Welcome to the Art Orgy

Excuse me for wearing my eclipse glasses indoors this week, but I’m resting my eyes. 

Surely y’all are still recovering from the recent penumbral event; we may not have been in the path of totality but it’s not every day that the heavens put on a special show.

However, my retinas were already megadazzled days before — by a bacchanalian bender of color, form, and star power contained on canvas.   

Now, there are art writers in this community far more qualified and encompassing than me; not only do local treasures Beth Logan and Rob Hessler showcase the latest and greatest genius around here, they’re also talented artists themselves. I’m not even capable of painting my own baseboards let alone something that doesn’t look like it came from Sesame Street. But I remain an avowed groupie of what I herald as Savannah’s true rock stars. 

My wild art spree began last Thursday within the seductive brutalist compound of Laney Contemporary, where Katherine Sandoz held court over her new show, Water Ways. (If I had to correlate her style and influence with actual rock stars, I’d say she is our equivalent of Stevie Nicks balancing en pointe with Beyonce, plus Patti Smith’s work ethic.)

Those familiar with this verdant queen’s previous exhibitions and Instagram feed will recognize the signature abstract foliage, the swampy green and warm yellow palette of our own coastal plains, the dynamic integration of research and devotion. Even as a longtime fan, I always feel like I’m entering a parallel world when I walk into a room full of Sandoz paintings. This time it was like I’d stepped into what might transpire if the Buddha had lived in the Lowcountry.

The afternoon sun slanted through the main gallery like a meditation in motion, gently alighting upon a landscape both distinct and suggestive. The golden hour quieted into nature’s slow clock; a hidden pond emerged from the walls. I had the uncanny sense of lotus flowers unfurling around me. 

Just when I thought I might be subsumed into the multi-dimensional marsh, a special surprise awaited beyond in Laney’s radiant mirrored back room: The purple and orange Plexiglass pieces of Katniss, the aquatic-inspired tiers suspended through all three stories of the Jepson atrium from 2019 until last year. (Girl, I remember that treacherous installation!) 

The artist has repurposed this kaleidoscopic mobile into several kinetic sculptures as if it were the plan all along, cleverly fitting the segments together in three-dimensional puzzles. On this evening, Katniss’ new iteration was still finding its own space at ground level; fierce art protector Sonchia Jilek stood guard so people didn’t slosh it with their drinks. The whole magical metaverse is on view through June.

I went to bed thinking about how a solo exhibition is such an intimate experience, a peek into the panorama of the artist’s mind, their love letter to the outside world. Group shows are fabulous for sure; it’s always interesting to see people’s works curated among others’. But there’s something dear about a single artist surrounded by themselves, reverberating themes and scenes into a glorious truth to be beheld by the rest of us.

Mirrors on the ceiling, Katniss on earth Photo: Sonchia Jilek

This thought held fast the next afternoon, when I had the honor of attending the first solo show of watercolorist Christine Sheffler. Long after becoming enamored with Monet’s lilies as a child, Christine began painting in her 50s and leaned into tutelage from several local artists after moving to Savannah. From pastoral views of her Pennsylvania hometown to a tableau of Southern magnolias to the picturesque hills of Provence, her chosen subjects share a rich, thoughtful pageant of beauty and form.  

This late bloomer took a European river cruise and some denizens of The Learning Center last fall and had a few moments to capture the ancient streets of Arles, France. One of the paintings made its way to her annual Christmas card, and when TLC executive director Roger Smith received the note, he insisted she fill the hall gallery with her mid-sized works.   

(It so happens that Christine is also the longtime lady friend of my father-in-law, and her charming still life titled “Harvey’s Objects” has been voted the family favorite.)

Christine Sheffler wields watercolors all over the world

“I know talent when I see it,” avowed Roger to an appreciative crowd drinking daytime mimosas. (Most of them are retired and they can do what they want, OK?) Visit the storied Senior Citizens, Inc. building on Bull Street through June to see Christine’s work.

I only sipped half of a mimosa, since a mere few hours later it was time for the First Friday Art March, once upon a time relegated to a single block Desoto Ave. and now oozing artiness all over Starland and beyond with dozens of open studios and new galleries galore. 

Our first stop was Cedar House Gallery, the former Williams family mansion turned clean, well-lighted place. In the parlor, dear friend and shamanic surfer Dawn Tanis debuted Soul Seeds, a series of mesmerizing pen-and-ink mandalas that explore the connection between the sacred and natural worlds.

Again I was reminded of how lucky we are that our local artists make themselves accessible, willing to show us the deepest pockets of their interior lives while enduring the small talk that comes with trying to sell a piece or two to keep themselves in supplies. However, many of these celestially complex inkings were marked “not for sale.”

“I’m not ready to let them go, but I wanted the world to see the work,” explained Dawn, clad in white and barefoot, reflective of a soul free in spirit and mind. (Hurry now, world; Dawn’s mystical mandalas are only up at Cedar House until April 16.)

Dawn Tanis is not for sale!

Cedar House spilled over with visual delights on this fabulous Friday; Brooks Davis’ striking graphite sidewalk scenes held gazes in the next room, and that prolific pixie polymath Rubi McGrory supplied mandala-shaped snacks in support of Dawn’s show.

At the top of the stairs lay the attic studio of Eric David Woodell, presiding over his enchanting aerie filled with metaphysical collages of hand-torn vintage newspapers.

Art begets art, and at every turn were more artists themselves: Forsyth Park’s surrealist sprite Isak Dove appraised the living room, and on the grand staircase I passed the master of scale Brian MacGregor, whose massive wraparound sunset landscape in the Target shopping center is hands down the most magnificent public art contribution in recent Savannah history. 

And all this was in 36 hours! Over the weekend the visual feast continued; I glimpsed the compelling work and winsome visage of Emaline Sampey, who recently closed a residency at Lone Wolf Lounge’s Cobra Room. I swear her series of big-brained women at rest — titles “Cannot Be Bothered” — ought to inspire a revolution.  

We even had a major celebrity sighting: Big time muralist and forever Savannah art scenester Matt Hebermehl was in from Los Angeles with his lady love Julie, tooling around town with bewhiskered portraitist Troy Wandzel — it tickled my heart to see these troublemakers together; back in the day you couldn’t turn a corner around here without finding a tagged wall from that pair.

You’d think I’d have been all artied out by the time we rolled up to the Carnaval fiesta hosted by indigenous art collective Soy x Soy on Sunday afternoon at Savoy Society, but I still had some juice left for a little samba with DJ Precisa and the Stardust Pixxies. I even added my own artistic flourish to the crowdsourced mural at the behest of ARTS Southeast jefe hermoso AJ Perez — though I know my place in the Savannah arts hierarchy. (There’s a joke about being a bottom in there somewhere.) 

Monday’s spectacle brought amazement for sure, but for me, these stars eclipsed anything happening in the sky.

For them I have to keep my eyes wide open; I never want to miss a thing.

Keep buying local art ~ JLL

It’s no Rubi camellia, but it’ll do