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T
R G C O V E R F E A T U R E
But
Is It Art?
Paul Belker sees the beauty--or at least the
humor--in art that few could love.
Author: Tori Marlan  Date:
April 25, 2003 Appeared
in Section TRG Word
count: 1444
 On
a wall opposite the front door in Paul Belker's north-side home
hangs a painting of a girl sliding backward down a banister. But
maybe sliding isn't quite right. "Impaled, sliding, you tell
me," Belker says.
Clearly
the painting is the work of an amateur: the perspective is skewed,
mistakes are sloppily covered over. But that's beside the point to
the 39-year-old Belker, who bought it at the Ark thrift store on
Lincoln Avenue for $10. What matters to him, more than an artist's
skill, is whether a painting is interesting to look at. What grabs
him--what he has a genuine affection for--is "weird subject
matter." He considers it a good thing if while viewing a
painting he's compelled to wonder why someone ever would have created it.
That's
something a visitor touring Belker's house may repeatedly wonder.
Among the works on proud display are paintings of a naked pregnant
woman floating on her back through a magenta sky, a multicultural
troika of children riding a porpoise, and cavemen feasting on a
bloody boar. "My wife is very tolerant," says Belker, who
owns 187 works that have been rescued--most for under $25--from flea
markets, garage sales, and secondhand shops. An accountant and
computer network administrator for a local CPA firm, Belker also
peddles antiques on eBay, though he's never sold any of his
paintings. "Nobody would offer me enough money to part with
them," he explains.
A
self-described pack rat, Belker grew up in Louisville, Kentucky,
collecting at various times bumper stickers, buttons, and beer cans.
As a teenager he frequented thrift stores, often gravitating toward
the knickknack section. In the late 80s, after graduating from the
University of Michigan with a degree in psychology, Belker moved to
Chicago, lured--"more than I would care to admit"--by the
quantity and quality of the thrift stores.
He
already owned about ten paintings other people had seen fit to
discard when his passion for collecting was ignited by a 1992 exhibit
of thrift-store art at the now defunct World Tattoo Gallery.
Impressed by the quality and variety of the work in the show and
believing that more masterpieces were out there just waiting to be
stumbled upon, "I immediately got very focused," he says.
He began rummaging more often and started holding "art
acquisition parties," at which the price of admission was a
piece of thrift-store art and prizes were doled out for the top three
finds. On a recent invitation he asked friends to join him "for
an evening of good food, good drink, good company, and bad art."
When
Belker ran out of wall space he began storing his paintings in his
basement. Initially he thought he'd rotate them, but now he prefers
to keep his favorite 20 or so on permanent display. His entire
collection, however, can be seen on his Web site, thriftstoreart.com,
which he started six years ago so he could "share them with the world."
In
doing so he tapped into a community of like-minded aficionados all
too ready to discuss the merits of his paintings and consider such
perplexing questions as whether that's a brain or an atomic explosion
the artist intended to depict. A painting of a turtle crossing a road
as a car approaches from the distance sparked an impassioned
back-channel debate about the fate of the turtle. One couple E-mailed
him asking permission to reproduce his painting of a bride and groom
on their wedding invitation.
The
feedback isn't all good. "I get a lot of people saying 'Oh,
this image is modeled after a Winslow Homer painting' or 'This is
from a Delacroix painting.'" That usually diminishes his
enthusiasm for the piece. "I really appreciate an artist who
stretches out and tries to create something new and different that no
one else has painted before," he says.
While
the provenance of most of his art remains a mystery, Belker recently
heard from the relatives of a Skokie artist named Harry Duberchin.
Duberchin, who died in the late 90s at the age of 84, made his living
as a typesetter and sold his artwork at garage sales. His 1986
painting of an explorer in a coonskin cap and boots found its way
into Belker's collection several years ago.
"Clearly
the guy had no idea what he was doing," says Belker, who likes
the painting well enough to hang it on the wall. But his comments
about it on thriftstoreart.com apparently struck a nerve. "I
don't know if I described it as 'bad art' or said why in the world
did somebody paint this," but he received an E-mail from one of
Duberchin's nephews in his uncle's defense, saying the artist had
come from a family of "poor immigrants" and "could not
afford to develop his talents." Other Duberchin relatives got in
touch as well. One even sent him a couple pieces of art made by
Harry's brother Jack: a Lucite pen holder carved with a floral design
and a "pretty boring" still life of flowers that's never
made it out of Belker's basement.
In
recent years he has found it more difficult to find paintings worth
including in his collection. He blames the dearth of good bad art on
competition inspired in part by the "shabby chic" movement
in interior design. "Distressed chairs and old portraits with
character are part of that," he says. But he has the general
sense that "a lot more people are into the offbeat" than
used to be. "There's a larger alternative--for lack of a better
word--culture now. And it's cheap. If you can find a great painting
for ten dollars, why go to Around the Coyote?"
Because
pickings are slim and he can't visit every thrift store in the
country, Belker encourages "budding philanthropists" to
donate paintings--either electronically, if they don't want to let go
of their finds, or by sending the actual painting, which of course he
prefers. But there's no guarantee he'll accept the donations.
"I'm really picky," he says. "Really, really picky."
While
he typically likes "anything old or weird"--and it helps
if a piece is signed and dated--he tends to steer clear of paintings
that have been sold on the commercial market or that look as though
they were done by students, who are "forced to create," or
by people who are aware of "how they fit into the art world"
and are attempting to capitalize on a trend.
"A
lot of people now have jumped on the outsider-art bandwagon,"
Belker says, "and they'll paint, like, Captain Crunch on top of
the World Trade Center and try to sell it on eBay for 100 bucks. I
prefer the stuff that someone who's unaware creates. It's the
untrained and the unspoiled artist that I appreciate, somebody who
feels compelled to create just because."
Last
year someone made a virtual donation of an airbrushed painting
called Pebbles and Friend, depicting the Flintstones character and a
similarly dressed playmate with a photorealistic face. Belker thought
the work was atrocious, and he rejected it. Offended, the donor
accused him of "reverse snobbery" and insinuated that
Belker had been reading the "poison" in the New York Times
art section. After the donor implored him to let the public decide if
Pebbles and Friend fit his collection, Belker posted it on his Web
site and solicited votes for or against. So far 64 people have
registered their opinions; the nos have a two-vote lead. Belker says
he plans to close the poll when one side reaches 100 votes. "But
that may change," he says. "I love hearing people's
thoughts on the piece."
The
vote has generated discussions about the subjectivity of taste and
the distinction between high and low art--categories that, as Belker
points out, can be fluid and don't necessarily hinge on an artist's
skill. "Go back 40 years and a lot of people didn't define
Pollock as great." Of the artist's famous paint-splashed
canvases, he says, "Clearly that's crappy painting."
Beyond
a fondness for the old and weird, Belker admits that his aesthetic
is hard to define. And sometimes when he tries, he sounds like
Supreme Court justice Potter Stewart discussing pornography:
"When you see it you know it."
He
knew instantly that the girl on the banister was a keeper. Though he
bought it a year or two before he set up his Web site, he was still
high from the score when he posted it for the world to see, writing,
"This is the shit, man...the bees' knees...pure, raw,
unadulterated, creative genius. Life is GOOD, baby!"
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not
available in this archive): photos/Cynthia Howe. |
