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| Jim Houser and Roger
Gastman, Babel
(Gingko Press, Corte Madera, CA in association with R77 Publishing, Bethesda,
MD: 2005) ISBN 1-58423-198X
This intriguing little book is hard to categorize. It’s not exactly an artist book by Jim Houser; artist books don’t have an introduction by the artist’s dealer (Shelley Spector) or an interview with the artist. It’s not exactly a monograph either; monographs aren’t compiled or art-directed by their subject (Houser with Roger Gastman as compiler, Houser with Tony Smirski for art direction) and monographs identify the works illustrated with standard information (title, date, dimensions, and location, at a minimum). I’ve decided it is most appropriately thought of as a journal: aside from the aforementioned texts, it consists entirely of unlabeled illustrations of Houser’s work and a number of photographs of the artist and his friends and family in both working and social milieus. Only one of the photographs is labeled (the artist as a boy on a skateboard), although all are obviously personal and show him as an adolescent, at various stages of his career, and at his wedding. Houser’s only text (beyond the many words and phrases integral to his paintings, drawings, and installations) is a page of acknowledgments and an afterword, which dates the book to a tragic moment, when his wife, artist Rebecca Westcott, was killed in a car accident. There might be chapter headings: heard voices, kept under hats, fables, sprouts, goners ... they seem to be separate from the artwork, but they are in varied lettering and each is situated differently; perhaps they are just more words. The book’s small dimensions (9-1/4" x 7-3/8") contribute to its journal-like impression, as does the quirky nature of Houser’s art, which is filled with snippets of text and a repertory of images which appear and reappear in varying scale and circumstances. The book includes 82 full-color pages of Houser’s work and photographs, many with several images on a page, and wonderful end-papers from a sketchbook of painting ideas (I presume). Houser’s work resembles an ongoing journal of his dreams and thoughts. It is superficially innocent, even child-like, and has always been easy to like: his exhibitions sell out. Yet he periodically includes words and phrases that speak of anxiety, danger, and violence: snares, germs, traps, hide the body in a secluded area, toxins in the blood. Perhaps people overlook Houser’s darker side because of his style: his painting is precise and graphic, with no expressionist angst; his figures might be plucked from a children’s book, with smiling elephants and octopuses, charming little birds, ghosts that would scare no one; and his use of color is graphically sophisticated. He could do work for Design Within Reach -- in fact, he has, as well as for Nike and the skateboard companies Toy Machine and Designarium. If Houser’s texts encompass a wide emotional range (from warnings to a proposal of marriage), his language is equally diverse. In the interview with Mary Chen the artist moves back and forth between street jargon (rad, yo, sucked) and academically-informed ideas (cadence, metaphor, schematic). Perhaps this is the sign of the autodidact. The words in his art are somewhat less colloquial. Every article on Houser makes a point of his lack of art school education (or any significant higher education), although through his friends and wife he had considerable art education by proxy. The child-like style and street language may be put on for effect, but they are convincing. I’ll accept Houser as one of those people who, to use a dreadful phrase, have maintained contact with their inner child. To enter one of Houser’s installations is to be surrounded with the chatter in his head. Perhaps that idea is behind the title, with its Biblical reference to mankind’s hubris and explanation of our multiple languages, incomprehensible to one another. Houser offers another point of entry to his thoughts with this book. If you want to go there, this poignant book is a good place to start. Back to InLiquid's Commentary
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