Would Anyone Like a Spot of Tea?

(Above) Lichtenstein Teapot/Tension, side 1: 8 x 10.5 x 2 inches, knotted wax linen, stainless steel: Courtesy Jane Saur Gallery
(Above) Warhol Teapot/American Beauties, side 2: 9.5 x 9.5 inches, knotted wax linen, stainless steel: Private Collection
(Above) Jim Dine Teapot/side 2: 8.5 x 9.5 x 2 inches, knotted wax linen, stainless steel: Traveling exhibition: Contemporary Baskets from the Sarah and David Lieberman Collection
(Above) Robert Indiana Teapot/side 1: 8.5 x 9 x 2 inches, knotted wax linen, stainless steel
(Above) Lichtenstein Teapot/side 1: 8.5 x 9.5 x 1.75 inches, knotted wax linen, stainless steel: Private Collection

I HAVE KNOWN KATE ANDERSON FOR NEARLY 25 YEARS: An accomplished painter, for the last 10 years she has been spending her days knotting with waxed linen, blending an archetypal art form (the teapot) with appropriated images from what is commonly considered to be “high art.” They are gorgeous, handcrafted objects.

This is Kate’s statement from her Web site:

“Making sculptural art forms by utilizing the repetitive basketry technique called knotting forms the basis of my work regarding content and the blurred edges where art and craft meet. High-art/low-art references come into play by utilizing the teapot, a common craft object, as my sculptural archetype juxtaposed with images appropriated from the world of “high art.” Quotation, allusion, abstraction, and art/craft references all play a part as the knotting process simultaneously creates both structure and image.”

Brontosaurus For Sale: Pickup Only

JUST SPOTTED THIS BRONTOSAURUS for sale on eBay, measuring 56 feet long, 20 feet tall and about 10 feet wide, with the asking price just $29,500. (offer ’em $22K cash--they’ll unload it!) This baby weighs in at a mere 3,700 lbs.—a fraction of the tonnage compared to the real thing.

You know you are thinking about it, so go ahead and surprise the kids! Freak out your neighbors and have your local zoning commission pouring through their books trying to find a law against a dinosaur. If you run into any snags, just call it art, and they won’t know what to do.

Actually, these folks will ship it to you for $6,500, but this isn’t the Wall Street Journal. I’ll say anything for a good headline.

Use keywords: “brontosaurus life-size” on eBay search.

The Beauty of Multiples

(Above) 10 pig cutting boards of various shapes, sizes and woods.
(Above) 10 wire and wood hangers from 1890 to 1930.
(Above) A lovely, sublime collection of shovel handles of various ages.
(Above) A collection of wire frames from catcher’s masks, 1890 to 1940.
(Above) 18 lithographed toy ray guns, 1920s to 1950s
(Above) A collection of gradated industrial calipers, arranged two different ways.
(Above) 8 pairs of antique turned croquet posts dating from the late 1880’s to 1940’s.

HOW MANY TIMES IN MY LIFE have I been drawn to the power and beauty of multiples? Too many times—with too few display areas, that’s how many. I have always looked at it this way. If one is wonderful, then two is better and three is awesome so four must be fantastic and five is....well, you get the picture. Only with multiples can you begin to see and appreciate the differences, the similarities and the sublime changes in design.

Years ago, I got addicted to the iconic pig cutting board. I know, I know. Alone, with just one, I was looking at something rather plain and everyday. At flea markets I would see one, then another and I’d see them often— but never many at once. So, I got to thinking—surely there wasn’t just one stencil that every kid in every 8th grade shop class in every school in America used? So, I bought one—then another, then another—always looking for unique and different ones—until I had... so many that my wife thought I was nuts. With no great massive wall space to view them in—and several hundred dollars later, I laid them on the kitchen floor and just marveled at what I had done.

They were great: some pigs had short snouts, some had painted edges, some had drilled holes for eyes, some had painted ets, some had rivets; some had short feet, other had long feet, tails and no tails; ears, no ears, short ears; fat pigs, skinny pigs, long weiner-like pigs... I LOVED IT!

There is a great on-line store I have to tell you about. It’s called: www.lostfoundart.com and these people were cut out of my own DNA, I believe. All of the above things, including the piggies, are from their site. It’s great and you should go there.

What do you collect?

When Worlds Collide

A traditional piece of Mexican pottery from the 1930’s - 40’s, where Mickey Mouse crashed the party.
A 1930s boy’s Japanese Kimono with prints of Mickey Mouse.

THE INFLUENCE OF AMERICAN POPULAR CULTURE around the world has always been pervasive, but I was surprised to find this traditional 1930s boy’s Japanese Kimono decorated with prints of Walt Disney’s Mickey Mouse. This item is available at: Miyamoto Antiques in Sag Harbor NY. Phone: 631-725-1533—E-Mail: noriko@miyamotoantiques.com

Secondly, here is a Mexican plate, also from the 1930s-40s, decorated with… our little American friend. It is on the website of James Caswell: James Caswell Historia.

5 QUESTIONS: Harris Diamant

THIS IS THE FIRST OF A SERIES, a series of artist interviews with only 5 questions. I first discovered the work of Harris Diamant, a NYC-based artist, sculptor, collector and sometimes art dealer two or three years ago. I admired it for it’s mystery, most of all. After all, shouldn’t art be about wonder? The consummate craftsman, these objects are exquisitely made by Mr. Diamant out of an amazing array of materials—stuff like brass, steel, aluminum, Bakelite, wood, gold leaf, silver leaf, aluminum leaf, brass leaf, acrylic paint, flopaque paint, aniline dyes and lacquer. The list of materials alone remind me of an alchemist’s laboratory. If I were to stumble upon it outside of a gallery it would remind me of some ancient technology that I am too dumb to understand—just marvel at. There’s something magical behind this work, so I decided to contact the artist.
1 ) Hello Harris, thanks for taking part in the first of an artist series called FIVE QUESTIONS. For those people who might not be familiar with your work, your signature pieces are these mechanized, almost futuristic robotic versions of a human head being enclosed in a glass dome. Immediately, what I want to do is connect dots to a number of references here, things like the dehumanization of man to futuristic technology. Have I touched on at least some things you deal with as an artist?

A) Not really John. It’s pretty simple to me. The main thing I deal with as an artist is making more art. The primary thing there is showing up and forcing myself to work. Even if the trout are rising. My studio has no distractions, very little comfort (I do have a radio or music), not even a real comfortable chair. I truly do not deal with content. No actual ideas. If I had to deal with content I wouldn't know what to do. Concretized. I just make the next one. I watch my finger tips, sometimes very closely (I often work with binocular magnifiers, they bring me into a world that only exists there—I like it there) and they bring me to new places, places where I live until a new place is revealed. There are certainly things that I like and I do have a pretty keen critical sense and a wicked super-ego. I suppose the things that I like have seeped in. I like American folk art and I especially like classical antiquities. Ancient Egypt is my favorite. If I need to describe an influence it would be ancient Egypt. Why not start at the top. I like the notion of eternity existing in beauty. I think those guys got it right. Their stuff hits close to the bone. Too beautiful (anyone can see that), too mysterious, too opulent and too desirable to trash. You never find Egypt at Brimfield (a recurring nightmare is my stuff turning up on those fields). The glass domes? Primarily a means for keeping the art the way I like it to look without a need for maintenance. The work is complicated and hard to clean. Of course I do like the “cabinet of wonders” aesthetic and the Victorian aesthetic. I put most of my work on turntables so that the viewer can fully scrutinize the object from a single point of view.

2) You know Harris, it really is so very refreshing to hear an artist say what you just said. My years in art have made me think that there has to be some lofty connection to something in order to make art. I love that you answered my question the way you did. It was honest. To say that you “truly do not deal with content” is one of the most direct and honest things I have heard an artist say in years. The simple fact is—you make these incredible objects and we can make what we want from them, right? So, do you fabricate these incredible things yourself? The craftsmanship is really remarkable.

A) I do make these things completely by myself. The idea of collaboration is anathema to me. I want the work to be me, me me. I have great respect for craftsmanship. I can endure endless repetition. I’m magically exempt from boredom. I have nothing worthwhile to do but make art. That’s the way I constructed it some 25 or 30 years ago when I started down this path. My notion was that if it wasn’t everything, it’s nothing.

3) Eyes and eye glasses appear to be very important to you. Tell me more about that.

A) I’m attracted to eyes (window to the soul and all), I think everyone is. They’re potent and revealing and expressive. I’ve worn specs since I failed my first eye test as a wee child. I like the notion that everything I make is a self-portrait but that isn’t what motivates me to use eyes and specs. Not to be cute, it’s just an inclination.
4) Tell me about your studio, your home. You like folk art, you are drawn to things from antiquity. And, the“cabinet of wonders” idea makes me feel your studio and home must be filled with wonderful curiosities.

A) I’ve been a dealer in American folk art for more than 40 years. I don’t deal at a lofty level. Everything I buy is a discovery. I love making the judgement concerning whether an object is worthy of being called art. I love the alchemy of turning mere base stuff into art. I love to photograph art. I love basing art, presenting art. Dealing for such a long time has given me the opportunity to have countless great pieces, even a few masterpieces, pass through my hands. I have the wonderful opportunity to own material that’s way beyond my pocket book for short periods of time. I don’t keep very much, I’m a dealer. In spite of this my home is filled with folk art. I hope it doesn’t make me too much of a Philistine, but I can put a price on anything that I buy. It’s really making the judgement rather than owning the object that rings my chimes. Photography gives me an opportunity to scrutinize an object, to have it the center of my focus in a manner and for a duration that’s simply not available to me in any other way. It also allows me to articulate what I see in an object without the need for words. Base making allows me to make the lame walk, the wilted to stand erect, give grace to the awkward. I find ideas and inspiration in old, unacknowledged objects. It’s exciting.

I know that I stated earlier that I shun collaboration. Using found objects is the one collaboration that I’m at ease with, although my rule is to never use objects that, in my estimation, stand with significance on their own. Folk Art gives me the wherewithal financially to make my art. Yes, even though I’m an old codger, I still pay to play. Folk art is my ally, my supporter, my mentor. It’s a endless font. Did I mention, it gives me great pleasure to be surrounded by it? In the past, my dealing has given me an opportunity to develop some expertise in antique technology, (scientific instruments and especially model steam engines were early areas of dealing for me), antique toys, bronzes, antique jewelry (Art Nouveau was a speciality in the 1960s), advertising—on and on. These early encounters, always hands-on, gave me an opportunity to teach myself the many technologies that allow me to accomplish my work as an artist.

I’ve, much to my regret, never been fortunate enough to own an actual piece of Classical Antiquity, never a piece of Egyptian Art. I’ve acquired antiquities by osmosis, by staring at this art at the Metropolitan Museum.
5) My final question Harris, is this: you have told me what inspires you, now, can you tell me who inspires you? Is there a person, living or dead, that you wish you had a chance to spend a day with?

A long time ago, I went to a show of the work of David Smith that was held at the Smithsonian in D.C. I believe it was at the Hirschorn. The show was a re-creation of the Coliseum at the Spoletto Festival where in 1962, Smith was invited to build and display sculptures. He was given a huge, ancient foundry as a studio (it was filled with the detritus of iron casting—huge cauldrons, great sheets of steel, iron wheels.....), with as much assistance as he needed, as much budget as he needed and thirty days to finish his work. In thirty days, Smith completed 27 sculptures. Everyone was surprised, amazed. He was aflame and I could feel his inspiration. I spent the entire day in that room, taking it all in by osmosis and sneaking (you were not allowed to take pictures) countless, blindly taken photographs. I was so deeply in the thrall of this work that it seemed to me I could do it. Not make work that looked like Smith’s, but that if I could get as deeply into it as Smith, into the making part, the work would come. I took that message home with me and I started down the path that allowed me to admit that I wanted to define myself as an artist and could do that by making art.

It worked for me. I’ve been making art for a long time (actually since that show in D.C.). I have a sizable body of work. I love doing what I do. I’d like to buy David Smith a drink, maybe two, or three….

---------------

More of Harris Diamant’s work can be seen at Obsolete or on his personal web site: www.harrisdiamant.com.

A Crooked Little House

I PASS THIS HOUSE every few weeks or so in St. Louis. So, one day last week, I stopped and walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. No one answered. So, I took a couple of pictures to share with you. I think the house is Art Deco style, but it is really plain and boxy. I am torn as to whether this is sorta cool, or a real affront to an original example of Deco-style architecture. It sure catches one’s attention.

I remember this house as far back as the late 1970s, and to my memory, it did not have the tilted addition. This “add-on” was built, to my memory, in the 1980’s. It’s too bad no one was at home, because I wanted more information and really wanted to see inside. If I get more information, I’ll report back.

More Photos, 2009 Outsider Art Fair in NYC

(Above) A very creepy Haitian voodou doll at Galerie Bourbon-Lally.
(Above) Late 19th century memory piece, serving as a frame for tintype, at Carl Hammer Gallery.
(Above) A Morton Bartlett doll on display at Marion Harris Gallery.
(Above) Speakers assemble for a photograph after the American Folk Art Museum Uncommon Artists XVII Talks: left to right: Maria Ann Conelli, Executive Director, AFAM; Susan Mitchell Crawley, Curator of Folk Art, High Museum of Art; Michael Noland, painter and art collector; Jeff Way, artist and educator; Ned Pucher, Ph.D. candidate; Gary Snyder, art dealer; Lee Kogan, AFAM.
(Above) No one could be more deserving of the 2nd Annual American Folk Art Museum’s VISIONARY AWARD honoree than RAW Vision founder and editor John Maizels. The event took place Friday night, January 9, 2009.

Left to right: Samuel Farber, AFAM Trustee; Jenifer P. Borum, adjunct faculty member, NYU; Honoree John Maizels; Rebecca A. Hoffberger, Director and founder, American Visionary Art Museum, Baltimore, MD; Maria Ann Conelli, Executive Director, American Folk Art Museum; Audrey Heckler, Cochair, The Contemporary Center Steering Committee; Robert Roth, RAW Vision Board of Directors and supporter.

2009 Outsider Art Fair

(Above) This “Caballero” by Martin Ramirez sold for a price tag in the range of $250,000.
(Above) A fabulous work by Ramirez, a train heading into a tunnel.
(Above) Martin Ramirez, another exceptional train and tunnel drawing.
(Above) Nice to see this great piece by Edgar Tolson at Carl Hammer Gallery, Chicago.
(Above) A rare monumental “Angel” by Raymond Coins, at American Primitive Gallery, NYC. This was an incredible piece, priced at $8,000.

I report without hesitation that the new venue for the 17th Annual Outsider Fair was a huge step forward for Sanford Smith. The booths were spacious, professional looking and well lit, and it just seemed that the work looked better over all. I do not think I spoke to a single person who missed the Puck Building venue—except for the Soho environs, which is just so much more fun than the current location at 5th Ave. and 34th (across the street from the Empire State Building). The one thing that was the same as past years were the grumpy security people and ticket-takers...

The star artist of the fair was, to my thinking, Martin Ramirez, whose newly discovered cache of work was also on display at The American Folk Art Museum. Additionally, there was an extraordinary amount of work for sale by Bill Traylor. Why? One dealer agreed that in our poor economy, past owners of the works are now looking to sell and are consigning them to various dealers.

Art dealers seemed to be quite happy with the event—and while there is never a report overall sales, it did appear that the market for this work is doing OK. Certainly, there are buys to be had because of the economy. In a nutshell, the great art continues to hold their prices or see increases. I saw lots of people—big crowds. One dealer told me that it took two days to break even—and she was counting on the final day (Sunday) to show a profit.

Folk Art Mirror

Unfortunately, this is a “sold” item at Olde Hope Antiques (www.oldehope.com) but a wonderful anonymous item to marvel at this Sunday morning.

Size: 23 x 17 inches

Date: c. 1940

Origin: Kentucky

Medium: carved  pine, mirror, glass eyes

Olde Hope Antiques, Inc. is located in New Hope, PA. 

Phone: 215.297.0200

Dead Man Walking

circa 1957-58
I really like the modernist design of these 1950s magazines. But the design wasn’t what interested me that fateful day in the summer of 1963. It was Cup Cake Cassidy... and maybe a few others with names obviously not from my neighborhood.

I remember, as a boy of about 13 in Winston-Salem, NC, playing in the basement of my buddy Donnie’s home one afternoon. My friend had just left me alone to go back outside and he left through the basement walk out exit to the backyard. I stayed back because I was mystified by all the cool old stuff on the shelves. (was this the start of something, doctor?) Oil cans with skinny spouts. Jars with nails and screws. Tools of all kinds. Old magazines, closets to peer into, whatnots, old tool catalogs... this place was great!

And then it happened. There, two issues deep under Popular Mechanics, I saw them. The mother lode of my pre-pubescent dreams. Magazines similar to the ones you see above. There were a lot of them, maybe 10 or 12. I felt this adrenaline rush and my heart started pounding. I looked around. Though I didn’t know it at the time, natural, normal boy curiosity was at work here, and I knew that I had discovered the Klondike of scantily clad women. No one was around— and I had only seconds to make the biggest decision of my life. I could walk away—pretend I never saw them, go to church on Sunday and purge my mind of them. Or, I could grab them—stuff one or two of them in my shirt (he’ll never miss one or two, I thought!!), and try to make it past Donnie’s parents who were just outside the ONLY exit at their family BBQ.

Of course, I made the right decision—I took them ALL.

With my heart absolutely POUNDING through my chest, my face ashen white and eyes probably as wide as saucers, I began jamming the magazines under my shirt and behind my belt until I couldn’t get another one in. I compare it now to that horrible scene in Midnight Express, with the character Billy Hayes (played by Brad Davis) trying to make it through airport customs at the Turkish airport with bags of hashish strapped to his chest. Not only were the kid’s parents just outside, but so were other adults, sitting and yapping and drinking their beer and smoking their cigs. I would have to walk out of the basement door, casually walk THROUGH them all (maybe I should whistle?), LOOK NORMAL, make it to the gate, OPEN the gate, CLO-SE the gate, W A L K down the driveway, turn the corner and still, my house was 2 houses away. This was tantamount to a prison break. A rifle shot from the guard tower could still bring me down. Was I nuts??

I was a gutsy kid, but THIS?? The horror! If I got busted—not only would my parents know I was a pervert, but the entire neighborhood would know. Even worse... my twin sister, who was pure and sweet with straight A’s in school, would know that I had evil thoughts. She wasn’t interested in this stuff, what would she think if I got caught? For gawd’s sake, the lingerie section of the Sear’s catalog just wasn’t working for me anymore.

Here I was getting ready to be a convicted felon. I calculated there was a 50-50 chance I would not make it. So, I started on the longest walk of my heretofore uninteresting, short life. The green mile. This was dead man walking. Each step I took felt as if I had cinder blocks on my feet. I was SO obvious. This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy! My chest was so... square. I looked like Frankenstein! OK, fine! I WAS a monster! Not only was I a thief but I was sick and demented. Maybe I needed to be put away!

As I slugged through the gauntlet of adults their conversations seemed garbled, all of it was in S L O W - M O T I O N. Their voices were like a Jimmy Dean song played backwards and slowed down to 33-1/3 rpm. Wait??!! Did they suddenly quit talking? Was Donnie’s father looking at ME? He IS! OMG, No! My life is OVER! A thousand things raced through my head. Should I run—make a break for it? Maybe I should I turn right around on my heels, walk back inside and return them? Or, maybe I should try something totally WEIRD and unexpected, like fall on the ground and start crying and eating handfuls of grass... then they would think I was REALLY mentally sick and have pity on me. Yes! That’s it! No wait! These magazines were HIS after all, what could HE do? He is just as SICK as me... NO, he is SICKER! He’s the ADULT! The world will expose HIM as well. My mind was in overdrive. Suddenly I was before the juvenile judge—in shackles. But I didn’t know they were bad magazines, your honor! Whaaa-aat? REFORM SCHOOL?? Please your honor, I don’t belong here! Mom! Help-p!!

Well, to make a long story short, I made it through the gauntlet of adults, was somehow able to open and close the gate successfully and slowly walked down the driveway from hell to... freedom! With each step I felt the cinder blocks releasing and the 100 lb. sack of sand falling from my shoulders. I did it! I pulled off the caper of the century. I was going to be a freakin’ hero to my friends. I was in possession of something more valuable to my buddies than... Kryptonite or maybe even a Mickey Mantle rookie card. Come to think of it— I think my older brother’s friend Tommy Hester traded me a Roger Maris and a Mickey Mantle card for just one of my 1958 mint issues of Black Nylons Magazine. Now I had something to work with, my friends... trading material—not to mention my own private stash of garter-belted women with great names like Cupcake.

It was to become one of the best summers of my boyhood life.

To this day, whenever I happen upon one of these rather innocent 1950s men’s magazines at a flea market, I am reminded of that fateful summer afternoon in 1962, when I risked life and limb as I knew it then and made that long and intentional walk from innocence.

The management asks that if anyone is offended by the images above (I know, I know!) I will remove them immediately and replace with the same year of Sear’s catalog pages. Then, you’ll understand.

Salt prints

I am at the Outsider Art Fair in NY—with no way (where I am) to upload images or spend a lot of time at a computer. Last night was the grand opening, and I have to say, the venue was great. I'll be bringing more in-depth news on that next week. 

Here are a couple of beautiful salt prints (1857) I spotted on eBay a while back— I had them ready to post. I think I like the signatures as much as the images.

More later.

Morris Hirshfield: “They Taught Themselves”

(Above) Morris Hirshfield, VIEW, Oil on canvas, 1945. 24 x 18 inches; Reproduced on the cover of VIEW magazine, October 1945
(Above) Morris Hirshfield, Dog and Pups, Oil on canvas, 1944. 32 x 42 inches.
(Above) Morris Hirshfield, Lion, Oil on canvas, 1939. 28-1/4 x 40-1/4 inches
(Above) Morris Hirshfield, Flower Garden, Oil on canvas, 1941. 26 x 36 inches
(Above) Morris Hirshfield, Cat and Two Kittens, Oil on canvas, 1945. 17 x 26 inches

A PRIZE IN MY LIBRARY IS A FIRST EDITION OF THE BOOK “They Taught Themselves: American Primitive Painters of the 2oth Century” by Sidney Janis (1942). This publication has long been considered a benchmark in the field of contemporary self-taught art. In that book, collector and gallery owner Janis showcases, as he put it “the lives of thirty human beings and 54 paintings.” The book contains interviews and numerous quotes from these 30 “primitive” artists.

One thing I must see while I am in NY later this week is the exhibition by the same name at Galerie St. Etienne, located at 24 West 57th Street. Featured will be 14 of the 30 artists in the original book, including my fave, Morris Hirshfield. The show will feature 6 paintings and 2 drawings by him.

My favorite of them all is Morris Hirshfield, who I have shown here. Not that Joseph Pickett, John Kane, Horace Pippin, Henry Church or Grandma Moses are not wonderful—it’s just that it pleases me to show (many of you perhaps for the first time?) the work of Morris Hirshfield (1872-1946). His work is as fresh, as exuberant and as exciting today as when the public first layed eyes on it back in the 1940s. A slipper manufacturer by trade, poor health forced Mr. Hirshfield into an early retirement—when he began to paint. In 1943, he was given a one-man show at the Museum of Modern Art, which was quite controversial, especially with some of the art critics.

Note that the painting above entitled “View” was the cover art for the avant garde magazine by the same name.

Great Objects of Mystery and Design

(Above) African American stone carving: 19th century, Georgia, 10.5 inches tall
(Above) Corn Grinders: convex and concave wood forms with forged iron teeth, 22 inches tall
(Above, left) Forged iron eel spear, 15 inches tall; Right: Bootjack with holes, c. 1900’s 15 inches tall
(Above) Early granite bust with sundial on chest with knotted rope and leaves; Believed to be English origin and possibly set along the coast to time the tides with the sundial. Note the carved “woven” cap. 21 inches tall.
(Above) Three cast iron objects as art: Left to right - (1) a cast iron bog shoe from Wisconsin; (2) a cast iron plow blade (3) cast iron railroad plate.

Aarne Anton of American Primitive Gallery in New York, has always had that rare ability to recognize an object with strong design, no matter what it used to be—and recontextualize that object for a new, discerning audience. (See the corn grinders, eel spear, boot jack and cast iron objects above).

To that point, I once saw an antique dealer arrange 20+ old rusty bed springs on the white wall of her gallery booth. The installation was so simple—and so beautiful. Lit from above, the curved cast shadows made for an incredible sight. I knew that, individually, those bed springs were worth about 25 cents apiece (or the time it would take to separate them from the mattress fabrication), but as they were presented that evening—I was looking at modern art. Price was not the issue. What I saw that evening was akin to haute couture in fashion. It takes courage to stand behind such a creative act, and in doing so, eyes are opened a bit further.

Aarne Anton will once again be exhibiting at the Outsider Art Fair (as he has every year for the past 16 past years). Not only does he exhibit work by self-taught artists, but he shows the highest quality folk art and objects. And, over the years Aarne has curated some memorable thematic shows at his gallery. His career is an art book waiting to happen. Be sure and check him out if you are ever in NYC. His gallery is located at 594 Broadway, Suite 205, in Soho. The gallery phone number is 212.966.1530. His email address is: american.primitive@verizon.net.