C.B. Murphy  .:. Writer

Everyone is excited about the show, at least officially. Armando, the best artist, is refusing to sell any, we’re not sure why. It could be because of his English, though it’s not that bad. It’s possible he wants to send things back to his family, a lot of the Mexican guys want to do that. The show is always mixed emotionally. The guys that have been around a long time know it’s anticlimactic as there are so few people that are allowed to come, mostly the guards and staff and a few people that manage to make it in. They have to check driver’s licenses, etc. about a week in advance.

Jack left me in charge today so some of the guys tried to take advantage of the situation by asking for special favors and passes that I knew nothing about. Plus the guard that inspects the sharps (knives, scissors, etc.) was a young Asian woman who was new to the job and neither of us knew what we were doing exactly. She didn’t want me to ask any inmates for help, I guess I understand why.

The Character First exercise had the drawing of a chipmunk on it with it’s mouth full of nuts. It was drawn in a fourth grade illustration style that made me cringe. I’m not sure. I thought for sure the guys would have a heyday with that chipmunk, but they pretty much ignored it. I said you guys live in small spaces, like chipmunks, sort of as a segue and sort of in the spirit of irony, but they said yeah we do. They started telling me about Cahuga’s cell which was notoriously messing. Cahuga used to come around until the incident where we were accused of having gang meetings in the art room. He’s a handsome fellow who is an excellent artist. I was surprised his cell would be so messy. They said he was a swamper (janitor) and they get special privileges like having dirty rooms. Apparently.

Rob keeps talking about Terry Redlin and I always have to remember who he is. If you’ve never heard of him, that’s understandable, but he has a huge following. I would say he does realistic art and he does, but it’s more like realism with a touch of Norman Rockwell and a touch of Bob Ross all by way of nature art. I see that there are many art worlds, and that in some ways there are thriving mini-markets that function the way the fine art functioned (I’m imagining in the Left Bank of Paris days). People buy this stuff, treasure it and like it. People learn to paint like Bob Ross. And you have to be a snob not to have some appreciation for Norman Rockwell. Though none of it has much to do with what I’ve always thought of as art expect it’s “better” than art I could do, technically speaking. I think Southwest Art is another functioning world, where the excuse of region and décor shrinks the “world” down to something where you can trust your taste. I suppose even tattoo art is not unlike a functioning mini-market too. It might be the place where personal commitment is highest. That art—whether you call it a cartoon or illustration or whatever—is inscribed into your flesh. That’s commitment.

In the end I find it confusing and inspiring to be around all this. Inspiring in that you see the futility of caring about the “big” markets (fine art, museums) and confusing in that my taste, for what it’s worth, is clearly in the minority and sometimes hard to stand up for. How can I argue against Terry Redlin who bought a building for $11 million and donated it back to the city?