>>PREVIEW
ANALOG
Bradley Harms
Runs until October 15
Newzones Gallery of Contemporary Art
Artists are notorious for being difficult to interview and even more difficult to comprehend, but speaking with non-representational abstractionist Brad Harms is more like a laid-back social occasion than an official question-and-answer session.
A striking 34-year-old with an irresistible charm, Harms oozes passion whether he’s giving his no-nonsense explanations of art or expressing his love of gritty joints like A Bar Named Sue.
Charisma aside, it's clear the young painter is making a name for himself. His work has been part of group shows in Miami and Munich, while the Canada Council purchased his painting Six Steelies for its art bank last year and exhibited it as part of the Alberta centennial celebrations hosted by Ottawa’s National Arts Centre this past April. Locally, Harms’s work can be seen at the Newzones Gallery – where his latest collection, Analog, is currently being exhibited – and several of his paintings are featured in the lobby of Hotel Arts, the former Holiday Inn on 12th Avenue S.W. For years, his art also hung in the smoke and din of the enduringly hip Mercury bar. Indeed, drinking establishments seem to be a favoured venue with him – in 2003 he collaborated on Get Real, a raw, urban exhibition held at the St. Louis Hotel and featuring the work of artists from New York to Los Angeles.
Despite his achievements, Harms appears to have a keen sense of place and responsibility.
"There's a certain work ethic that comes with painting," he says. "I look at it as kind of a blue-collar thing to do with philosophical implications. I go to my daily job of painting, but in doing so it becomes something so incredibly rich that it isn't really a job."
While his zeal for what he does borders on contagious, he has little time for those who sulk over their art.
"The whole archetype of the artist who's completely misunderstood is a cliché," he says. "An artist should always be understood if they have something to say."
Standing in Newzones, hair tousled, smelling faintly of incense and wearing a T-shirt of his own making, Harms excitedly explains Analog.
"These paintings work a lot with formal issues," he says. "They kind of betray the technology of our time and our ability to create things that are much more precise and intricate and not necessarily so chunky," he adds, referring to what he calls the "blood and guts" painting of the 1960s and ’70s. "There is so much to process in our culture right now that the old-school mode of abstraction would be so uni-dimensional that it wouldn't be relevant."
Amid the hysteria and jarring violence of modern living, Harms says new works have become calming and distilled in reaction. But don't call it Zen, he adds, only half joking. "It's less imposing. This is just as demanding, but not in such an authoritative way."
He says the larger-than-life artists of earlier eras, such as Jackson Pollock, were vital to their time, creating a sense of political identity with their work, kind of like art propaganda. "It was like cheering a sports team," says Harms. "These paintings (the Analog works) aren't about cheering a sports team; these paintings are about realizing where and when you are in the world."
Using acrylics and contrasting warm and iridescent colours such as navy blues and shocking pinks, Harms’s paintings almost appear manufactured or digitally rendered – but first appearances can be deceiving.
"They're steeped in technology, however, they're all handcrafted. This is a romantic way of looking at it, but a certain amount of craft goes into these. Actually, a great amount," he says, laughing. He spends hundreds of hours per painting creating the myriad lines that provide the backdrop for orbs of varying sizes and colours. After gazing at them for awhile, a slight sense of vertigo sets in. That's intentional, says Harms.
"They are capturing the motions of emotions," he says. So the obvious question has to be asked: Are these a reflection of his feelings?
"They're observations. I think a lot of them have to do with things happening in my life, but I wouldn't necessarily call them autobiographical," he says.
There's been a shift from his 2003 collection, Idiolect, which contained such ominous titles as All Shall Worship Me and Despair and Worthless Prodigy, to his current whimsical name choices, such as Rumpus Room and Father Said No Parties. Harms says that, after earning his master’s degree from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, he was "cocky." His new approach is anything but, as witnessed in his inclusive attitude towards explaining his new series.
"They're not necessarily forcing anything upon you, but asking you," he says.
Harms's paintings exude an ordered confidence that can be initially intimidating. But on closer examination, they're simply human renderings with all the complexities that entails. It's a challenge to communicate with them, but that's the point. "Abstract art is not meant to be explicit," he says emphatically, adding, "Anything is valid when you look at an abstract painting. It's meant to stimulate thought, not dictate it." |
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