to get his music back out on CD. After about 20 minutes Maggie gave me the name of motel in LA where Oscar was living.
I remember so well the first time I heard "Dat Der" and how I stopped working on the roof in Millbrae till the song was over. I was unloading a truck load of drywall and carrying it up three floors. The first two notes bounced out of the crummy radio and the focus of the day went from cursing the 16 tons of drywall to a lift in the spirit. I watched the tops of the eucalyptus trees over California Drive and let the song in. I bought the album on the way home that night. Now 30 years later I was about to ask Oscar Brown, Jr. if he would like to make a CD with a total nobody who dabbled at making CDs of obscure, esoteric music. I make the call, a deep sleepy voice answered. I introduced myself and told him that I got his number from Maggie. There were palpable spaces in the conversation. Oscar was still working but he had fallen through the cracks 20 years earlier. He knew better than to hang his hopes on a flake with a hair-brained scheme, but I just might have been his best bet at that moment. Yes! I really heard all of that in the spaces that surrounded our words. I recognized those gaps and awkward pauses from my own career. Oscar was going to perform at Wheeler Hot Springs in Ojai, California. I told him I would drive down from San Francisco and see his show.
Two weeks passed and I went down to see his show. I walked in and Oscar was standing at the piano with his band around him. I headed his way and he spotted me. He couldn't believe that I had come. He stooped as he reached for my hand, his tone confirmed his disbelief that someone might be coming through for him.
We went on to make a CD, booked him a cross-country tour and consequently shamed Columbia Records into re-releasing his catalog. Oscar worked the next ten years and enjoyed renewed interest in his music. He passed away last year. The CD was called Oscar Brown Jr., Then and Now.
#2 In 2003, I was looking for a Glenn Lukens bowl. While searching, one of my contacts suggested that I get in touch with George King, a pottery collector of American Art Pottery and Studio pottery. George didn't have any Lukens but he did have some John Foster. George would send me a few images via USPS, as he did not have a computer. A few days later I opened the letter and was stunned at what I saw. Modernism at its best from an artist I had never heard of. I am not setting myself up as a know-it-all, but I am pretty familiar with the major and mid-level players in the Studio pottery world. John Foster didn't ring any kind of bell. I called George and he gave me a bit of history on Foster. It was interesting, but then he dropped a bomb, John Foster had only one hand. It was like the beginning of a bad joke: a priest, a rabbi and a one-handed potter walk into a bar....
I was bitten. There was a biography written about John Foster that was published in about 1982. I found a copy on line. I was really impressed with what I saw and his story was the stuff of fiction. I figured that the best way to find more information on Foster was to go to the owners of pieces that were pictured in the book. Most were better than 75 years old and did not have computers. So I went online and attempted to get everyone's address (their names were on the captions of photos in the biography.). Foster came from Detroit and taught in Detroit so I narrowed my search to the Detroit area. I sent out 40 letters with self-addressed post cards. Soon about 20 returns came in and I found out that many of these people knew John Foster and admired him and his work. The couple who wrote the book about Foster were former students that went on to become artists and teachers themselves. What became clear was that John Foster inspired a lot of people, was a really smart guy and was extraordinarily talented. He made money while he was in school doing patent drawings. He started art college in 1917, and he also started working at the Ford plant. While at the Ford plant he lost his right hand in a gear cutting machine. He was right-handed and painted and drew with his right hand. Henry Ford was present when the accident occurred. Ford recognized John Foster as the son of one of his (Ford's) boyhood friends. Ford had his chauffeur drive Foster to the hospital in his limo. This saved Foster's life. Henry Ford offered John Foster a job for life with Ford. John Foster was put in charge of the development of porcelain sparkplug insulators. This was Foster's introduction to clay. By 1939 John Foster had left the Ford company to pursue his life as a ceramic artist and teacher.
John Foster developed a technique for throwing pots with one hand and the stump of the other. He was so talented that he could do whatever it was that he set out to do. This was the kind of guy that could piss you off if he was in your class because he could do whatever he wanted. Foster was unique in the field of Studio pottery. This was because he was schooled in the fine arts, not craft. His inspiration came from the world of fine art. Because he worked with his one hand, it was assumed his total output was small, maybe 300 finished pieces. This made it problematic for collectors and history to find the artist. After a couple of years of calling, and writing letters and emails, I was able to write a feature on Foster for Modernism Magazine. I was also able to find eight pieces of Foster's work for my own collection.
Garcia Lorca spoke of the power of duende. [The New Oxford English Dictionary defines duende as 1. A ghost, an evil spirit; 2. Inspiration, magic, fire.] I identify this power as a demon.
When the demon is in you it is possible to do almost anything. John Foster became the one-handed potter and Pegleg Bates became the one legged tap dancer. It is amazing what can happen when you surrender to your demon!
#3 Since 1971, I have been fascinated with the Art Deco vases of Camille Fauré. Fauré’s vases are staples of the Art Deco pantheon. If Art Deco was Sun Records, Fauré would be Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis or Carl Perkins. I found it very strange that I could never get any in-depth answers about Camille Fauré’s history. Other artists like Jean Dunand, Donald Desky, Raymond Loewy, Edgar Brandt and the Wiener Werkstätte were easy to find, but nothing on Fauré except high prices at auction houses and antique dealers. So why no Fauré? It kinda got under my skin. This work was so beautiful and present in all major shows and collections, how could there not be any primary source info?
So I spent 30 years looking under rocks and asking questions. Frequently my questions were directed to very knowledgeable people and the answers went from, "Yes they are beautiful, but I really don’t know much about them," to the overly-knowledgeable babblers who actually knew nothing but were not able to admit that. In 1973 I started showing my art works in New York and many cities in Europe. I traveled with the work and everywhere I went, I asked about Fauré. I never got anything that you would consider useful and this was strange, because at this time the company still existed and was producing good work.
No significant information came my way until the advent of the World Wide Web. In 1992, Michel Kiener of Limoges, France, wrote a text for an Art Deco enamel show in Limoges. It was the best thing written to that date and it covered all of the good Deco enamellers, including Fauré. I didn’t come across the book till 2000. I went on line and I found the author and started a correspondence. He had some good info but we were coming at Fauré from two different directions. It became clear to me that I needed to write a book about Fauré and to get to France and crack the mystique.
I got lucky when I met David Phillips, a French-speaking professional photographer of great talent. David made all the French speaking calls and eventually took the great pictures that are now in the book.
The Fauré adventure took me deeper than I had ever researched before. Not only was I piecing together the history of the business – and that's what it was; I was also trying to solve the riddle of how they made these "IMPOSSIBLE OBJECTS" (the title of my book). I knew that other authors would go the minutia route and find lunch receipts from the Fauré staff parties. I was not going there. I wanted to have pictures that showed pieces that had never been in print before, tell the story of the studio in a narrative fashion, and present the technical magic that made these pieces the most unique objects to come out of the Art Deco period. Finally, after 35 years of head scratching, I have completed the book and am looking under other rocks.
Artists frequently get little in return for a life of contributing questions and reflections to the culture. Knowing someone's name may be the only reward a creative person gets. You don't have to part with your money but you do need to exercise your brain. Artists serve a function: just like maggots we are needed to keep the balance of the human race.
So the next time you listen to one of your favorite songs or look at a great piece of art, ask:
- Who wrote the song?
- Who painted the picture?
- Who died because people were afraid?
- Who built their castles on the bones of the innovators without ever mentioning their names?
You can google from your Lazyboy while you drink beer – there is no excuse.
Camille Fauré: Impossible Objects
by Cork Marcheschi is available directly from the publisher and autographed copies are available from Fine Art Registry.
— by Cork Marcheschi
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September 14, 2007
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