Back in May I did a painting and a video for the band Taking Back Sunday. It was of a roaring lion. When they purchased it, I had no idea they were going to end up turning it into a giant banner for the backdrop of their stage show! They also made it a graphic for their kick drum.
This ended up being a pleasant surprise, and of course has me itching to do more work for bands...
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
When I heard about LA Art Show and Art LA coming to town, I thought it would be fun to go set up right out front and paint. So I did! First I went to Art LA at the Barker Hangar in Santa Monica. When I got there, I asked the security (traffic control) guys if they minded if I set up and painted the building. They were surprisingly receptive to the idea. I got set up right across the street from the main entrance to the event.
After I set up, did a quick lay of the land and finished a landscape of the scenery, I pulled out the rest of my work and moved on to painting some more fun subject matter. I was worried about the weather, and I was prepared to tough it out, thinking I would get some serious street cred if I stayed and painted in the rain, but in the end the day was sunny and beautiful.
A little later in the day my friend Quam Odunsi came by and snapped some pics. It's always good to see a familiar face when I'm out in the field.
I have to admit that the experience was not as exciting as I had anticipated. I was expecting to either have a run in with the authorities, or at least get some attention from the many people going in and out of the venue. In the end it was just a pleasant day painting outside. Most of the people there were actually ignoring me! "Don't make eye contact with the street artist, dear." I felt like a homeless person. Perhaps acknowledging art out on the sidewalk would have changed the status of the work inside. Maybe they did not want the idea of paying to see art to be challenged by my presence. It really makes you think about how context can play such an important role when it comes to showing art.
Speaking of context, the next day I set up in a completely different setting. I went downtown to see the LA Art show at the convention center. It turned out that a Lakers game was just about to start when I got there, so traffic was a nightmare. I had to pay $20 to park two blocks away. After spending an additional $15 to get in, I perused the many isles of expensive contemporary art. I must admit that I had a great time and saw some great work. Along the way I ran into Bert Green from Bert Green Fine Art. He took a moment to talk to me about the show. I said that after the cost of parking and the entrance fee, LA Art Show did not seem like it was really accessible to the general public. He brought up a good point in stating that this event was not for the general public, but for art buyers, most of whom do not find $40 cost of attending a major obstacle. He then went on to remind me that the galleries themselves are usually free and open to the public. I agreed, especially in this economy, it's hard enough selling work without your attention being spread thin by non-buyers. I hope you made some sales, Bert.
After the sensory overload the show, I went out front to find a place to set up. It turned out that the front of the convention center is also right next to the Staples Center. I got set up and started painting right as the game got out.
A lot more people stopped to check me out than the day before. Interesting. I suppose a painter set up outside a basketball game is a bit unusual. Perhaps worth taking a look at. But a painter set up outside a bourgeois art fair does not even deserve a glance over the shoulder? It goes to show, context is everything.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Everyday strikes again with another wicked good time. I had the pleasure of being invited to paint at DJ Loli's release party at the Beauty Bar in Hollywood. It was my first time painting there. They set me up in the window so I could be seen from the street. Good times were had by all. Good music, good vibes, and for some reason there was a plethora of beautiful Australian women. How could it go wrong?
Come out next time and party with us!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Earlier this month I got a call from Ron Garmon at LA City Beat. He wanted to write an article on me, so I invited to view my latest show, a double shot of art with Michael Pukac at the Goods Gallery in Long Beach. He came, he saw, he believed. Here's some pics from the show and the article he wrote. To see the original article, click HERE. Thanks Ron!
PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A FRONTMAN
Don’t worry, Max Neutra’s with the band
By Ron Garmon
Despite millions pumped into develop-ment and a string of half-empty condos dotting the grimy streets near the water, Long Beach Boulevard on this first Saturday night of 2009 is decidedly tomblike. Acres of Books, for decades a hive of early evening activity, shut its doors for good in October, forced out of business by a city now content to let the 1930s-deco barn stand empty until it’s demolished. Much of the rest is generic mallspace sporting the same tight-guarded, user-unfriendly chain-stores you find everywhere else, only here plopped into an already depressed landscape.
As if to mock official measures to make downtown Long Beach safe from literacy (there are talks underway about closing the city’s main library), the local art-proletariat looks to have discovered the place in a big way. Phantom Galleries, a movement dedicated to turning the county’s ever-increasing number of empty shop windows into temporary museums, has discovered the friendly old brick retail spaces, and light glows from studios scattered along the numbered side streets. Next to the shuttered bookshop is Goods Gallery: three metal shipping containers butting together to form a U-shape, its blank interior dotted with canvases. Within the crotch of the U, an R&B band loads out, and slender, sharp-featured Max Neutra paces inside the adjoining containers, talking of personal demons through a cheerful giggle.
“There’s definitely a lot of angst in this stuff,” says Max, gesturing at blank utilitarian walls festooned with his spiky caricatures – harsh and hilarious studies of men with TV screens for heads, glossolalic robots, human faces contorted in all manner of shock and horror, and an upright fish dressed in a business suit and breathing bubbles of worry. That one, he says, is called Drowning in Your Responsibilities.
“I decided to become an artist by epiphany, the only one I’ve ever had,” he continues. “I was sitting in a coffee shop after a gig installing a stereo at some shop in NoHo and I was looking around at everybody, feeling bitter against everyone there – ‘Look at these people! What are they contributing?’ Then I thought, ‘What am I contributing?’ Then, being an artist came to me, as the biggest contribution I feel like I can make in my surroundings.”
That was 2006. But long before that, before Max heard his own voice from this burning bush, he was a kid living outside Santa Fe, New Mexico, a kid whose great-grandfather is the celebrated modernist architect Richard Neutra (whose one-story Neutra Office Building on Glendale Boulevard is in the National Registry of Historic Places). Out there in the desert, he fell under the wanton influence of R. Crumb via dad’s collection of Zap Comix. He moved to L.A. as a young adult, got into sound recording and design, working as an A/V tech at Warner Bros. while composing electronic music. Since the epiphanic moment in a coffee shop in 2006, Max has become a regular on the local art scene, with showings/performances at the Hammer, the Found Gallery, the Mountain Bar and the Paul Gleason Theatre. His next gig is part of a group exhibit in the Loft at Liz’s on La Brea Avenue, February 9-15.
He cites Ralph Steadman and Jackson Pollock as influences, but the wiggy aesthetic animating his portraits of proud Indian chiefs, cracked robots and walleyed, multi-mouthed lumpen-bourgeoisie derives from a tension between animal dignity and human folly.
The result looks like one half Lucian Freud and 50 percent Mad magazine circa 1973, a preposterous, unsettling muster of faces and attitudes. As sold-out and world-battered as Neutra’s humans often are – and despite his frantic lines and crabbed, neurotic framing – his images of animals retain dignity and poise for all. “When it comes to animals,” admits Max, “I focus more on the beauty than on the grotesque. Man grosses me out more than a giraffe does. They’re innocent. Man has a choice, and the thing I struggle the most with is humanity.”
One half of a double show, sharing the space with Michael Pukac’s dainty, whimsical female nudes, Neutra wades into his performance like any giddy frontman, laying a preliminary splatter of black as members of the Mighty Mojo Prophets crank out sturdy 1950s blues riffs. Together, they pull in faces off the street, most of them stretching in kindly grins as Max begins heaping eyeballs, flannel mouths and bristly hairs on yet another luckless head. The artist had made a handsome boast earlier that he could wrap up one painting per song, but he takes his time over this particular monstrosity, limning every wart and blemish with care.Walking the event’s perimeter is gallery manager Evan Kelly, optimistic despite every sign of strapped economic circumstance around us. “We have showings every Saturday and live painting definitely draws a crowd. They get a chance to see how art is made, and these containers are kind of a natural gallery space. In an age of sustainability and mobility, they’re perfect.” Open since October, the gallery is free, and the three containers that comprise it are donated by the Port of Long Beach. For any who take this no-budget aesthetic as a sign of bad times, Kelly has a friendly rebuke. The art biz “isn’t doing as badly as people imagine” in this downturn. “It isn’t like we’re selling product, as in ‘Hey, buy my crap!’ It’s a free show, but we’re selling art, something people are going to be interested in no matter what happens.”
The band careens into T-Bone Walker’s “Call It Stormy Monday” as Max busies himself with placement of a third shrieking maw on a skull already overburdened with deformities. The crowd within the gallery grows, as amplified echoes bounce off distant walls, a reminder in the middle of a howling commercial wilderness that life is stubbornly going on somewhere. The musicians, cynical-looking old pros, are plainly delighted to let their elderly music be used as part of a new neighborhood aesthetic of art for loud’s sake.