When first encountering the term “lowbrow art,” one might tend to scoff, or at least raise the proverbial eyebrow. Which is fine with the practitioners of this free-wheeling movement, whose intent is to scoff right back at the highbrow world of “fine art” with, as they see it, its conventions, pretensions and conceits, not to mention its often inflated prices.

The origin of Lowbrow, a distinctly American movement, dates back to the mid-nineties, when one of its outstanding proponents, artist Robert Williams, founded Juxtapoz magazine to showcase the many talented people in this arena. Williams, a masterful technician, helped bring respectability to the movement, as art-goers and critics could not deny his astonishing and prolific virtuosity as a painter. In fact, Williams claims to have coined the term “Lowbrow,” so we are assured that it is not a pejorative description invented by the “fine” art crowd. As Williams puts it, “What it boils down to is we’re manipulated by a priestly elite of cultural directors in the art world, telling us what is and isn’t art.” One need only view his 1997 painting, “Expectorating In a Fast Food Patron’s Double Cheese Burger,” to get much of the rationale behind the Lowbrow movement. And yet, the “intelligentsia” that is usually associated with elitist culture is also typical of Lowbrow with its anti-establishment, somewhat cerebral posture. So it is not so easy to characterize, and Williams himself thought the term “lowbrow” did not totally apply, but it has stuck and the movement has steadily gained ground, as Juxtapoz is now the second best-selling art journal in America..

Actually, Lowbrow’s roots go back further, to the birth of pop Americana starting in the late 50's and exploding in the 60’s with the underground “comix” of R. Crumb, S. Clay Wilson and Williams himself, among others. Other influences are derived from science-fiction, horror movies, cartoons, TV sitcoms, pulp eroticism and many other types of populist social phenomena that most people, particularly the middle and lower socio-economic classes, could relate to more zestfully and less self-consciously than society’s upper strata.

Lowbrow art is characterized by grotesque and often nightmarish visions, but just as often by irreverent and whimsical humor. Its imagery is largely surrealistic and symbolic, always imaginative, unrestrained by convention. There are other names that might suit it, such as “visionary” and “underground” -- "pop surrealism” seems especially appropriate.

Into this scene comes the real subject of our inquiry, Kevin Peterson, who like many of these artists, migrates from a background in illustration and graphic design. In fact, at the young age of 26, having begun painting in earnest only three years ago, he still maintains a day job as a graphic artist to support his love of painting, which he indulges in nearly every night until one or two in the morning after returning home from his daily labors. Born in San Diego, the very fount of the movement which is now centered in Los Angeles, Peterson early on developed a thirst for surrealistic literature and the “abnormal.” He started drawing as a child and made his first oil painting when he was eleven, but didn’t seriously venture into oils until he was 23 and had graduated from the Laguna College of Art and Design. The delay, he admits, was caused by an early lack of confidence -- “I was afraid I wouldn’t be in control enough, I didn’t feel ready.”

But once he was ready he quickly developed a technique that is remarkable for its virtuosity and precision. His figures are phantasms and grotesqueries, human and animal, with a compelling range of action and expression that is arresting and perplexing, giving us a sense that something significant is going on, yet eluding our attempts at understanding. One of his paintings, “Balsamic Pompadour,” (oil on wood, 12’ x 24”) currently on view with about a dozen of his works at Thinkspace Gallery in Los Angeles, is typical of his original, deep and seemingly borderless imagination, as well as his mastery of structure, color and texture. A male human, or shall we say “humanoid” face in profile with a rather dour expression occupies the lower foreground, a small and conspicuously empty one-room house sitting atop its head (the “pompadour”). A sinuous, elongated hand emerges from one side of the house, grasping what appears to be the knob of the combination lock on a safe that is ingeniously incorporated into one side of the discontented gentleman’s head. The upper part of the painting is taken up by a bizarre landscape including a mysterious green-eyed creature, another robot-like head that is disgorging a twisted stream of effluvia, and, very subtly, a small and delicate bird that is perched in a barely distinguishable brocade of leaves and branches cascading beneath a dynamically thrusting tree. The whole work, with its glowing palette of gold, green, and other late summer shades set off by a central band of metallic blue, achieves a harmonious and convincing unity of its seemingly disparate elements. It makes us wonder, “What’s going on here?” but without losing appreciation for the sheer pictorial craftsmanship.

As for what is, in fact, going on here, Peterson says that as a rule he has little if any idea what the narrative or meaning of a painting might be when he starts out. “My subject matter is largely an outgrowth of my mood and of events I may have observed or considered. I like to free associate and draw upon my memory as much as possible, painting from my head. I feel that it’s very important to exercise the basic function of memory and keep it sharp. I never know what a piece will look like until it’s completed, which is the most exciting part of painting for me.” In the case of “Balsamic Pompadour,” Peterson says the painting is grounded in his feelings about his nomadic state of life after having just returned to San Diego from various wanderings, and having

no real place to settle down. Thus the “Balsamic,” or bitter edge to the main figure’s countenance, his thoughts dominated by the lonely-looking little house on his head. The significance of the other figures in the painting is anybody’s guess, including Peterson’s, who prefers to let his subconscious rule whenever possible.

Another curiously arresting work in the exhibit is “Two Old Men of the 18th Hole Apocalypse,” (oil on canvas, 12” x 24”) which depicts, yes, two old and very glum looking characters, again with the grotesque physiognomy that is peculiar to Peterson’s style, bedecked in their golfing outfits and staring out at us with mournful expressions from in front of the 18th green on a golf course. Between them is a tiny gnome-like character with gleaming white lights for eyes, and in the left background, a red-eyed robot overlooks the scene. The painting would be amusing were it not for the doleful expressions on the two men. Peterson’s explanation? – “I spent some time living near a Leisure World community, so I got to see lots of elderly people, many of them walking around wearing goofy outfits. So I guess this painting is saying, ‘We’ve reached the 18th hole, the end of the game – what do we do now? It’s an apocalypse!’ ” The painting reverberates with mordant sarcasm that may strike a painful note for some. As for the gnome and the robot, ask the artist, please.

There is another painting, not in the exhibit but viewable at the artist’s website along with the previously discussed works (kevinpetersonart.com), which may be the most iconic of his creations. It’s called “Jealous Monkey, Squeaky Donut,” (oil on canvas, 12” x 24”), which simply must be seen to be appreciated (now there’s a likely “lowbrow” phrase). One can envision this one as a large print or poster with ubiquitous popularity, and spend lots of time trying to decipher the meaning behind its striking imagery. Like his other works it lures us with its glowing surfaces and dynamically integrated

color schemes. Peterson describes the technique he uses to achieve these effects – “First, I use very good materials, Old Holland oil paints and Series 7 sable brushes. I begin to sketch with pens and pencils, eventually completing a finished drawing. Once the drawing is finished, I use fixative to set it and keep it smooth, then roll over it with matte medium and make a dense egg-shell texture. I begin glazing the drawing with tons of different colors, then let it dry. I work the color scheme up very slowly and gradually to keep control over focal points and create depth. This makes the light, when it hits the painting, bounce through the layers of glazes, making the painting glow. This process of working in multiple layers also allows for smoother transitions between colors. Finally I focus on a few sections and really polish them up, adding reflected light, texture glazes, patterns, tiny highlights, etc., then varnish the painting well, which makes the colors rich and the darks, deep.”

As far as promoting and marketing his work, Peterson is candid. “That’s a department I’m definitely lacking in. It’s very hard to keep track of everything – money, promotion, bills, girlfriend, family, etc. I don’t think I’ve done a good job of promoting myself, just relying on word of mouth, my website, magazines, friends and online communities.” Peterson has already demonstrated wondrous imagination and dazzling expertise. As his talent matures it’s hard to foresee anything but greater renown.

The main exhibit at the Thinkspace Gallery, entitled “Subterfuge,” also includes two other artists, Nathan Spoor and Francesco LoCastro, whose work is very good but seems overshadowed by Peterson’s luminous creations. Peterson also curated a secondary exhibit in the rear gallery, a group showing consisting of many of the talented artists in this genre. Among his personal favorites are Neko Burke, Jason Dugan and Lola. David Stoupakis also stands out, but all are worthy of scrutiny.

Related Links:

http://www.kevinpetersonart.com/

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