On
May 28, a mini-retrospective of his efforts (“From the Secular to the
Spiritual”) opens at The Charles Allis Art Museum. A modest catalog, rich with
color images and an elegantly informative essay by Jeffrey R. Hayes, traces
McCormick’s self-taught trek from chaos to contentment. It’s been a long trek,
and the show’s many pieces of art reflect that, no more so than From the Darkness to the Light, a 2008
metal assemblage welded together from this and that.
Should
we compare his work to that of other self-taught artists such as Howard Finster
and (locally) Prophet William Blackmon and Della Wells? Certainly the symbols
are similar (angels, demons, and the problems of growing up black), but my
feeling is that each artist takes his or her own route, and isn’t it true that
we’re all composed of bits of this and that? Artists, like the rest of us,
aren’t always able to succeed in making sense of the puzzle. It’s risky
revealing your soul, particularly when that soul hangs in an art museum where
expectations are often focused on the “pretty.” In many ways all art galleries
become areas for those intent on performing art autopsies, and it’s a healthy
event only if the viewers have sharp eyes and honed minds.
Which
would you rather view: gutsy work (provided it’s well constructed, consistent,
and has something to say), or art that hides because the artist has nothing to
say, or if they do, they don’t have a clue how to say it. You can strip it to
the bone and there is still nothing there but fetid air.
McCormick’s
work is bold and unblinking, a hybrid of the bad and the beautiful. Will you
turn away or try to identify with a black man’s message (much like desperate
white hippies did in the ’60s). Don’t turn away and don’t try and “identify.”
Face it head on from now until July 27.
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