ART FACT #1: IF YOU LIKE IT, IT’S GOOD. /Event Review by LS Lokey/published in Taos'Horsefly

Opening night of the 32ND Annual Fall Arts Fest was a fulfilling social event for those of us who never get out much but enjoy the random congregation of scattered familiars to whom Taos is home. Congratulations to the Fall Arts Committee for reaching non-profit status at last! Thirty-one years of diligence to reach a goal deserves massive props. If there were snacks or a selection of beverages, I missed them, so, regrettably I can’t offer a review of our hosts’ all out graciousness. The new mission of the FAC is to “promote and encourage tourism” by “supporting the art of Taos County.” Honestly, I know precisely nada about the ladder/chain of politics or popularity in the “World Famous Taos Art Scene.” I prefer being naïve about these things. I figure, if it’s happening, it’s “happening.” If you like it, it’s good.

Eligibility requirement for the “Taos Open” is at least one year’s residency in Taos County. Artists’ submissions run the gamut, including product art: jewelry, house wares, and textiles. I consider “good art” anything that makes me slow down, move closer, want to touch. In the category of what I call crafts, there are delights - big kid “don’t touch” toys that inspire adjectives like “whimsical.” I loved getting lost in the faithfully intricate details of “Farmer’s Market” by Stuart Wittmer. Similar to the “want to touch it” criterion, if I’m also expecting the artwork to make a move, it’s good. “Hughe” is an otherworldly visitor by Mandy Stapleford. I took his presence for granted on the first pass, one of those fleeting out of the corner of your eye hallucinations. Then I looked back over my shoulder, enchanted, and swear he could’ve climbed down from his casually observant perch and followed me home. Sometimes I don’t necessarily have to “get” it to know it’s good. David Vedoe’s “Incentive” pulled me from across the room. Organically mechanical? Pastorally industrial? The surrealist piece is executed with refinement and obvious skill. I like it. It’s weird. Ted Mitchman’s “Latin America #1” is one of those disturbed abstracts that I find darkly reassuring. The spontaneous, primary emotive slashes of Ona Matulic-Owens are brighter windows into the sphere of the psyche.

I appreciate the willingness of the Festival’s Committee to be “Open” to expressions that may be considered neither product, nor art, as much as statement. And although I may not like a piece, I do recognize elemental merits that make it good, or at least important. One work is so passionately and unforgivingly rendered that it’s creator surely was not “invited” to make it. Sprawled-under-glass and sickeningly accessorized is “Because Words Are Not Enough” by Helen South.

At the threshold of Bataan Hall, on the way to the less proletariat pleasures of the Rio Grande Room, stands a portal guardian, radiating a powerfully mystical and indigenous aura. This little sculpture isn’t just “Art.” It feels more like a sacred totem, a captured spirit. A little creepy, but I like that sort of thing, so it’s definitely good: Raphael Vega’s “Sweat of the Sun.”

To acknowledge another aspect to this business of liking art: If it SELLS, it’s good. If it sells a lot, it’s even better. Dealers and solicitors get involved, popular trends evolve, and consequently the “good art” devolves into “good product;” for instance, T-shirts or telephone book covers. The Invitational artists, who must all be Taosenos for at least five years, include a few who have already met such fortunate fate$.

Putting my mainstream prejudice aside I entered the hallowed Invitational hall. There are wonderful surprises tucked in among the typical “Southwestern Art.”

Mary Earl’s exquisite miniature tapestry, “Hollyhock Study,” redeems that particular subject for me. With “Our Ladies” everywhere, the mischievous expression of Bernadette Pino’s prizewinning “Nuestra Sra. De Guadalupe” sets her apart. The contemporary fused glass of Maria Romano is beautifully wrought work of depth and precision. Soft, organic and playful are Suzanne Betz’s “Visionary” ponies.

Humans like defining parameters, measuring and comparing things. We even like measuring that which should not be quantified, collectively judging the subjective: pleasure, suffering, each other, and “Art.” There is always process involved, some gauntlet to run or rite of passage to raise the apprentice to master. Every novice, reverently or otherwise, passes before a jury, so to speak. The general public and generally artists need to be reassured of the value of the work. Merit is calibrated by payment of “dues.” An excellent and preferably expensive educational pedigree, active participation in various guilds and organizations that administrate the business of art are invaluable in the climb to ArtRockStardom. Unless that dubious blessing of being “touched by fire,” a revered state of mad genius, possesses an individual, ala Van Gogh or Basquiat. You know, the ARTIST as art.

Isn’t that the end to which all creators aspire? God did a great job of creation – and then made the mess of us to get about the task of translating it. And as subjective as that task may be, still we insist on posing the question, “Who does it BEST?”

I’d say it’s the sidewalk psychopath exalted by the furies and graces of fate. The true “masters” are the impoverished and forgotten relatives, wasting away in obscurity and dementia, until the posthumous grandeur of legendary bids at Sotheby’s. That’s ART.
Then there are art SHOWS. I like ‘em. They’re good. It’s great on the resume as a fledgling, exciting for the first two or three years on the “invite” list. A little embarrassing after the past six and you’re just in “big fish” land.

On opening night I did not arrive in time to visit the deeper end of the pond, the Rio Grande Room, before the lights were dimmed so theatrically. It was easy to feel a bit plebian under the fluorescent lights in that huge hotel lobby of Bataan Hall. Man, it’s only, like, seven-thirty! What else is going on in this “World Famous Art Scene” after dark? I’m sure, even mid-week, the masses could’ve made it until at least nine o’clock. I couldn’t help but imagine the Artistocracy holding court deep in that separate, finer building with the better lighting, some mysterious and evasive echelon, maybe a decent after party.

George Bernard Shaw said that an artist is no special kind of man, but that every man is a special kind of artist. By invitation or not, we’re each creator, craftsman, artisan and shaman. Enjoy the show. Buy Art. Make Art. Be Art. That’s an “Art Scene.”