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By Joseph Roberts
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Portrait of a
Blue Coyote
©2000 Markus Pierson
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"You know, I wasn’t always an artist. In fact, I was a journeyman
bookkeeper when I almost kicked the bucket back about twelve years
ago. Thankfully I didn’t, and when I woke up in the hospital I told
everyone I knew that the bookkeeper was dead after all - but in his
place was a man who was going to become a successful artist.
They thought I was nuts. I wasn’t. Two years later, in June 1986,
I started the Coyote Series. I was living in Jackson Michigan, a town
perennially voted the worst place to live in America.
My inspiration was a Joni Mitchell song "Coyote". A friend of mine
put it on a tape and I listened. At the time I was 26, a dirt poor
billboard painter living in a tiny one room apartment.
I was so poor, in fact, that I couldn’t even afford a shower curtain
to serve as a wedding present for two good friends who were getting
married in the Southwest. I figured they might like one of my Coyote
drawings so I did a romantic one and took it there - the people at
the wedding went nuts!
Well, you know how these things go - somebody knew somebody who knew
somebody in the art business, and within a year my art was being sold
in over a hundred art galleries across the country.
Markus Pierson A couple of years ago I had an exhibition in
Houston. A very well-dressed, studious looking fellow walked into
the exhibit. He didn’t say a word to me, just went around and read
every single story of every painting that I had in the whole place.
I thought he looked interesting.
He came to me after having read the last one and said, "There is one word in one of your stories here that sums up what all of your work is about." My first reaction was, "Oh, God, he’s a kook." But, I said, "Okay, I’ll bite. What might that word be?" He led me over to a painting and pointed to the word ‘impermanence’. It just knocked me right on my heels. I thought, "That is it."
I lost my sister a few years ago. The coyote series truly is about
the impermanence of life and the tragic nature of that and a person’s
ability to embrace it in spite of it, knowing full well that it’s
going to end. You can’t love life forever, because one day you’re
not here any more. To face that, stare it down and embrace it, to
still leave yourself vulnerable to the beauty and the mystery of it
is a hard- fought trick. For whatever reason this is a theme I find
unendingly worthwhile to paint, sculpt and write about.
Joseph Roberts: Your advice to any budding artist would be
to, "Never give up, outwork everyone else and don’t be afraid to take
risks. My art has improved because I test my abilities. I hang on
to the elements I believe in and toss the rest."
MP: The majority of the work I’ve done may not be work that
you’ve seen. It’s the work I’ve done after the loss of my sister and
it’s certainly taken on an honesty that it didn’t have beforehand.
There’s a frankness that I might have strayed from before. It may
be just as nonsensical and whimsical and nutty, but the main thrust
of it now is probably more earnest. I think an artist slowly sheds
his wimp’s clothes slowly over the arc of his career. You have to
have a certain catalyst, probably more than once, to do that. I’ve
been fortunate that my collectors decided to come along with me. That
wasn’t something I’ve ever been sure of, at what point you cross the
line and go too far or been too abrupt or honest until they think
that’s not why they got in there, that they got in just to have a
good time. So far, though, they don’t mind the switch. I’m very lucky.
JR: What concerns you now? What about life prompts you to communicate
with others?
MP: I think there is a switch now. The coyote series began
as a bit of an escape for me. I wasn’t living a very good life. I’d
been diagnosed with an incurable disease that almost killed me, my
girfriend left me, my dog ran away, I quite my job and I was unbelievably
destitute living in a one-room awful apartment whose former tenant
was a heroin addict. Really, I mean, it just went on and on. So, the
coyote series would cheer me up. It had a medicinal effect on my spirit.
I think that’s how it began and it was good, but as time went by my
experiences changed. At a certain point it became, "Hey, life is a
blast", and it became this reckless romp through the desert or whatever
venue I decided to take it. Then again time goes by and I don’t know
that the focus is nearly as much on me as it used to be. I think now
it’s maybe more of an attempt - however futile - to use however inefficient
a vehicle to issue a call or a bit of advice or nudge to say, "This
is what I know now."
JR: What would that be?
MP: That as hard as it is and despite the fact that we know
that the rule of the game is that one day we don’t get to play it
any more, that life is impermanent and arbitrary, you have to grab
it anyway. It’s a great, beautiful and magical ride in spite of the
extremes we sometimes find ourselves in. It’s still fabulous looking
through and seeing that.
I think now I probably try my best to speak of the impermanent nature of life and that you can’t keep your head down too long because tomorrow is promised to no one.
JR: Do you have any of your original paintings?
A Love as Pretzel Logic is in my private collection. We bought it back a few years ago from a gallery in Chicago and were able to reclaim it for our own collection. I’ve always loved that painting. I don’t usually like my old work. For the most part once it’s done and out of here I’m onto whatever’s new. The newest pieces tend to be my favourites but a few of the older ones - Two Simple Words and Pretzel Logic - were so groundbreaking when I did them that I still like them a lot to this day.
JR: What were the Two Simple Words?
MP: "You’re fired." I did a painting of a guy on the edge of
the Chrysler Building and the story was about a fellow that had worked
his way up in the company’s hierarchy with one very specific purpose.
In the story the higher you are up in this corporation the higher
up your office is in the building. He loved the Chrysler Building
and at a certain height you have a perfect, unobstructed view of that
building.
So, he sublimates all other facets of his life in order to make the goal of having an office high enough to see the Chrysler Building. However, his co-workers are jealous of ambition and his focus and they conspire and eventually there’s a note on his desk with the two simple words, "You’re fired."
He takes the note, sneaks out on to the Chrylser Building on to one of the art deco eagles with every intention of jumping off the side of it with the note so his co-workers will know what they’ve done to him. He stands out there in the quiet of the afternoon, with just the sound of his necktie and his suit and the paper ruffling in the wind and looks out over the city and just says, "Mmmm, nah!" and turns around and walks back in.
I purposefully make the point that he doesn’t go on to become CEO of a multinational corporation or go on to great things. He simply didn’t die that day. And sometimes that’s enough, not to be king of the world but just to have made it through a day.
For information on Markus Pierson contact The Chase Group at 847-564-2000
or www.chaseart.com
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