jmartin

David Kontra, "The Fortune Teller"

Just when I think I can never be an artist, I’m reminded that human beings are capable of much more than they think possible.

McDermott

A new exhibit opened May 25 at the Hannibal Arts Council, “Where We Can Read The Wind,” a traveling collection featuring professional artists with disabilities.

This exhibit features 26 creators from around Missouri and, according to the Hannibal Arts Council news release, should be an exhibit that can touch anyone who has felt intolerance.

“…the exhibit demonstrates that work by artists with disabilities is just as varied and rich as any other diverse group of artists. The exhibit is full of amazing and courageous stories of artists who have struggled not only with their disabilities but with discrimination, rejection but also accomplishment and creative joy. “

Take, for instance, one of the artists in the exhibit, David Kontra. David has less than five percent vision in his left eye and only light perception in his right.

It is inspiring to see someone like David, with such challenges to overcome, express himself through creation.

VSA, the state organization on arts and disability, gives artistic opportunities to those with disabilities and co-sponsors the exhibit, along with Hannibal Arts Council and Missouri Arts Council.

I know I always tell myself (and you) that I can’t paint, I can’t draw, I can’t create beautiful things. Nonsense. The artists in this exhibit are creating beauty and sharing it around the state of Missouri. Maybe instead of judging my artistic ability, I should just try to remember David, who says his vision is like looking through a straw, and just appreciate my ability to simply hold a paintbrush.

I applaud the Hannibal Arts Council for brining such a meaningful exhibit to our area, especially during a time when our nation is learning the importance of acceptance and inclusion, not prejudice.

Visit the blog later this week when I take you through parts of the exhibit. We’ll talk about some of the art you can see when you visit the Hannibal Arts Council and why it is definitely worth the drive across the river.

Exhibit Info:

May 25 – June 23

Hannibal Arts Council, 105 S. Main St.

Gallery Hours:  Monday, Wednesday-Friday 9 a.m.-5 p.m., Saturdays 11 a.m.-2 p.m.

Brenna McDermott

There’s nothing I like more than a heated debate. Movies, TV, politics, religion — difference of opinion and the right to voice those differences are the best things about being an American. I’m even willing to overlook those who watched anything with any Housewife in it who isn’t Betty Draper.

McDermott

Art is more than just something to look it: it is something to be discussed, something to disagree on and something to interpret. And as long as you completely agree with the art critics who know best, your interpretation is the correct one.

Opinion and interpretation of art seems to be equally important as the art itself. What I mean is that meaning must be associated with a creation to make it special/important/hated/beloved/anything at all. We all make judgments about the beautiful and not so beautiful things we see hanging in art galleries, on our friends’ walls, but maybe we don’t say it out loud. Well, what happens when your judgment seems to the only dissenting voice?

How do you know if your inner critic is accurately judging or just judgmental?

I recently visited the Museum of Modern Art in New York City with my brother Andrew, and we capped off the tour with a trip to the sixth floor for the retrospective of world-famous photographer Cindy Sherman.  Cindy has made a career of her self-portraits, which provide social commentary on body image, fame, power and many other issues. You can read more about Cindy here. If you choose to look at photos of her works, I warn you, some are graphic.

The first thing we saw as we walked in were 40-foot tall wall paperings of Cindy dressed in various silly wigs, prosthetic noses and outrageous costumes. I had no idea what we were walking into until I spotted this photo, above.

I stared at the giant photo of Cindy Sherman wearing some kind of carnie outfit, holding juggling pins and giving that sassy attitude and I burst into laughter. I didn’t see a statement on feminism or the world around me — I just saw someone who looked like she belonged next to Tim Curry in “Rocky Horror Picture Show.” My brother and I stared at each other and laughed again.

“Wow,” I thought to myself, “This Cindy character sure is hilarious.”

It took us about 20 more seconds to realize that of the hundreds of people viewing Cindy’s self-portraits, we were literally the only ones laughing. The exhibit continued with her depicting plastic surgery, Housewife type characters with too much makeup and fanciful costumes.  We continued to be the only ones laughing.

This couldn’t be possible, I thought to myself. How is it that no one else sees the humor in what this crazy woman has spent her career doing? I searched deep into my mind to figure out what I really thought of this woman and her photography that was really supposed to say something about being a woman, about beauty and about our society.

All I knew it said to me was that the inappropriate prosthetic body parts and the kitschy poses seemed like more of a commentary on humor than how we perceive beauty or anything important.

That was when we realized that Cindy wasn’t trying to be funny. She was 100 percent serious about her absurd photography. And so, the “serious” art fans that had traveled from all over the world to see her exhibit were not amused either. I could not believe that there wasn’t a single other person giggling to themselves about Cindy’s outrageous photography. But that person looked around and saw that she wasn’t supposed to laugh at the “serious art” that really means something.

My feelings about the meaning of Cindy’s art didn’t change the importance of the exhibit to me — merely the outcome. I didn’t leave thinking Cindy Sherman was going to save womankind. However, I did leave thinking that I felt totally okay with the fact that I did not get it. And I was woman enough to admit it. Despite my leanings toward feminism and my liberal outlook on society, Cindy’s clown faces just didn’t speak to me.

My interpretation of her art was quite different than the others’ around me, but that did not make it less important to me. Just a lot funnier.

Maybe those who stayed silent around me assumed they didn’t know enough about art to make a judgment on what they were seeing. To that, I say that we can’t all be artists, but we can all be critics. Most art is created to be discussed, to be interpreted, to be argued over. We all have opinions and experience that help us create meaning from a photograph or a painting. Why would/should we stay silent and let a select few “critics” judge it for us?

Whether she meant to or not, Cindy Sherman reminded me of a very important lesson that day: Don’t ever take life too seriously. Otherwise, you might end up looking like one of Cindy Sherman’s self-portraits.

If we all start being a little more honest about the things we see on museum walls, in galleries and on the Internet, art becomes more meaningful. I choose a quote from my boss, Mark Twain. “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.”

Maybe I didn’t get Cindy’s work, but we spent the rest of the day in NYC talking about art, life, beauty and humor. I used my mind and my experiences to have an intelligent yet utterly absurd debate over whether Cindy Sherman takes life too seriously or whether she had us both fooled.

Art is infinitely more fun for those of us who don’t create it when we are honest about how it makes us feel and willing to engage in a heated debate about what a painting means to us. Even if it simply means you don’t get it. That is much better than pretending you “get” what a woman in a clown suit is trying to say to you.

Brenna McDermott

Editor’s note: The Local Q is pleased to introduce Brenna McDermott. Brenna is a 2011 graduate of Truman State University and is the  marketing and community relations manager at the Mark Twain Boyhood Home and Museum in Hannibal. Read more about Brenna here.

I’m not what would be considered an “artist.” I’m no Monet, no Mozart, no Madonna. OK, so maybe that last one could be up for debate. However, I am what I would call a “dabbler.” I’ve dabbled in art. I’ve performed theater — see Affton High School’s 2007 production of “Singing in the Rain,” in which I performed as movie star Lena Lemont and was the first lead character who was so loud she did not require a microphone. I’ve knitted — and at least one of my scarves is actually wearable, thank you Mom. I’ve painted — I won an art contest in the first grade, and my abstract painting hung at Powell Symphony Hall for a time. I like to think of that as the turning point of my artistic career. I’ve made bad pottery, sung mostly on tune in a show choir, danced tap and drawn stick figures in birthday cards — last year’s sketches were getting pretty good too. I’ve dabbled in most of the arts. I suck at most.

McDermott

But I have opinions. And from time to time, I like to put those opinions to pen.

I graduated from Truman State University in 2011 with a degree in journalism and a desire to immerse myself in good film, music, non-fiction writing and fill my home with expensive abstract art I’ll never be able to afford.

My goal at “Alt Arts” is to explore all kinds of art — everything from piano playing to the art of the mixed drink to the methodology of fancy grass cutting. However, I draw the line at actually mowing the lawn myself. What makes an artist? How do we discern what is good or bad art? And what about art is so enticing to the human condition? What are the many ways local people are expressing their artistic sides? Alt Arts is a place to address those very heavy questions. And also light questions, like “Can I make art from Popsicle sticks, glue and my old dishrags?” And I really hope the answer to that is “yes.”

We all have a desire to create, to express something, to tell a story. Writing has always been my art form, even though I know my grandmother would prefer me to be a movie star. Sorry, Grandma, I’m no Meryl Streep.

So join me as I delve into all kinds of artistic expression. If all goes as planned, I’ll hopefully lay down some beats and start off my rap career, learn how to ice cupcakes so they look fancy and not like a five-year-old slopped some icing on top, and maybe even learn how to improve those stick figures of mine. It’s likely that none of that will actually happen. But I promise to find you interesting stories and discuss what we’re all here for — a love of creative expression, even if we aren’t the Monets, Mozarts and Madonnas of the world.

Brenna McDermott

When I first moved to town, I was thrilled by the huge inventory of historic buildings that are in stock in the city of Quincy — particularly the ones downtown. Quincy is home to enough of these gems that it has become a beacon to architects, preservationists and scholars all over the eastern part of the country. There is one gentleman in town that is making sure it stays that way.

His name is Terry Austin. Just before the holidays, I had the pleasure of spending an hour or so meeting up with Terry and perusing some of these great structures that have had life breathed into them with multiple uses.

Terry has an eye for preservation and understands most of the techniques used in early building materials, moldings, wood work — he can identify most types of wood just with the naked eye — techniques used in press tin molded ceilings, even color schemes. He also understands the reasons why building owners used real stuff out front and more composite stuff behind the façade: Costs.

Terry and his son, Bret, owners of Austin Properties of Quincy Inc., own the northwest corner of Eighth and Hampshire — where the Interior Elements Shop is — as well as the northwest corner building of Eighth and Maine. Three buildings were recently purchased at the northeast corner of Sixth and Maine where “Everything and the Kitchen Sink” is located. After some renovation, this building is now being sold to the shop owners. Terry and Bret also own the 626 Maine building where the Maine Course Restaurant is located, and he used to own the building at the southwest corner of Eighth and Maine where Quincy Billiards is now located. All in all, they’ve handled 50 residential units and 16 commercial around town — including some in the German district on the south west end of town — over 30 years in the real estate investment business.

One of his most exciting new projects is on Hampshire Street just east of Fifth on the south side of the street. A few fully renovated rental units are upstairs already, and there’s going to be a new bakery going in on the ground floor.

Holowicki

Terry started out as a foreman for Firestone Tires decades ago and has made himself a valued commodity in the business. He bought his parents house back in the late ’70s. With a partner, he got started doing this on the side, using the equity in that house to finance many of the projects that came along. Later, after Firestone left Quincy and he and his partner split, he continued on his own.

He admits he used to do some of the work himself, but now, most of it is contracted so that he can focus on the aesthetics of the exteriors, working to revive most of historic downtown Quincy.

Terry is the owner and founder of Austin Associates and is an expert in foundry and metal casting work. Established in 1987 and incorporated in Illinois, the company employs five to nine workers. Terry is also on the board of Quincy Preserves and likes motorcycles.

Steve Holowicki