LOWBROW ART IS ON THE RISE

In this Tuesday interview with Examiner staffer Fred Dodsworth, Isabel Samaras opens the door to the art gallery which is her mind.

FD: What is the nature of art?

IS: I don't know! I do it because I want to. I feel lucky that I can.
When I moved to San Francisco from New York, I gave myself one year to "make it" as an artist. I said to myself, if I can't pull it off, I have to go get a job, a real, actual job -- which was great incentive. I have a real authority complex, which I think a lot of artists do, that's why we find ways to work on our own.

It actually worked out. When I first arrived in '91, there were a lot of really tiny, weird little galleries that were open to showing people that had no artistic credentials. It was a really open environment. In New York I didn't think anybody would take me seriously, so I was shy to show my work. I came out here and nobody knew me. I was completely anonymous, nobody had any expectations.

It was easy to walk into galleries. I think the first show I had in San Francisco was at a gallery called Art Attack on Divisadero which, sadly, no longer exists. I saw an ad that said they wanted Elvis art for a show on Elvis' birthday. I walked into the gallery and said "You've got to talk to me if you want Elvis art, I am the Elvis artist. I have thousands of Elvis paintings. I have Elvis morning, noon and night." I had never done an Elvis painting in my life.

They were like "Oh wow, you just came from New York? You're this fabulous Elvis artist? We'd love to have you in the show!" I said "When's the show?" They said "Saturday." So I had to run home and do an Elvis painting, which I did and which sold and I thought: So this is how it works. I walk into a gallery, they say yes, I do a painting and someone buys it. And for the most part it actually sort of works like that.

FD: How have SF's galleries changed over the last ten years?

IS: I think that the rising rents, the dot-com-ing of San Francisco, has made it harder for galleries. A lot of the galleries that I originally showed in don't exist anymore. They're gone because they can't make rent.

One of the galleries that I'm currently fond of is 111 Minna Gallery. They don't have to survive solely on the money from art sales. They have a bar, they charge admission for club nights. They can be very risky -- show graffiti art, show art by unknown women artists. The Lab is also really good, New Langton shows a lot. The Cartoon Art Museum is a very under-supported art space.

FD: What's your art called?

IS: I am part of a subgenre of California art. "Lowbrow Art" is the term that gets bandied about. I'm not sure how I got into this group though I flattered to be considered part of it. Robert Williams is considered to be the big daddy of the scene.

He's doing just fine and he's done a great thing promoting other artists. His magazine (Juxtapoz) is one of the only publications in the country that covers this stuff. They focus on the West Coast art scene that sort of scribbles from Seattle to Los Angeles.

California art in general is a lot more light-hearted, colorful, irreverent than East coast art. Maybe that's why I had to leave New York, because everybody thought my stuff was funny but nobody was buying. People would look at my very erotic lunch boxes for adults and say "Aha, very funny. The Lone Ranger and Tonto." Walk away. Here it's "Aha, very funny. how much?" Which is more fun.

We had a symposium in L.A.: art journalists were saying "If we had this great name for you guys then it would take off." Well, it just didn't happen. Eric White calls what he and I do "Hyper-Analism" -- where you paint with these tiny little brushes and do these itty-bitty little details. I like to throw little things in for people who get really close, you have to have an intimate experience with the paintings because they have such a small scale.
My paintings are like an onion with many layers you can appreciate. On the first layer, maybe you don't have an art education, and you didn't watch a lot of TV which my art references. You might think, "Oh, it's funny. Look at the naked people! Ha ha ha ha."

And then, maybe you watched a lot of TV, like I certainly did, and then you go "Oh, that's really funny. That's Gilligan and the Skipper and Mary Ann and the Professor. Oh my God!" Because they are often involved in adult situations.

On another level, my art's obsessive like old-master paintings. In my eyes the old masters were very obsessive. The technique was obsessive and the subject matter was obsessive. All the mythology was really just an excuse to paint naked women. You could get away with painting naked women if you were painting a goddess, a nymph. That made it o.k.

FD: So you paint goddesses and nymphs for today's culture?

IS: In a way I do. Those paintings worked with a mythology that was known to their audience. My generation is not as familiar with Bible stories or ancient mythology but they all watched TV. So I can paint these modern characters and make a reference to historical painting, I can make a reference to a TV show and people either get it or they don't get it. Oh, it's Diana at her bath, oh it's Ginger from "Gilligan's Island," and oh yeah, she's naked.

I'm not into the tragedy stuff. I'm not really into this whole Van Gogh art myth that artists should suffer for their art, be miserable and not make any money. They think they have to promote themselves that way. "Oh, I'm on antidepressants, I'm miserable." You're doing what you love, oh my God that you should make any money at it and do well. Fie, fie on all that.

San Francisco Examiner
January 24, 2001