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Chet Zar at Strychnin Gallery, London.

I seem to recall attending another Strychnin Gallery opening previously on Friday the 13th. However on this occassion I was there to see Chet Zar’s exhibition “Ugly American”. Arriving early I had a chance to take in all of the exhibition and meet a few people, including the artist himself.

I found Chet to be a very warm, open and friendly soul. He’s nothing like his paintings. As he puts it, his intent with his paintings is to reflect back the ugliness he sees around himself in Los Angeles. He’s worked extensively in the movie industry. He had found it rewarding, but now is very happy to progressing to a life as a full time painter, as he did not enjoy the ugly side of Hollywood. This I surmize has given him endless inspiration for his artwork.

I whipped out a copy of Metamorphosis for him to sign for Jon Beinart and myself. My bag went home a little heavier as I also purchased a catalogue of Chet’s artwork. There was also a hard bound limited edition, but this was a little beyond my budget for the moment.

Laurie Lipton who will also be exhibiting with Strychnin Gallery again in Berlin, also attended the opening. So it was a very social evening talking to the artists, other guests, Yasha Young (the gallery owner) and her lovely staff.

Some of Chet's paintings at the Strychnin exhibition.

Chet’s artwork glowed, although the themes were monsters. He indicated that the colour theme was different to what he usually works with. He went on to explain that he was inspired by a dream with incredibly luminescent colours. It is always interesting seeing the real personality of a painting. The layering, brush strokes, technique, all of the things that are lost in four colour process printing or a digital image on a website. The image is always flattened. It was therefore a real joy to see the detail and masterful layering of Chet’s original artwork.

The night lengthened with the conversations, and eventually closing time arrived. Having already been engaged in a number of stimulating conversations, Chet, his friends, myself and mine, all trooped off to a local bar in the Truman Brewery around the corner. This lasted for one drink, until a bright spark pointed out that there were lonely beers waiting for us back at the gallery.

With a less distracting atmosphere, we settled on the gallery floor until the early hours of the morning for further existential and philosophical discussions.

We all eventually parted ways, leaving Chet to bed down in the guest room at the gallery, and ourselves to seek our repose. Did we all dream of monsters that night, or of the comrade in paint?

You can see Chet’s works for yourself at Strychnin Gallery London, 65 Hanbury Street, London E1 5J, UK.

Photos by Iris Bitter of Strychnin Gallery.

Somewhere between imagination and Berlin lies a special place called Zozoville. The doorway to this land of oddball under the bed monsters, devils and dysfunctionally cute can be found at Mainzer Strasse 12, Friedrichshain, Berlin. The only characters that you will find within approaching any possible sense of normality are Johan Potma and Mateo.

Some years ago when I was hawking my artistic wares on the Boxhagnerplatz flea market, myself and other artist friends found an abandoned American artist in a cardboard box on the market with his brushes and colours. Taking pity on the poor starving creature, we took him home to our corner of the market where we fed and watered him with our artistic comrade and the occasional coffee or morsel of food.

So it came to pass that Mateo was in our midst every Sunday. At some point later like a rabbit out of hat came Johan. We were not sure where he came from, but we were almost certain he was one of Mateo's magic tricks.

Thus began the creative partnership that was to evolve into the multi-eyed organism called Zozoville. Housed in a tiny shop front on the streets of urban cool that are Friedrichshain, this industrious pair founded their creative factory.

The Zozoville window is like some aliens come to earth and hiding behind a thin veneer of normality, but with an odd suspicious appendage popping out film. The sort of shop where you take a strange cute pet home, but not realising it is some ravenous beast from another world whose soul intent is to eat your geraniums. 

Johan and Mateo's endevours grow from strength to strength and people are starting to notice. In the past year they've had a run of media coverage, culminating with several TV interviews.

As I write this they are currently exhibiting their artwork in Paris. Their artwork is taking them to the corners of the unsuspecting world.

Zozoville.com

This month, Anja Brinkmann and I went to the Dalí Museum in Figueres, Spain. We hired a car and drove north from Barcelona. We were both excited to see the museum. Having wound our way through the tiny streets of the old town center, there were the unmistakable eggs sitting atop the museum.

Having seen many photos of the museum, there were many moments of aha, so that's where that feature belongs. Entering the museum, you are greeted by Dalí's raining car, however it is not raining. To my disappointment, I discovered that you have to put money in a coin slot. This was the first of several instances in the museum where things are coin operated, "Avida Dollars!".

Mounted on the bonnet of the car is a grandeouse sculpture that Ernst Fuchs cheekily gifted Dalí for his museum. But Dalí was the master and had a surprise install for Fuchs. At the grand opening of the museum, there was his sculpture perched on bonnet like an ornament.

Scattered throughout the museum are a number of his famous works, but also many others that I found of little interest. As a painter I guess I'm biased. As a lover fine painting, I guess I'm biased again. So it was with great interest that both Anja and I studied his most famous paintings. What surprised me, was how small these paintings are. A few years ago in Berlin, I saw Dalí's famous melting clocks, "The Persistence of Memory". It was tiny! So I've come to realize that finer works are usually small and the larger somewhat more rough or simple.

His Sterogram paintings were fascinating to look at, and did create a great sense of depth. There were numerous examples of these about the museum. I was wondering how he chose the colours to created the depth illusion.

At the end of it all, I felt like there was something missing. After being so privileged to have meet so many superb and talented artists in the recent years, and then visit them in their studio, I realized that this was not possible with Dalí. But on our last round of the gallery we did find his tomb in the basement of the museum. So he was there, but not there.

After a very late lunch, we then drove to Port Lligat (Cadaques) to see his home. After travelling on the "senic route" to Port Lligat along winding hillside roads, we arrived rather late, just as his home, now a museum was being closed. The only residents to be seen were the multitudes of cats. I could instantly see what attracted Dalí to Port Lligat. Beautiful clear water in a protected bay, and very secluded.

And so ended our Dalian journey, from the outside of his house we looked at the garden walls and could only wonder and imagine at the parties and visitors that came to see the grand surrealist.

This week I travelled with my girlfriend Anja Brinkmann to the Panorama Museum in Bad Frankenhausen, Germany. I had discovered the museum on the internet, and became interested when I noted some of the artists that had been exhibited there. I was rather excited because the museum seemed to be dedicated to modern painters working in Old Masters techniques. We didn't know what to expect, and had some friends in Weimar try and talk us out of going, and rather go to a contemporary art fair.

To say we were surprised, is an understatement. We were astounded, not by the temporary exhibition, but by the panorama painting that the museum was especially built for.

In in 1976 Werner Tübke was commissioned by the East German Government to create a panoramic painting to commemorate a peasants uprising in 1525. The painting is a gob smacking 14m high by 123m long and an unbroken ring around the circular room. The lighting also heightens the effect of the painting as it towers above you.

On my first casual inspection, it appeared to be only a historical depiction, but then as I proceeded around the room, its detailed splendour unfolded. Tübke spent several years researching woodblock prints from the era of the uprising, and styled the painting after that. He also took inspiration from Hieronymus Bosch and wove fantastical themes and creatures into the extensive work.

We spent four hours at the museum, and most of that time, just looking at the painting. I tried in vain to soak all of the detail. It is a truly overwhelming experience. I've never encountered a painting like it before.

I posted more details about the museum on beinArt.org.