According to pop-culture apocrypha, KISS frontman Paul Stanley — the one with the chest fur and the black star — once replied thusly to a reporter's question regarding his band's artistic validity:"We're not making art, we're making hamburgers."
It's a good quip, and it accurately describes KISS' place in the musical canon. The group never strove for singularly creative expression; it just cooked up a cool new package that somebody (correctly) thought would sell. Yet Stanley's quote invites further examination of the endless debate over what defines art.
To wit: If somebody made hamburgers exceptionally well, in a way that nobody else has or could, well, then, would that somebody's hamburgers qualify as works of art?
Mark Jones thinks so.
"My idea of art is whatever you consider your art form. If you're a hairstylist, that can be art. It's not just limited to what people usually think of," says the 44-year-old video-production veteran. "If you make a mean grilled cheese sandwich, if you roll cigars, and that is seriously an art form, then you can be on my show."
It's 9:30 a.m. on the kind of late-September morning that lends credence to the idea of autumn. Jones, a talkative guy with a shaved head and an easy smile, is setting up a video camera in the Raymond James Community Room of his beloved Salvador Dali Museum. (Jones became infatuated with the late artist's work when he worked a Dali exhibit at his native New York City's Museum of Modern Art; he's volunteered at the St. Pete art-spot for the last two years, and is taking classes to become a docent.) Since the Community Room is currently dedicated to Dali's less immediately familiar pieces and concepts — i.e., stuff that doesn't necessarily look like The Persistence of Memory — it's an apt location for Jones' foray into unheralded expression.
He's putting together a local-access cable program, The Art Show, that he hopes will provide an avenue of exposure for artists who may or may not work in traditionally accepted media. Jones has been shooting on-location footage and passing out flyers all over the Bay area for weeks. After one hurricane-induced postponement, the time to audition prospective main attractions has come, and he's looking forward to finding out if his own anything-goes perspective will entice some kindred spirits.
"I just had an idea. When you walk down the street in New York, you can see a guy playing a bucket as well as any jazz drummer," he says, fiddling with a tripod. "A lot of these individuals are really good, really talented. They just don't have an outlet to express themselves."
A small, disparate group of performers dribbles uncertainly into the large room, various instruments and implements in hand. As Jones sets up, a supportive friend, local poet P.J. Crosby, calls them over and helps them fill out release forms. Paperwork done, they peruse the artwork on the walls and eye one another's accessories. Most keep to themselves, but one young man, a 26-year-old painter from Clearwater named Noah Deledda, chats with Jones at length and wanders about. He jokes about not being used to getting up so early, and offers a look at photos of his vibrant, thematically varied canvasses.
Deledda heard about The Art Show auditions through a friend who brought him a flyer. His idea is to sketch out the basis for a future painting — Jones wants artists who can do their thing in its entirety during a program, and be interviewed while doing it, and there's no way Deledda could complete one of his fiery, multi-hued pictures in the allotted time.
"On the average, I'll work on one for about a month," he says. "I mostly use oils, so I spend a lot of time waiting for the paint to dry."
The traffic through the Dali's side door slows, and Jones gets started. First up is sociable 6-year-old Camilla-Victoria Vila, who's been playing the violin for two years. Jones asks her a few questions about herself while the tape rolls; then she works her way through "Puff The Magic Dragon," accompanied by a vocal-less recording. It sounds exactly like you'd think a version of "Puff The Magic Dragon" played by a sociable 6-year-old with a little knack for the instrument would sound.
Camilla-Victoria's teacher, Jane Lookofsky, is next, also on violin; her version of a country tune called "Unraveling" is clear and sweet, a deft balance of feel and technique. Jones circles her with his camera, smiling.
That smile grows wider when he approaches the third candidate, a white-bearded man named Dan Bricker. Bricker has made his own stand-up bass out of a five-gallon bucket and other assorted items he uses in his job as a housepainter.
"It was all stuff I had laying in my truck," he says, sheepishly. "They say necessity is the mother of invention."
With one length of twine for a string, the "bucket bass" sounds amazingly, unbelievably legitimate as Bricker improvises some jazz, then plays to a tape of Dixieland rag. Jones lets him go on, recording everything. When Bricker finishes, there's laughter and applause and a torrent of questions about his instrument.
Jones takes a break to check the time and speak to a newcomer, an elderly man with an amiably smart-ass demeanor and a talent for fashioning beautiful abstract landscapes out of superheated copper sheeting. (Disappointingly, he didn't bring his blowtorch.) It's obvious that for Jones, Bricker's ingenuity signifies exactly what he wants The Art Show to bring to the Bay area.
"That's what it's all about. It's not about having the classic instruments — that guy's got a freaking bucket," he says. "That's the truest sense of art. It's trailblazing, and that's what I want on my show."
The Art Show will be premiering in early October on local-origination channels throughout the Bay area.
scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com
This article appears in Sep 29 – Oct 5, 2004.
