My dad is an art dealer.
Not a very good one or I wouldn't have a 2008 Toyota Yaris...I'd have a 2010 Yaris.
My sense of being an artist is way screwed up by my upbringing. When I'm called an artist I have a fake smile and say thank you.
Art to me is about being better than others. Knowing something others don't know, judging what's hanging on someone else's walls.
I don't like art galleries. I don't like museums. The thought of going into them makes my intestines. clench.
Yet, I love art.
When my kids were little I would go on the field trips and listen with rapt attention as the docents asked the children questions. I chimed in all the time. (because I'm just excited to be asked my opinion)
Once I was inside the museum it was wonderful. I love staring at a piece of art. There is a piece in The San Francisco De Young Fine Arts Museum I couldn't break away from in the California collection. It was art from the late 1800's from areas I grew up before they were suburbs. I love it. I want to steal it.
But the thought of going back in; once again the clench.
In the early 1970s my dad partnered up with other scoundrels and invested in artists doing etchings. I was very young and I was dragged to fancy dinners. Part of the deal of the printing was my dad got to own a few prints for himself. He even had the artists dedicate some to me and my brothers.
There was one that hung at the foot of my bed. My entire young life.
A piece by James Torlakson. An amazing water color of a jackknifed truck that had crashed on the interstate. So realistic. It looks like a photo from a distance. When you come close you realize it's drawn.
I stared at that.
I have the painting. My wife put it in a closet. It's a very modern piece of art.
I met with Jim yesterday. He had looked my dad up and ended up finding me. He lives 20 minutes away.
I had a lot to deal with. A lot to take in.
The idea that my dad had helped a young artist and changed his life. That's quite something. I hadn't thought about it but he took a big risk on Jim.
At the time, Jim was in his mid 20s. It also turns out, the process for making the lithograph was incredibly complex and had never been done before. I don't understand but Jim explained it to me. My dad believed in him and spent a bunch of money for this to happen.
It's a puzzle to find out about your parents. It's quite a journey to not look at them not as your parents.
Jim showed me his art. His art studio. His collections. His toy collections. His fascination with clowns (why he got in touch with me).
And we talked
And talked
And talked.
It turns out I may be an artist after all.
Jim talked about the gift we've been given. I never see what I do as a gift, closer to a curse because I have no choice in this. I have to perform or I die. I feel that clenching again.
He talked about touching people and touching 3 generations away from us.
His art had done that to me. His truck on it's side meant so much to me. I dug it out of the closet and stared at it again last night. Jim didn't know me till yesterday yet he had touched my essence. Which had touched others through me. Many many others. Not only my family, all the people I perform for. That may be approaching a million people by now.
Wow. A million people.
As I think it out probably more. The Speakeasy has performed for about 50,000 people. When I was in the circus, I must have appeared before a quarter million people. I've done thousands and thousands of shows.
Out of that. I moved someone. I must have. Someone did something they might not have, thought a way they never have before, tried something they never thought they would try.
I'm clenching again.
Go see Jim's work https://www.jamestorlakson.com
My dad circa 1985
My sense of being an artist is way screwed up by my upbringing. When I'm called an artist I have a fake smile and say thank you.
Art to me is about being better than others. Knowing something others don't know, judging what's hanging on someone else's walls.
I don't like art galleries. I don't like museums. The thought of going into them makes my intestines. clench.
Yet, I love art.
When my kids were little I would go on the field trips and listen with rapt attention as the docents asked the children questions. I chimed in all the time. (because I'm just excited to be asked my opinion)
Once I was inside the museum it was wonderful. I love staring at a piece of art. There is a piece in The San Francisco De Young Fine Arts Museum I couldn't break away from in the California collection. It was art from the late 1800's from areas I grew up before they were suburbs. I love it. I want to steal it.
But the thought of going back in; once again the clench.
In the early 1970s my dad partnered up with other scoundrels and invested in artists doing etchings. I was very young and I was dragged to fancy dinners. Part of the deal of the printing was my dad got to own a few prints for himself. He even had the artists dedicate some to me and my brothers.
There was one that hung at the foot of my bed. My entire young life.
A piece by James Torlakson. An amazing water color of a jackknifed truck that had crashed on the interstate. So realistic. It looks like a photo from a distance. When you come close you realize it's drawn. I stared at that.
I have the painting. My wife put it in a closet. It's a very modern piece of art.
I met with Jim yesterday. He had looked my dad up and ended up finding me. He lives 20 minutes away.
I had a lot to deal with. A lot to take in.
The idea that my dad had helped a young artist and changed his life. That's quite something. I hadn't thought about it but he took a big risk on Jim.
At the time, Jim was in his mid 20s. It also turns out, the process for making the lithograph was incredibly complex and had never been done before. I don't understand but Jim explained it to me. My dad believed in him and spent a bunch of money for this to happen.
It's a puzzle to find out about your parents. It's quite a journey to not look at them not as your parents.
Jim showed me his art. His art studio. His collections. His toy collections. His fascination with clowns (why he got in touch with me).
And we talked
And talked
And talked.
It turns out I may be an artist after all.
Jim talked about the gift we've been given. I never see what I do as a gift, closer to a curse because I have no choice in this. I have to perform or I die. I feel that clenching again.
He talked about touching people and touching 3 generations away from us.
His art had done that to me. His truck on it's side meant so much to me. I dug it out of the closet and stared at it again last night. Jim didn't know me till yesterday yet he had touched my essence. Which had touched others through me. Many many others. Not only my family, all the people I perform for. That may be approaching a million people by now.
Wow. A million people.
As I think it out probably more. The Speakeasy has performed for about 50,000 people. When I was in the circus, I must have appeared before a quarter million people. I've done thousands and thousands of shows.
Out of that. I moved someone. I must have. Someone did something they might not have, thought a way they never have before, tried something they never thought they would try.
I'm clenching again.
Go see Jim's work https://www.jamestorlakson.com
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