Being an artist is a scary thing to declare; it's much easier being a plumber or engineer or doctor. Not in doing...but in telling. Because when you say "I'm a plumber", everyone knows what you do. Same with doctor, engineer or garbage man. Most know why you do it, probably how much you make and where they stand with you.
But when you say "I am an artist", peoples minds go mad, they twirl and shake and tilt listlessly. You can see the wonder in the air escaping their wordless lips , or on the ends of their hair. You can watch their confused portraits and the way they shake trying to stand.
Still, the artist prevails.
Not all of us can say we are artists, forming something from nothing, sometimes WITH nothing. The artists exhibited here are being artists. And we are proud to tell the world of them and show their work.
John Yimin interview for Riot Magazine (RM) May 2005 (updated 2019)
Name: John Yimin, Pennsylvania, USA Title: Collector Occupation: Owner www.ioemacollection.com Organization: The Ioema Collection
RM Can you tell me a little about yourself, and how you got involved/interested in outsider art?
Yimin: I’m a simple man interested in exposing the greatest array of art to the greatest array of people.
RM Can you tell me a little bit about the history of outsider art? What is it, and what constitutes an outsider artist?
Yimin: I am not a critic. Nor do I know what is good or bad or outsider. I guess outsider art can go back thousands of years but probably the artist most would recognize and could be said to be an outsider artist would be Henri Rousseau. Famously, van Gogh made himself an outsider. Many others came after and before. A lot of people, some of them torturedly expressive, state that a movement began with the art brut kingdom of Jean Debuffett and outsider art followed when Roger Cardinal published his book. Many think that outsider art rests in the minds of the insane and manically driven. And it does. But it also flows on the surface of other rivers. I think most definitions that prevent dealers from laying out a convenient and controlling path suits me. Clearly, though, an outsider artist (as opposed to outsider art) has something unusual to say and does so in a visual way.
RM How has outsider art changed over the years, how is ‘modern’ outsider art
different than ‘traditional’ outsider art?
Yimin: The change to outsider art has happened more in the exposure and in recognition than in the expression. Some art collectors have come to recognize outsider art when they see it and others point to that fact as proof that outsider art is now tainted, that the recognition of style and grace has spoiled the water. But clear thinking and scholarship reveals that even at the beginning, pick any point along the birth path of outsider art, the artists referred to something to create their vision. Henry Darger’s imagination surely fueled his epic creations but his sources were coloring books and magazine advertisements. Those sources do not spoil his art, they enhance it and show his single-minded pursuit of a vision just outside his reach. Others today are practicing the same internal meditation in a more exposed way that doesn’t lessen the purity of the act or the validity of the outcome. However, the illegitimate use of labels has forever plagued all of art and modern outsider art too falls short occasionally.
RM Can you describe a couple of eccentric/strange characters that you have
come across in the outsider art field?
Yimin: That’s probably not a very good question for me to answer because I can’t see past my addiction to this art and these artists!
RM Who are some of the stand out artists over the last few years? What’s
different about them?
Yimin: A very hard thing for me to do is to pick a few favorites among the artists I’ve been lucky enough to exhibit. But I am lucky to have a close relationship with William Thomas Thompson, a visionary artist consumed and enhanced by the fire of his interpretation of the Holy Book. Mr. Thompson has painted the Book of Revelation in a 300-foot painting that hung at the American Visionary Art Museum and is now at work on a permanent 100-foot addition to AVAM’s collection. I think of Mikey Welsh as a brother. Mikey courageously fights a life that hits hard and fast, creating masterpieces of visual assault (Mikey died 2011). Michael Hoffee (deceased 2021) and Stephen Judges have stunned me with their paintings and their unusual and colorful vision. Khara Oxier and Connie Sales create art that touches each of us. Harry Teague swam against the strong current of a massive stroke the last ten years of his life to create a universe he lived and we shared (Harry died in 2006). Glenn Brady’s art has attached itself to me faster than any I can remember. There are so many others. Ian Pyper, Billy Bob beamer with his post-it note worlds fighting back black shadows of pain. Plastorm making things with what he has. And so many on outsiderart.info and ioemacollection.com who are mentally, physically and psychologically challenged but I don’t put much text or biography in the galleries. That’s something my visitors need to discover for themselves.
RM How is outsider art different than ‘regular art’? Is it better?
Yimin: In many ways, regular art is the expression of an artist’s world in their terms and outsider art is the same. But outsider art swerves away when the lives of the artists develop in a way that creates an overwhelming need in them to make visual that which excites their senses. If I can use my signature…. Processing the things of life and molding them differently comes not from the ordinary of us; the artist is extraordinary, an alien amongst the natives. It’s one of my favorite ways to think of the artists I am lucky enough to exhibit. As for better…. well, I like all art.
RM Are there a lot of venues in the US for outsider artists to show/sell their work?
Yimin: Christie’s 2003 sale of outsider art really blew open the doors and made a lot of noise both in the art community and in the auction world. The New York Outsider Art Fair every year is a big deal but is tightly regulated by certain galleries acting as gatekeepers. And then, of course, there are many regional and national events focused on sales of outsider artwork, the best of which have the artists in attendance. A very exciting new venue for some artists will be the New York Art Expo’s new in 2004 Solo area which might generate sales for the artists who have organizational help.
RM Can you tell me a bit about the origination of your site? What are you trying to accomplish? How’s it working out for you?
Yimin: I realized as a kid that color and line had a unique hold on me. I’m addicted to art, easily experiencing the physical and psychological smash-ups that come with every addiction. We (my life long partner and I) got online in 1996 and I started to teach myself a little code then found software that helped make pages for a site. I started outsiderart.info to show artwork that had taken hold of me. But I didn’t want to charge the artists and I wanted to decide who to exhibit and who not to. Because it became a problem to explain why I wasn’t charging, I began to ask for an original if I exhibited an artist’s work. I never expected it to work. But it has. Every exhibited artist sends at least one original, many send more and some haven’t stopped (I no longer accept submissions 2019). I have a very simple set of accomplishments I’m working toward…to expose the greatest array of art to the greatest array of people, to build and maintain a site that consistently comes out on top of Google search for outsider art and to build a collection of art that I can one day share. I think the secret to outsiderart.info has been and will remain the artwork. The site itself is simple with very little text but tons of images and easy navigation with a simple structure. The art stars. And that’s what matters to me.
RM Are you an artist yourself? What kind of art? (if so, do you think you could provide me with some images)
Yimin: I am not an artist. I’m an outsider. And my real job is a secret, so far.
RM There seems to be an undercurrent of dark/disturbed feelings associated
with outsider art, why is this?
Yimin: I think its natural as a collector or viewer to notice the dark/disturbed nature of some outsider art. Most of that expression of vision comes from the fractured nature of some everyday lives. At times, there is a struggle to the living that becomes intertwined with the creating and, more than a simple representation of an object, becomes the subject of the art. Frequently, the subject reflects the struggle more than the triumph. And I’m not sure why. But there is also the different vision of Garance, Harry Teague, Lory Smith, Mary Zeman and her celebration of life and many others who can focus on both sides of life. On balance, though, because the art assaults the senses at times, it can be thought of as dark or disturbed, and sometimes it is.
RM How do you see outsider art as a movement/genre progressing over the next decade?
Yimin: I’m pretty sure the mainstream art world will battle over definitions, rights, provenance and most of the rest that matters in that world while the artists making art from outside the art world will continue creating that which most of us can only see through them.
Thank you so much for the opportunity to reflect on what my artists and their work mean to me
Sorry for the delay. My real job had taken me away from home and all but work issues but I have returned to the lighter side of life. I am real glad to read emails from you and hope you know that you can send me something to read anytime you want. As for advice...I'm not sure I'm qualified to say what you need to hear but I'll say what I think is right....I know little of the debate with the definition of outsider art and classification of artists. That really is very little concern to me and frankly gets in the way of my purpose with the site. I do know that I am outside the art world and need validation of that fact from noone. You are on the site because I like your art very much, not because you have declared yourself an outsider art, closeted or not. Oh, the horror, to be discovered to have taken an art class! Feel the shame of the discovery of a drawing class in an artist's past! As for defining outsider art using the artists life as a determining factor...its all bullcrap designed to limit entrance into galleries. Thats all it is. Its meaningless as a genre and meaningless as it applies to production of artwork by a human. There exists no more definable outsider artist as there exists one true religion. Here is the important thing...you have discovered within yourself that which has potential to link you to others through the use of color, line and style. You have determined that there may be another language besides the spoken word that you have begun to learn to use. Art communicates, inspires, rejects, embraces, instills, enrages...all with tools designed to reach another through their senses. You are, at the least, a painter, an artist. Your struggle with definition is the same struggle that caused Duchamp to all but quit the painters life even at the beginning of a movement he made famous. Rather than validate the view of others, he literally stopped (after producing a masterpiece so don't throw out your paints yet!) and began to proclaim rather than produce art.....a bicycle wheel on a stool, a pain of glass, a urinal. Instead of succumbing to, worrying over and living by the narrow view of others, he decided that the only view was no view (the historical problem with this is that, of course, deciding to have no view actually is a view but lets not go nuts).
I think you are an artist, Fr. Andrew, and you have the same doubts as most people living a regular, non-creative life. But for an artist, the doubts are darker, go deeper. Incrimination filtered through doubt creates despair. And thats no way to be. Think less of what you are and more of who you are. You have a colorful vision to share. Changes to that vision are natural and sometimes painful and the time spent working through those changes at times is too long, too costly. But the trick is to make the changes anyway. To stick to it, if creating art can't be stopped.
As for the brothers, I think you ought to do more with less. Politely thank them for their past financial support of your art but inform them that you won't need it, or as much of it, as in the past. That you have discovered another way of creating based on use of less materials to create a more intense artwork. They won't know what you are talking about, will think you mad and will let you alone to do as you please. The artist that inspired me to continue the site at my darkest moments amde his art from what he found and scrounged, out of necessity. He lived a meager life mostly because of his mistakes and excesses. He always said to me "You can't quit because someday you will do good for me and me for you. And if not for me, then for somebody deserving good more than me. I know you can't see that now but I can!" He barely had cover from the rain but felt the need to make me know that someone believed. And so I do to you. I believe in your art. I wish I could do more, be more of a patron and perhaps someday I will.
It was 1901. A small gallery in Paris held an exhibition of 60 works by the artist Vincent Van Gogh. The best, Poppy Field, cost 400 francs, about $55 at the time...about $850 in today's worth. All the rest were less.
One visitor came back day after day until finally approaching the gallery owner. "My wife just had a little girl", he said." We are already looking to her future. We have decided to create her dowry from things bound to go up in value." He talked at length on how he adored the Poppy Field. But, he was pressed for decisions and would ask his brother-in-law for advice. The man said, "But let me first talk with my future brother-in-law, an advisor to many with money on art matters. Let me first ask his advice and I will return."
Twenty years later, the man walked back in the same gallery holding a watercolor by Detaille to sell. The gallery owner recognized him even so many years later.
"I have come to a time to sell my art, bought on good advice. My daughter is to marry!", the man said. "Pray tell me what you will offer. My brother-in-law managed to get me this fine watercolor for fifteen thousand francs. Surely, it will sell for 100,000! " The gallery owner turned his head and offered nothing. The man became angry. "So, your memory holds after 20 years!", he exclaimed. "Is it your anger or your pride that won't let you tender an offer?"
The gallery owner turned slowly back. He looked long and low at the man, trying to find the words. "It is neither anger nor pride that holds my offer to purchase your work," said the gallery owner. "It is a desire to keep your feelings intact. But it is too late for that. For you have worthless art from an invisible artist, bought on the advice of a fool. No, your art is not 100,000 and not 10,000 but not even 1000, of that I am sure. And I am sure, too, that I could not sell you the Poppy Field today, if I had it, for less than 300,000! If you had followed your heart on that day 20 years ago, your daughters dowry would spill from its box!"
The man left, holding his watercolor, never to return.
The gallery owner was Ambroise Vollard (1868-1939), dealer and promoter of impressionist and avant-garde art. He accumulated Van Gogh art shrewdly and frequently early on, along with art from others outside the art world at the time. In 1943 in New York City, two artists held almost simultaneous shows of their work. Jackson Pollock and Louise Pershing exhibited their works for sale in galleries steps away from each other. Pollock's 12 works were priced at $50 to $750 and Pershing's 14 were priced $25 to $500. Pershing's work was colroful and well liked by gallery owners. Pollock's art remained misunderstood then as much of it is today. Today, sixty years later, Pollock's art sells in the millions when it appears and Pershing's work sits in a Pittsburgh garage, still selling for around $500 to a thousand.
a couple years ago i bought a small metal rectangle, about 6"x9", that had been enameled in an abstract pattern. the process of enamel on metal requires ground glass placed on the field and then all heated up to about 1500 degrees in a kiln, where the ground glass changes and fuses with the metal in colors and designs unseen sometimes. the small piece i bought was dated 1963 and signed Cantini. since the day i bought it, it has bothered me for some reason that i didn't know the artist. finally, yesterday i did a search on info space and discovered a Virgil Cantini in the city and he had been an artist at Carnegie tech ( now carnegie mellon)! the phone was listed so, last night around 8:30, i called.
a man answered hello.
"hello", i said," i'm looking to speak with mr. cantini." i've done this alot and i'm never sure what will happen next.
"this IS mr. cantini", mr. cantini said in a native italian accent.
usually, when i hear something like that, my mind races and i start blabbing off about how i found the art and how great it is and blah, blah, blah. but i stopped myself and went slowly, trying not to cause him to slam the phone down or yell at me to leave him alone.
"mr. cantini, if you are virgil cantini, the artist, i have one of your enamels on metal!", i said, feeling like an idiot.
there was silence. i thought he hung up. and then silence. "mr. cantini?", i asked.
"yes, its me, i am here, so you have one of my enamels. of what is it?", he asked.
i described it to him as best i could put into words, not knowing much about process or color or technique.
"yes", he said, "it is probably mine, unless some person signed my name. is it in script, my name?"
i said yes, in script, and tried to describe better what i had that he fashioned.
"yes, yes", he interrupted, " its mine. i did them alot. i'm surprised it is so small. i haven't done small ones, only big ones because that is what the people wanted. so, what do you want with me?"
i hesitated because i thought it odd he would say that and then quickly remembered that, to him, this was a call from the dark
"do you want to sell it back to me? how much did you pay for it?", he asked.
i told him no, i wasn't calling to sell it to him, only to find out a little bit about the man who had made such a beautiful piece of color and metal. and i was glad i had found him.
" so, you found me! and now what?", he said.
i did a fast think. i had to. i said "well, and now i'd like to show you the piece , if you care to see it."
"yes, of course i'd like to see it, tomorrow. at noon. thank you. goodbye.", he said and hung up.
i figured i had better put the phone down. I was glad i'd get to meet the amazing virgil cantini.
tomorrow was today and i was standing outside his rowhouse at noon, knocking on his door. the house was a fantasy of colored wrought iron rooftop structures and plates of glass in the windows of color and light. i had noticed the house before in the Oakland section of town but never really thought much about who might live in it. a gramma opened the door slowly.
"yes, hello", she said without an accent, "can i help you?"
"hello, yes you can. i'm...", i started and she cut me off.
"John! you're John. virgil went for a paper, just down there, and you wait. he's coming back now," she said. and i waited on the sidewalk, hoping i didn't see an old guy coming down the street with a paper rolled up like what you smack a dogs ass with.
a minute later, he appeared out of the sidewalkers, wide and thick as he was tall but strong. his hand was out and grabbing mine.
"Hello, and so we meet. and now you know what you wanted to know!", he said almost excitedly.
"did you look in the window, did you see any others?", he asked. and i had. the window was one of those old storefront windows with the board so you can't see into the house but a place to display things. and he had placed five or six smaller panels and some round enameled icons there for people to see. mr. cantini seemed much happier in person than on the phone.
"they're great. its good to see more.", i said. and thats when i pulled out the piece i had brought to show him. i lifted it in front of us, proud like a doctor lifting a new baby. The abstract lines and colors glowed in the sun falling all around us, two strangers on a city sidewalk still with art.
"It's stolen", Cantini said. I looked up at him and could see the feeling in my head on his face. "It's stolen", he repeated with disgust. " How much did you pay?", he asked.
"What", I think I yelled. " Whaddyamean its stolen? How do you know its stolen?", I said as I held onto the merry go round of thought and confusion.
"How do I know?", he stormed in his accent that suddenly sounded mad and hurt. " How do I know when I created it, I poured the glass with my hands onto the steel, I pushed the steel into the kiln, I stood five feet away from the furnace and the maddening heat? What do you want of me? You are a hustler, a dealer, and now you mock me to my face! What do you bother me with? My own creations!!" He turned very fast and started up the short steps to the door of his rowhouse. I had to be smart and quick. " Wait!", I yelled, which caused people on the other side of the street to notice us. Suddenly, I felt stupid. Why had I called this man?
"I'll wait. You don't have long, though", he said calmly.
"OK, don't get mad again, but how do you know its stolen?" I asked again, ready for an onslaught. Instead, he spoke slowly and softly.
"I had worked with a steel maker on these panels, smaller panels, a little thicker than I was used to. All the panels had four little holes in the corners, like yours, and one larger hole at the top, like yours. I used the panels one whole summer, I made maybe thirty or forty, not all abstract, some flowers and some drawings and some just little landscapes. All on those panels like yours. And when I was done, WQED ( a public television channel) sent some kids up here to film the work. They wanted something on one of us artists, they said. So they came up and I showed them around the house and then we went to my studio. I showed them all I had done, the small panels and the rest, big panels and all the rest."
Cantini came down off the steps, back onto the sidewalk with me. He took the little abstract from me and felt its surface with his hand. He handed it back.
" I left them at the studio and came back here for lunch and then went right back to the studio. They were finished and packed their stuff up, all kids barely as old as my kids then. They left and I left. But I went right back as they pulled off in their van. I wanted to check the kiln; I always check the kiln. And it was fine. And then I saw the space where these little panels were, like a wound. Half of them were gone, maybe more than half, maybe most of them." Cantini started back up the steps to the rowhouse and turned slightly to me.
"Come on", he said as he turned the handle and stepped through the door. " I want to show you."
I gulped a bag of air and cleared the four or five steps in a single bound like Superman saving a cat in a tree. The whole big front room of the rowhouse was emptied of any furniture and Cantini was surrounded, overpowered and dwarfed by his work It was everywhere, big steel enameled panels, small bronze and steel sculptures, colors and shapes and flowers and drawings everywhere. I wish I could describe it as I saw it but I can't. For me, stepping inot that rowhouse was like stepping into a painting, being a small figure in an impressionist scene of form, color and vision. I could see an old carnival wagon with big flowing letters saying "The Great Cantini" and me driving, pulling Cantini's work from town to town.
This post is long enough and there’s much more I could say. I learned alot about Cantini as we walked through the room and I listened to him. His work is everywhere in the city, from the lobbies of the biggest buildings to boardrooms to homes and even huge 20 foot by 60 foot panels hung outdoors. He was the sculptor of my favorite public set of statues, a fountain of water ringed by ten twelve-foot-tall cubist people holding hands as the water splashes on and around them. I had never known. And here he was.
Cantini was quiet as I left without my original Virgil Cantini steel enameled panel. It was right to leave it with him. He said to call again and we could talk and he'd show me more, maybe go to his small studio where he keeps most of his work. He doesn't sell anything anymore, tired of the artworlds demands and pettiness, he says.
I don't have my Cantini anymore. I traded it for a dream.