On a big open wall in a former Catholic school in Braddock hangs the largest painting artist John Lee has ever completed. Across its twelve foot span, an array of dancing figures—heads from all over the animal kingdom; bodies straight off American Bandstand—dance, twist, and turn in wild abandon. The painting still doesn’t have a title, but when it does it’ll have something to do with dead oceans and/or Bob Dylan.
“I just really like making art,” Lee says in an understatement we’ll not dispute, “If I really love something, I want to do it some more—I don’t feel in control of the process.”
When last we left The Cardboard Caravaggio™, he was long on paintings and short on gallerists willing to host them. The Honor System Art Gallery he set up on a condemned storefront is Garfield is long since gone—the building itself was razed not long after—paintings distributed throughout Hazelwood disappeared just as quickly.
This Saturday, though, Pittsburgh will have only its second chance to see John Lee’s work in a gallery setting. This time he’ll have a little more room to spread out than he did at The Silver Apple.
So much room, in fact, that the show is a double-bill with Columbus artist Rachel McFarlane David, an old friend and collaborator of Lee’s. David’s lovely detailed drawings and folk art-inspired wood-carvings will share wall space with Lee’s loose-limbed disco-dancing and yoga-flexing bird people and plaid-skinned omni-eyed “everyman.”
More Heat Than Light, the name for the combined show, came with a backstory way deeper than your author had anticipated. There’s a Shakespeare reference, something dealing with a hit YA author’s marketing theory, and the history of electrical illumination. That preamble lead to art’s natural frustration between balancing light (presumably, all the good parts) with heat (the effort it took to get there) … at least, I think that’s where we got to.
However we arrived, the combined show is a two-great-tastes affair for sure. The contrast between David’s precision and Lee’s let-it-all-hang-out maximalism won’t be lost on anyone. You’ll have to get in nose-to-the-glass close to see the detail in David’s penstrokes and pyrography (wood burning with a stylus); Lee’s figures will read from Kennywood.
“I thoroughly enjoy John’s work and mindset,” David says, “We think differently and we work differently, but there’s a commonality in the work.”
Both artists are frequent users of recycled and repurposed materials, for one, and they both love color. John Lee’s affection for cardboard is hard to miss, but David’s work on wood is much more stealthy. The source material comes from discarded cookware and furniture, wood scraps and curbside pickups from neighborhood walks. Some of the artworks’ former lives are obvious—there are a couple cutting boards that still look like cutting boards. Others require a peek at the back for a hint at the wood’s source.
More Heat Than Light happens this Saturday, May 11, 6-9pm, at Unsmoke Systems: 1137 Braddock Ave, Braddock, PA.
I know, I know … I know. Wrong holiday, dude! Christmas was three months ago—this one’s supposed to be about Jesus!
Believe me: in just a ten-day survey, there were Jesuses, crucifixes, arrows, death beds, and blood aplenty. Dyed eggs and bunnies? Notsomuch. If your author had properly thought ahead, maybe he’d have been able to put together a legit Easter sud de la frontera post, but this Easter—at least, here at The Orbit—you’re stuck with Mary.
But with Mary—Mary!—we can’t keep away! Pittsburgh loves Mary, but compared to central Mexico, she may as well be Roger Staubach. Mary is ev-ery-where: Painted on the stucco walls of hillside homes and carved into public statuary. She’s mass-replicated on keychains and tchotchkes, trucker caps and shot glasses. And the churches—holy heck! The churches make our over-the-top look under-the-radar. Mary on high with cherubs and well-wishers; Mary chilling in her clamshell crib, decked-out in a crown-like halo and office-to-the-club goldleaf onepiece.
It’s Easter—who’s got time for this blathering when we’ve got teeth to rot and guilt to lay down? Have a nice Sunday, whether you observe the holiday or not. Remember: it’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice.
Everything under the sun! Everything for everybody! Everything to wear!
Believe it or not, The Internet didn’t invent superlatives, big promises, and in-your-face advertising. No, it just ceased to make them mean anything.
We’re back with our second catch-all review of the ghost signs cleaned out of the attic. This time: house goods—department stores, clothing, furniture, hardware—you get the idea.
Blocked by a freestanding billboard for decades, the advertisement for Tom Tucker Southern-style Mint Ginger Ale may as well have been unearthed by archaeologists when it arrived out-of-the-blue a few years ago.
A person can still purchase Tom Tucker, but it won’t come in a 32-ounce green glass bottle anymore. Looking every bit the champagne of Southern-style mint ginger ales it is, the big bottle was painted directly onto a two-story brick wall of a row house along Brighton Road probably 60 or 70 years ago.
Ghost signs, though—the original “ghosts”! Advertising, from a time before billboards were as ubiquitous as they are now, was created by sign painters directly on the brick walls of buildings in prominent places. We’re lucky so many of them survive and—for the companies that persist, at least—one has to believe it was a solid investment to pay for one wall in 1960 and still have it working for them today.
We’ve got so many ghost sign photos in the backlog that we’re going to break up the collection into some themes. This week: food & drink edition. We’ll get to the other stuff soon.
Soda-Pop … and other beverages
Junk Food Junkies
Flour Power
Notes:
[1] Cox Distributing still sells cold beer from this location, but the style of sign painting and subsequent meter placement suggest this may be from an older business.
[2] While this Clark Bar ghost sign looks like some holy grail of the genre, Orbit readers informed us it was created for the film Fences which filmed in the Hill District in 2016.
[3] No, you can’t read the name DeMiller’s in this sign, but somehow astute Orbit reader Maggie Ess identified the building as home to the Keystone Potato Chip Co., 6635 Kelly Street, maker of DeMiller’s chips.
[4] Kuhn’s Quality Foods is still very much a going concern with eight stores in the region, but this brick building on Perrysville Ave. no longer hosts one of them.
Your author won’t pretend to know what Wu-Shuryu-Do—The Flowing Way is, but it sure sounds cool. That said, a picture is worth a thousand words and what we don’t know by name, we sure get with the accompanying artwork.
The scene: two buff fighters are flexing and straining in combat. On the right is a warrior dressed like so many kung fu movie villains—shirtless, but with arm braces, wearing tight black trousers with the legs wrapped in some type of binding fabric. A thick red sash is worn about the waist with the end dangling for jaunty effect.
His foe is literally flying through the air with a leg extended in a kick that could surely split stone. This one didn’t skimp on the wardrobe on the way to the fight, though. He’s in a Tom Jones-style combat singlet accented with a necklace of oversized beads or baubles. A decorative toque literally tops the outfit in a style that would look equally smart on the ski slopes or the runway.
And can we say, what a location for mano a mano! We hope these guys can pause for a minute between bone-crackings to take in the view. Right behind their sweaty hindsides lies a breathtaking waterfall pooling into a misty river running between rocky peaks and twisting trees. If you’re looking for an Instaworthy place to have your neck snapped, The Flowing Way has got the place.
Not all martial academies (are these dojos?) are as invested in the arts as Wu-Shuryu-Do. The Mt. Washington storefront studio has extended the custom window art to other panes of its Southern Ave. location.
Enough of them are, though, that original art decorating—and dramatizing—karate schools and Tang Soo Do meeting spots is a legitimate thing. Sure, it’s a little bit frightening and you’ve going to need expert timing, but we hope the trend continues as long as the river flows and the grasshopper learns from the cobra.
Flo Flamingo has gone missing. Flavius Flamingo had nothing to do with it. Don’t worry, the South Side Sentries have it all under control.
Often the most vibrant and interesting public art exists undetected by the established art world or wider community. Instead, this is public art known and loved by a few neighbors and makers participating in its magic and upkeep.
You, Orbit Reader, have visited many of these places virtually with us—semi-hidden treasures like Pittsburgh’s Central Park and Remly Way. These special places aren’t exactly a secret, but they’re neither tourist destination nor commissioned public art.
Instead, these are environments created by dreamers who took the initiative to physically manifest their imaginations and insert them directly into their communities. Moving past the cultural gatekeepers, these artists forged ahead with their vision. These are art installations seeking community input, changing and evolving with the neighborhood around them.
Such a place is Delli Speers’ Fiber Art Fence on the South Side. Located along Wrights Way, a residential alley not far from the South Side Carnegie Library, this 80-foot-long chain link fence lies between a UPMC parking lot and a quiet row of 19th century brick row houses. Speers, a fiber artist who recently turned 87, has been yarn bombing this fence since 2007.
The fence is bedecked with all manner of fiber artifacts, many knitted by Speers, her neighbors, friends, and family members. A giant pink knitted face with yellow hair looks questioningly at the viewer, eyebrows raised. Knitted flowers in reds, oranges, and yellows dot the fence, as do large kaleidoscopic hula hoops from fiber artist Cheryl Hopper.
Speers, who lives across the street from the fence, asked Goodwill, her previous neighbor, to replace the old one some 15 years ago. “It was broken down and rusty and I had two little granddaughters and I was concerned it would fall and hurt them,” said Speers. “So I wrote a letter to the president of Goodwill asking them to build a new fence. I told them I would maintain the fence and the grounds in front of it.”
Eighteen months later, a new fence was built and Speers got to work. After asking Goodwill permission to hang art, she began with knitted plant hangers, fastened to the fence with zip ties. Soon, a set of family afghans were hung on the fence, musty from years of mothballs. These were first installed to air out, but left up as a kind of experiment to see what time and the elements would do to them. In fact, this environmental impact is what interests Speers the most about her outdoor art venture.
“For me it’s a process,” she says. “I’m really not as interested in the objects themselves, I want to see what the weather does to them, what the sun does to certain colors [of acrylic yarn]. The paddy green becomes a beautiful teal green, sometimes the pink turns into an orange.”
Speers, a longtime artist and weaver who attended art school at Pratt Institute in 1950s Brooklyn, encouraged other artist friends to take part. Pittsburgh-based fiber artists Donna Kearns, Judy Manion, and Cheryl Hopper have all contributed knitted and crocheted artwork to the fence over the years. All are members of the Fiber Arts Guild of Pittsburgh, which Speers connected with in 2012, after attending a knitting workshop at Contemporary Craft.
“I didn’t know I was yarn bombing,” says Speers, but she soon met artist Amanda Gross who organized the Guild’s impressive Knit the Bridge installation in downtown Pittsburgh in 2013. “When she found out about my fence, Amanda told me ‘you’re a yarn bomber.’ I had never heard the term.”
Speers describes a fence collaboration she did with artist friend Judy Manion of a giant knitted American flag. Manion created the flag with falling bars and stars in response to 9/11 and installed it on the fence in 2014. “The wind, the rain, and temperature changes started to do funny things to the flag, so I took it off and laid it on the deck and rearranged it.” The deteriorated and rearranged flag was entered into a juried art show. Speers then returned the flag to the fence, letting it decompose further. This later iteration was also exhibited professionally.
One of the major themes of the fiber fence is Speers’ sense of playfulness and humor, the sheer fun she has with this project. Fixtures of the fence have been Flo and Flavius Flamingo, two plastic pink flamingos that Speers knits outfits for, changing them with the seasons.
At one point Flo Flamingo was stolen, taken from the fence. Speers responded with a wry visual message. A coffin and knitted skeleton hand was tacked to the fence with the message Rest in Peace, Flo Flamingo, 2023. Someone Stole Her! A month later, Flo was back with the message Thank you for returning Flo! Now, a row of pod-shaped creatures with black hats and googly eyes stand guard over the flamingos. Above them a sign reads Presenting South Side Flamingo Sentries. Speers has expanded her reach to festoon the telephone poles and gas meters with whimsical knitted snakes and other creatures.
Speers welcomes contributions to the fence from others, especially from fiber artists and neighbors, but prefers people to reach out to her first. “I’m all for it,” she says, “I’m willing to take my stuff down” [to make room for new art]. “I have a lot of tchotchkes up there but mainly to fill up the fence and make it colorful. People like to walk their dogs down the street.”
There is no wrong way to see Wrights Way. It is a constantly evolving environment of beautiful, fun, and wacky invention—some of it bright and new; some of it experiencing the passage of time with all the sun-bleached, rain-soaked, and ice-cracked weathering Pittsburgh’s seasons will throw at it. Visit soon, visit later, while the sun is shining and when there’s snow on the ground—you’ll be glad you did.
Getting there: Delli Speers fiber fence is on Wrights Way, between 24th and 25th Streets, on the South Side. You can visit any time and if you’re looking for an excuse, the fence will be featured for the Doors Open event in the South Side on September 23.
The American Flag. It with all its symbolism and implication, patriotism and zealotry. It’s our flag—whether we choose to wave it or not—and it means radically different things to different people. We are all Americans here, sure, but it doesn’t feel that way to everyone.
Today, Independence Day, is that most flag-wavingest, reddest, whitest, and bluest day of the year. Flags and flag-colored things will be aplenty, jutting from front porches, staked into grassy yards, aggressively paraded in pickup truck beds, and decorating everything from courthouses and baseball games to cakes and cookouts.
This year, we made a movie! In addition to our annual roundup of interesting flags found in the wild, your author asked long-time friend and collaborator David Craig, he of the Portland Orbit, to write a poem about the flag. The result, “This Flag,” was recited by its author, put to music by yours truly, and turned into a rock-poetry video featuring flags in many forms, fluttering in the wind and otherwise.
There will be time to murder and create. The words are painted and collaged onto a set of five entrance steps to an elaborately over-the-top front porch. The three-story, Victorian-style dollhouse is covered with a blitzkrieg of … everything. Small toys, buttons, shells, bottle caps, and other found objects have been hot-glued to its surfaces along with a loose collage of magazine cuttings, product packaging, and patterned prints. The decoration is not limited to the exterior of the house. No, the walls and floor of each interior room are decked-out, each in a different over-the-top theme.
The art piece, titled I Lost My Mind, is by Erin Harper. One hopes Ms. Harper was speaking metaphorically of both the losing of minds and murder, but she certainly found time to create. It was perhaps the most striking work at last weekend’s Art All Night, this year again at 31st Street Studios in the Strip District.
Let’s get something straight: there were boobs—lots of them—wangs too. And yes, there was at least one hoo-ha. In addition to the requisite nudes and soft-porn, other Art All Night perennial genres included sports art, paint-splattered baby dolls, skip-a-little-rope, smoke-a-little-dope doobie visions, skulls, skeletons, and zombies, visual puns, and lots and lots of renditions of the downtown Pittsburgh skyline. This being the first Art All Night since the Dobbs decision came down, women’s rights and body autonomy was an important topical issue.
These specialties are not the sum of the artwork included at Art All Night. Despite the focus of this piece, know that Art All Night also features landscapes in oil, portrait paintings, photography, ceramics, elaborate sculpture, delicate craft, terrific kids art, and all the rest. The event, of course, is so much more than paintings hung on plywood walls—the mass of people out-and-about, kids going nuts on cardboard, performance art, the drum circle under the 31st Street Bridge.
But it is this collision of the sublime, along with the ridiculous and the mundane that makes Art All Night so special. And what is most thrilling is that these individual bizarre expressions—created as jokes or under the influence of hallucinogens or mental health issues as they may—have an outlet for public exhibition.
I don’t know if there’s a gallery out there that would show Joseph Heckmann’s Brittany in a Sketchy Atlantic City Hotel, but I’m sure glad I got to see it. What was Brittany doing in Atlantic City and why is she dressed like a clown headed to aerobics? Does she really have a giant tattoo of another clown on her left leg? I want answers, sure, but Heckmann’s acrylic painting gives us that great gift of wonder—not just about the subject of the artwork, but about its creator too.
That is Art All Night’s great gift to the world—both to its event goers and its art contributors. It continues, 26 year on, to be a safe space of free expression for every kind of any person to do what they want to do and share it with everyone else. Hats off, yet again, to the fantastic crew that manages to pull this genie out of a hat year after year.
Staring right back at you is the biggest eyeball you’ve ever seen. We’re talking about a King Kong-sized window to the soul. Gulliver’s frightened ocular as he’s swarmed by Lilliputians. The last thing your reincarnated keister sees before the fly-swatter takes you onto your next life … and it’s parked right there on Butler Street.
If you thought great art was confined to museum halls and bathroom stalls, banish that notion from your mind! Yes, it’s everywhere and anywhere. Why, you’ll find the work of budding young Picassos, Yayoi Kasamas, and Thomas Kinkades on worksheds, mailboxes, trash dumpsters, and right in the middle of the street.
But cars, man, cars! We’re Americans! We drive everywhere and get angry doing it! The automobile is our religion and its finish coating is this temple’s elegant spires and stained-glass windows. Why not treat it like the holy house it truly is?
We’ve all been hoodwinked in one way or another, but this time it’s in the very best way. The mother of all mothers blessing an F-150; a chainsaw-wielding mastodon rider with a window to another galaxy; someone’s sun-bleached Easy Rider fantasy played out across the front of an Econoline van.
So let’s get down under—and over—the hood and rev up another great canvas for self/automotive expression.