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In the many decades that I’ve been a artist/performer, I’ve
often asked friends, girlfriends and relatives to attend a performance of mine,
be it an open mic, a local gig with my band or even the occasional art show.
Most of the time, the response falls on deaf ears. And when the moment is ripe,
I’ve heard excuses like, “Oh, I have to wash the cat this weekend” or “My
favorite TV show is on tonight, so I simply can’t.” And then there are those,
by way of social media the moment they see the posting, “I’m so sorry I missed
it!” or “Why didn’t you tell me!” or “Please remind me when it happens again,
will ya?” or “Call me on the day you’re on.”
I do agree in some certain sense that there’s only so many
shows you can attend, so there is that, but the majority of friends and
acquaintances that I have, have never seen a show of mine and most likely never
will, unless it’s on video, which a majority of them are, in print, which some
are and/or if you’re performing with me, you get to experience live/firsthand.
In a previous entry I wrote that art can be very subjective,
very subjective and that is correct. Our own concepts of art can run the gamut
from a simple watercolor of a circus clown holding a dog to a more complex
piece of art like a Jackson Pollock, Picasso or Vincent Van Gogh. People are
either going to get it or not get it and that’s perfectly fine.
And then there are the artists themselves, who don’t often
support other artists unless they’re in the same show together. Because there
are only so many hours in the day and well, like friends and acquaintances,
they too have legitimate as well as illegitimate reasons not to attend. In grad
school, we were encouraged to go to other cohorts’ shows, whether academic or
non-academic.
Social media is nice for keeping in touch, but unless you go
out and experience the art show or performance for yourself, meaning the live
experience of how it makes you feel at the time, as opposed to watching it on
video later, than you never will know.
I have this belief in supporting as many in my cohort as
possible if I know of a show that they are having in advance. I know that there
are conflicts with what I just posted above, but it is true. Video should be
used to record for posterity, which is what I’ve been doing solidly in one form
or another since the late 1980s. I’ve been audio recording since 1980 and have
a lot of archival material as a result. People shouldn’t rely on a posterity
video to experience a performance or an art show. You need to be there.
Having said all of that as a preface, let’s dive straight
into a review of the solo show of Kankakee, Illinois-based artist, Elizabeth
Thebazilly, a painter in her own right. I saw her show, Dripping In Earth, the
afternoon of Thursday, February 20, 2020, at the Yellow Elephant Gallery, 150
North Schulyer Avenue, in downtown Kankakee, Illinois, just 90 minutes south of Chicago.
It was a bitter cold morning, when I arrived via Amtrak-but
I had a good look around the downtown area, had a bite to eat and hung out at the beautiful
Kankakee public library for a good chunk of the day and wrote freely.
In the mid-afternoon, I left the warmth of the public
library, went outside, crossed the main intersection and I headed over to the
gallery and stepped inside the smallish space. It was indeed tight inside, half
of the walls dedicated to art, while the floor space, dedicated to overpriced
art trinkets and supplies. It was a bright, clean space. An elderly woman got
up from her seat and asked me if I needed help. I told her no, that I had come
to view the exhibit in the gallery, as she sat down behind the wall from where
she had been and went back to her magazine.
As I viewed what hung before me, I noticed what strikes
me the most about the 20 pieces of artwork in Thebazilly’s work is just that; her
artwork is striking, colorful and so very fluid.
 |
| (Pink Walls, Elizabeth Thebazilly) |
In Pink Walls,
there’s a futuristic colorful appeal in the painting itself. Sprinkled throughout
the painting are a number of human and animal heads, torsos and faces. I don’t
know specifically if those are intentional or not or perhaps my pareidolia (Pareidolia is defined as the ability to see faces inside inanimate
objects; it’s often associated with religious phenomena) is just kicking in. In
this particular painting, I do know that Thebazilly has the gift of drawing the
soul in rapidly with wonderment and awe.
Golden Bonzai is an
eye-opening beauty, with its curious use of colors, and again humanlike faces
are dotted within the work, including particularly this time, bananas and
vegetable line likenesses.
 |
| (Golden, Elizabeth Thebazilly) |
It’s her work, Golden
that really takes the prize. Elongated unstructured lines with an almost
asymmetry warm sunny playfulness to the piece. It’s very sensual within every
brushstroke of the painting inviting and alluring, to the naked eye.
Another standout includes The Caves, which is blanketed with a pleasing array of color, faces
and bits of fabric thrown in, giving the piece an almost collage mix feel to it.
Her show ended on February 22. I do hope that
Thebazilly shows her work at perhaps a bigger gallery with an extended stay in
the near future. Her ability to craft a painting is astonishing! Her style is
futuristically moderate with an eye for the abstract. She is an artist well
worth the investment.
I bundled up, stepped outside, walked around a bit more, got
some sandwiches for the train ride home, stepped inside a thrift store and
briefly perused it and walked back to the library, where I was parked on the 3rd
floor for the next few hours, freely writing and reading until the appointed
hour came to walk over to the train station.
It was cold that night, as I waited outside on the train platform.
A woman I didn’t know, who sat in a rickety older SUV waved toward me and
invited me to wait inside her running vehicle. We talked about a lot trivial
things that I don’t even recall, as she dragged on six cigarettes in between. The
kindness of her offer left me with a warm feeling overall. I thanked her and
hopped out of her truck, just as the train approached. With the wind against my
backpack, and the air frozen as I spoke to another passenger waiting for the
train, I knew my time in Kankakee was well spent.
I will be back sooner than later, Kankakee.
Promise.
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