Clinton Neuhaus. Photo by Sander Roscoe Wolff.
Clinton Neuhaus is a painter whose work imagines a post-apocalyptic world where our present-day cinematic icons have been memorialized as monumental buildings that tower, in various states of decay, over primitive landscapes. His paintings, too, are monumental, and intensely packed with detail, atmosphere, and depth. Neuhaus says that he was inspired by what he saw in Greg Escalante’s magazine, Juxtapoz, and the style that’s become known as pop surrealism.
Recently, his work has been showcased in significant gallery exhibitions, including the last two Conjoined shows – curated by Chet Zar – and will have a featured spot at The Hive in June.
Neuhaus stopped painting for four years to develop film scripts, but eventually realized that breaking into that profession was fraught with peril.
Long Beach Post: You’ve been amazingly prolific since you returned to painting. How did taking that time off affect your return?
Clinton Neuhaus: It taught me not to limit myself in any way. Before the “time off,” I was painting portraits of stars from the silver screen, but I knew I wasn’t excited about the classics like I used to be. I wanted to do work that was more contemporary so, for the first time in my career, I started painting modern stars from many genres of film. This was a very invigorating approach for me. It allowed me to truly expand my world.
Suddenly, the sky was the limit. I could experiment with modern issues subtly. Like some of my favorite directors, I could lace my sci-fi style with a trail of bread crumbs, ideas and information that are relevant to current events.
The new work seems to be a mashup of various themes, images, sources, and ideas. How do you develop these ideas, and make them feel organic and unified?
There are various unifying factors. Firstly, I always paint these anthropomorphic buildings, which is a fancy way of saying I turn celebrities into monuments. That is definitely the one thing you can count on from me. Also, at least for the foreseeable future, you can expect to see these post apocalyptic scenes from me, but not the bleak Armageddon of the 70s.
I’m interested in this idea of a beautiful recovery from whatever it is that destroyed the civilization responsible for building these super structures. I like exploring the idea that the end of one great culture is really also the birth of the next. So, you’ll see there are often inhabitants in my world, cultures that sprang up after the bomb or the virus that wiped out the former.
I like to imagine how these new people create folk lore and religion to celebrate these megalithic structures. Like historians today, we ponder our forebears in order to make sense of our place in time. Generally I think of myself as a director more than a painter, because I get to pick the script, the set, and I get to cast the players. It’s actually a lot of fun.
Can you break down a specific painting, and talk about this process?
Ok we’ll talk about my painting of Natalie Portman. I chose to paint N.P. in her role as Evey Hammond from the Washowski film V for Vendetta. In the film Portman plays a very Orwellian character who goes from being an unwilling cog in the machinery of government to becoming a partner in the downfall of said government. This film has taken on serious relevance in current events, as the main protagonist, wearing a Guy Fawkes mask, has literally become the face of the subversive hackers group known as Anonymous.
By painting Portman from this role, I’ve instantly keyed into that world of the rebel hero, the revolutionary. What I wanted to show, however, is that the rebellion, while successful enough to justify a monument to Hammond, still did not have the strength to survive the test of time. Although certain subtexts in my work are so private you’d be hard pressed to notice, I did include a bunch of turnstiles in the foreground to suggest that even before the apocalypse something was going terribly wrong here, as if the building had become a place where people were herded into trains and sent off for extermination.
But, fear not, intrepid art lover, for the spirit of revolution lives on in the foreground. I knew I wanted to suggest that another culture survived, and perpetuated the legend of Evey Hammond, so through the reincarnating alchemy of my brushes, I brought Frida Kahlo back to life. Frida is now a steam punk, gun toting knight of the realm, so to speak.
So yeah, that’s basically how I approach most of my work. I pick a set, and a cast, and create these stories in my mind. I know that most of these things won’t translate to the viewer, but that’s actually the beautiful thing about art; everyone brings their own story to the table.
I seldom talk about it, but the obvious metaphor embedded in my work is that each of us can be seen as a vessel. Living in every vessel are all the collective voices of the ancestors who have influenced us. In many ways our voices aren’t simply our own, but are an inheritance of evolution.
Detail from Dragon Lady, by Clinton Neuhaus. Photo by Sumako.
How do you know when a painting is completed?
As I near the completion of a painting I create a check list of final touches which I call the bells and whistles. One by one I tackle these last bit, but in truth, a painting is never really done. If I allowed myself to wallow in the O.C.D. inherent in meticulous artistry, the process could literally drag on indefinitely. There’s always more you could add, but instead of satisfying that urge you have to clap your hands together and say it aloud, “Done!” You have to divorce yourself from one canvas in favor of the next, because making art is like being a serial monogamist.
The artist is constantly swept along from one great love affair to the next, and well before you’ve actually signed the last letter of your last name, you’re already deeply enamored with a project that seems (at least for me) to exist only as a peripheral image. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to love the next painting, because it represents pure possibility; pure imagination. The twist is that if I don’t slowly edge that barely comprehensible idea into the light, nobody else will. That’s why I am always working, because I’m plagued with this itch that only I can scratch.
You’ve recently started working on a series of small paintings. What prompted that?
With this latest batch of smaller paintings I’ve set some interesting challenges for myself. First, I like to work big, so the obvious hurtle is to pack the necessary detail into a more confined space. Secondly, I am doing all of the drawings and under-paintings simultaneously. This is something I never do. I usually like to focus on just one piece at a time, but I think it’s important to always push myself to commit wholeheartedly. In this case that means attacking seven predetermined projects from which I will allow no quarter. I’m in this for the long haul.
Topically, I’m excited to say these paintings will be a return to some of my more pop culture influenced ideas. Sometimes I stray a little away from the pop in favor of fantasy or sci-fi, but I think it’s important to always have some work that has readily comprehensible (and socially relevant) meaning. That’s what I love most about pop art: It reflects the society in which we exist.
Lastly, with each of these canvases, which will be exhibited at The Hive this June, I will also indulge myself in the technical challenges of illustrating illusions that are either new to me, or may just be something I feel I can do better than my previous attempts. That’s the great thing about being self-taught: You never run out of tricks to learn.
You’ve had the opportunity to exhibit at some high profile shows, and in some well respected galleries. What has that meant for you, both personally and professionally?
Personally, it’s been a dream come true. I still remember being a 30 year old artist living in Delano, California with no idea how I was going to achieve my goals. I would sit on the front porch and stare at my sketchpad, thinking, “I’ve got to do this before I shrivel up inside.” To have actually managed that feat is always miraculous to me. Country boy makes good on his dream: Sounds like a movie I’d want to watch. And, it’s my life!
The shows have taught me perhaps the single most important lesson of my life: There’s nothing more gratifying than the respect and encouragement of your community. In this case, my community is comprised of artists I have admired since my days of sketching on the front porch back in Delano. I can’t express how wonderful a feeling that is. I’m an art geek, so it’s phenomenal.
As for the professional developments, shows keep landing in my lap, pretty organically. I’m trying to be more proactive, and seek out shows that will further my momentum. I want to just go on the record here and thank Chet Zar for having me in the Conjoined shows, and for constantly offering sage advice as well as bolstering my faith in my work. After Chet, other artists started to notice me, and I am blessed to be among my heroes.
3 Ghosts, painting by Clinton Neuhaus (featured in Conjoined 666). Photo by Sumako.
Can you explain, briefly, what Conjoined is, and what kind of feedback you got from your work being there?
Conjoined is a yearly show curated by Chet Zar at Copronason Gallery in Santa Monica. I believe the initial impetus for Chet was to show everyone that the sculptures used to make creatures on film are actually fantastic modern masterpieces worthy of recognition from the art world. Chet and his brother Rick have a long history of cinematic credits, and so do many of the artists working on the Conjoined shows.
So, to be a painter in this environment is especially gratifying, as most of the work in the show is sculptural. It’s a chance to shine in my own way, and I’ve received a great deal of positive feedback. What I love is that the other artists have embraced me, and have been swept up in the beautiful oblivion I’m trying to paint. It’s been amazing. A real confidence building experience.
You mentioned growing up in a rather bucolic setting. Was there art-making in your home as a kid?
One thing I can say for my home town: It’s full of art lovers. I’m not the only artist to come out of Delano. I wasn’t alone on that porch. Jose Carabes was usually there with me. Together we dreamed big. His work is just jaw-droppingly beautiful.
As for my home life, I was making art from the time I could grasp a crayon. There was definitely creativity in our house, but not anything like what I was dreaming up. My parents always joshed with me, saying, “Where do you come from, Clinton Neuhaus?” I guess I’m a bit of an anomaly, but, in a good way. My folks always encouraged me to be the best I could. They bought my supplies, and kept me busy.
Did you have any formal training?
Not really. I think I was 16 when I told my parents I wanted to learn how to paint. First, we tried a college night class which turned out to be fun, but not very edifying. Next, we discovered a little old lady teaching landscape painting in a rural nowhere town. Imagine me, 16 years old, sitting in a room full of old ladies and, while they’re painting a beautiful landscape, I’m going, “can you show me how to paint the highlights on this demon?” The ladies loved it, and the teacher always gave me great pointers without hesitation. In this way we muddled through a few canvases together but, after that, I just took the basic tool kit she gave me and ran with it. I’ve been reverse-engineering painting techniques ever since.
You’ve been working steadily on this new set of paintings. What’s next for you, professionally?
Well, if I can rise to a personal challenge, to merge concept art with pop art, then I believe I will continue to land better and better shows. My list of dreams is long, thankfully, so I still have a great many achievements in mind.
As I first discovered pop surrealism through the magazine Juxtapoz, I’d very much like to be a part of that history. I’m entering a contest in March that may offer that exact reward. I’ve basically told the universe this is happening. And, it will. That’s how this synchronicity thing works: You manifest your desires through hard work and belief. I believe. That’s not my only goal, of course, but it typifies what I want from life. I’m not the most business minded artist but, little by little, I’m learning and, with the help of friends and fans, I’m getting my ducks lined up.
Right now, I work a full time job, which I’m very thankful for, but I think every artist would prefer to support themselves solely on the sales of their work. I’m no exception. I wish I could be a thousand times more prolific, and that’s the aim. I’ll get there, believe me. Putting in nine hours on the clock, and then trying to muster the energy to work on my canvas afterward, is a tough life.
What insights have you gained into the current art market, and where your work fits into it?
I’ll tell you this much: What’s happening in L.A. is not globally embraced by the art world. Here, and on our east coast, there’s a market for what I do. But I’m constantly stunned when I talk to artists from around the world who tell me that Europe is sluggish about accepting this movement. Movement? Actually, I’m not sure you can label it that, because pop surrealism really is a massive umbrella beneath which you find every kind of imagist possible.
We’re at an interesting cross roads here, and it isn’t just a four way stop. A million paths cross into this Gordian Knot which everyone has agreed to call pop surrealism. For me, I have to admit, I see nothing surreal about my work. I would rather call myself pop sci-fi or pop futurist, but you just have to be thankful there’s even a banner under which you can exist as an artist. And, I am.
I’m thankful for people like Robert Williams, the grandfather of this subversive group, and for men like Greg Escalante who put the work in a magazine which reached me all the way in my rural home town. As soon as I saw what was happening in LA, I knew this was the place for me. Suddenly, I realized that my generation would break the mold, and I do love the thrill of shattering antiquated ideas.
Why is Long Beach your home, and what about it appeals to so many creative people?
When I first moved to Long Beach, the arts were really thriving here. Blain Fontana was a local, and his star was on the rise big time, so he attracted a kind of energy to our city that was unbelievable! I remember meeting so many up-and-coming artists during those first few years who have since gone on to great things.
From the street to the galleries, living in Long Beach was like being in a highly charged atmosphere. It’s that electricity that made me love my city, and once I dig in, I just get so attached. I’m happy to continue the legacy of Long Beach artistry. I believe there’s a lot of reality you’re confronted with while living here, but also a great deal of whimsy, and that’s a perfect cauldron for an artist.
To learn more about Neuhaus, you can follow him on facebook, check out his work in Conjoined, view his page on Artslant, and plan to attend his June exhibition at The Hive.