Ronald
Lockett, “Rebirth” (1987), wire, nails, and paint on Masonite, 12 x 18
1/2 x 1 1/2 in, collection of Souls Grown Deep Foundation (all photos by
Stephen Pitkin / Pitkin Studio)
Ronald Lockett believed in magic. So said sculptor
Kevin Sampson during a talk in July at the American Folk Art Museum (AFAM), which is currently hosting a
retrospective of Lockett’s work.
The artist died in 1998 of AIDS-related pneumonia, so hearing Sampson
say that Lockett believed that the objects he made with his hands had
power beyond aesthetic allure makes sense. Being black and gay and male
in the rural South — Bessemer, Alabama — one would have to stay under
the radar, or, as Sampson put it, “keep to himself.”
But this may not be true. According the biographical essay by collector Paul Arnett on the website of
Souls Grown Deep (his nonprofit foundation
promoting many
self-taught artists from the South),
Lockett’s sexuality was questioned by many, and he had female sexual
partners. See? I’ve already tumbled into the well of personal narrative
that makes Lockett’s art eddy into a whirlpool of sentimentality, pity,
and rage about the shrunken life chances of people like Lockett from the
rural South, people who graduated from high school, but never learned a
trade and who lived in their mother’s house their entire lives. This is
the tension pulled taught by the contravening forces of the work, which
has its own things to say, and the story of his life, and also the
category in which we place Lockett. Is he a vernacular artist, or a
craft artist; an outsider artist, or one who is self-taught? In this
context, it feels unfair to say he died of “AIDS-related pneumonia.” I
have to say “AIDS-related pneumonia at age 32” because this is true and a
key part of his story, but I also need to put that aside for a moment
to talk about his artwork.
Ronald
Lockett, “Traps (Golden Bird)” (1990), chain-link fencing, branches,
cut tin, industrial sealing compound, and found plastic bird and
berries, 48 x 48 x 4 in, collection of Tinwood LLC
Lockett takes some of the strategies I am familiar with, but imbues
them with — there’s no other way to accurately say it — heart. Look at “
Holocaust”
(1988). He separates the story of that historic horror with two
separate fields of color that then become the story and the
meta-discursive comment on it. White skeletal bodies made of painted
metal are tossed willy-nilly into the air of an utterly black setting
and then, on the right side of the piece, demarcated by a change in
color scheme, just green on the bottom and blue on top as if a new day
had dawned. You can also see him reworking ideas in this show. “Rebirth”
(1987) features a skeletal dog in painted tin that’s stark white on a
black background and, to the right, another field of green grass, but
this time bloodstained under a washy blue sky. Lockett has an
intelligence with materiality and with drama that together make things
matter, even if the history isn’t completely familiar. The revelations
continue as you walk through the show. “
Sacrifice”
(1987) consists of a shelf of wood with a painted figure made of
wire — a lone figure on a cross, clearly meant to refer to Christ,
delineated from the cross itself by the use of white paint. The figure
is both part of the structure and floating above it.
Ronald Lockett, “Homeless People” (1989), paint and wood on fiberboard, 48 x 48 1/4 x 1 1/2 in, collection of Ron and June Shelp
In the exhibition
Fever Within: The Art of Ronald Lockett,
AFAM wants you to see the magic that Lockett supposedly believed in and
brought to bear on nails, tin, tree branches, chicken wire, industrial
sealing compound, plastic vents, charred wood, and the enamel and paint
he could hardly afford at times. But is there any other way to talk
about these works and convey Lockett’s spirit except by using terms like
“magic”? It’s alchemy to change the basic ingredients that went into
his artist’s cauldron into works of staggering feeling.
Ronald
Lockett, “Fever Within” (1995), tin, colored pencil, and nails on wood,
66 1/2 x 30 x 2 in, collection of Souls Grown Deep Foundation (click to
enlarge)
This exhibition asks you to do more work than most museum shows. Not
only do you need to decide how to feel about the transformations Lockett
accomplished, you also have to decide how to divide your
attention between his story and his work. AFAM complicates this choice
by simultaneously running the exhibition
Once Something Has Lived It Can Never Really Die in
an adjacent hall, where Lockett’s work is paired with votive symbols
and indigenous crafts of various tribes to make the point that this work
has a performative aspect. It’s about calling forth another reality
that the maker wants — perhaps needs — to experience in order to keep
going in this one. Lockett says in a video housed in that second show,
that when he loses himself he goes back to the work to “regain himself.”
It’s awful to think he had nothing else but the objects made from his
own hands to comfort him, but then you are astounded by a painting like “
Civil Rights Marchers” (1988), with all its vicious, ugly swirls of red, black, and white, like blood leavening our entrenched racial antagonism.
All of these generative tensions make Lockett’s work worth seeing and
spending time with. But don’t pity him; there’s no need. You’ll find
Lockett’s hand working tin, wood, iron nails, and paint, working
from deep desire for a conjuring that is its own healing salve.
Ronald Lockett “Untitled (Horse)” (ca 1987), paint on wood with cut tin and nails, 41 x 58 x 3 in, collection of Tinwood LLC
Fever Within: The Art of Ronald Lockett and Once Something Has Lived It Can Never Really Die continue at the American Folk Art Museum (2 Lincoln Square, Upper West Side, Manhattan) through September 18.
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