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On this Valentine’s Day, we take a look at the love story between Ben Cherbonno and Helen Gookins. This pair of settlers met in the Antelope Valley in the early 1900s, and celebrated their 50th anniversary at the time the highlighted article was written (Figure 1). When the couple met in 1907, the area was still mostly rural. At the time, Ben was a 21-year-old freighter who hauled borax from the mines to the railroad in Lancaster. Helen, who had moved to the Antelope Valley in 1892, was a young woman who loved to ride horses and explore the desert. Figure 1: Original Newspaper Clipping of the 20-Mule-Team Love Story (Object ID #2024.FIC.203) MOAH Collections. In the article, Ben retells the story of him falling in love at first sight, feeling sure he was going to marry Helen at their very first meeting. Four months of courting, school dances, and multiple desert adventures later, the two tied the knot. Their marriage would hold true and bring the couple children, grand-children and great-grandchildren. Throughout the story they recount many happy memories, such as the signal for Helen to ride out when she heard the sound of approaching bells from Ben’s mule team. Or the way Ben would ask to borrow a horse and buggy to go out to see Helen. Ben also remembers the time he convinced Helen to travel part ways with him to the mines, and Helen’s agreement even though she knew she would have to solo-ride for 16 miles through mountainous trails to get home. Such tales indicate their deep desire to be in each other’s company. Ben and Helen's love story is a testament to the power of love and commitment, withstanding the tribulations of time and distance. They were able to build a strong and lasting relationship despite the challenges they faced. The article reads: “GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY 20-Mule-Team Days Love Story Recalled The bells on Ben Cherbonno’s 20-mule team echoed on the wet October air as he freighted his load of borax over the rain-slick road toward Lancaster. Sound carries in mountain country. At Neenach, stopover point for stagecoach and covered wagon, the prettiest girl in the Antelope Valley heard a secret message in the distant jingling. Her dark eyes were bright as she saddled her horse and rode out to meet her bridegroom. Last month, 50 years and five great-grandchildren later, Ben Cherbbonno and Helen Gookins celebrated their golden wedding anniversary. But the fabric of their romance is still bright proof that for dash and color the senior members of the Southland family can match their courtships against any of the jet age. Rides Recalled Helen Gookins came to Antelope Valley in 1892 when range grass grew knee-deep and carpets of blue lupin and Indian paintbrush spread to the horizon. She remembers the wild rides across the desert when her horse took the bit in his teeth and plunged off after herds of wild antelope. Ben Cherbbonno can’t remember the first time he rode in a freight wagon – all he knows is that at 10 he could drive a six-horse team. He was 21 and an old hand in 1907 when he and his brother were running two of the big 20-mule teams hauling borax from the mines west of Gorman to the railroad in Lancaster. Helen always knew when it was time to ride out to the forks to meet Ben’s rig. Every one of his mules wore bells collected from the lead teams of less skilled drivers whom he had to haul out of trouble. He never got stuck himself – those mules of his were among the best in the business, trained on command to put all their power into the pull at the same moment. He trusted them so much that all he had to do was yell out their names to get them around sharp mountain curves. Courtship Told Ben made up his mind to marry Helen the first time he saw her. It took him only four months, courting by borrowed horse and buggy, sometimes a dance at the schoolhouse where a fiddle, guitar and 50 people meant square-dancing and waltzing until dawn. Later he talked her into tying her little sorrel horse to the back of the borax wagon and riding with him part way. From Gorman she made the 16-mile return trip alone, racing by horseback along a short cut through the mountains. It was storming the October night they slipped away from the schoolhouse dance to be married. The buggy wheels mired in the mud, and the 3 a.m. train for Los Angeles was five hours late. They sat on a hard bench at the Lancaster depot and stared at the fat, round wood stove, planning their future. At Ben and Helen Cherbbonno’s anniversary party last month, a scale model borax wagon on the mantel carried a miniature man and a girl with a bright orange scarf over her head. Behind them trailed a tiny sorrel horse." If this story interests you, we encourage you to learn more about local history by visiting the Western Hotel Museum at 557 W Lancaster Blvd, Lancaster, CA 93534, operating hours on Friday, Saturday and Sunday from 11:00 AM – 4:00 PM. References 20-Mule-Team Days Love Story Recalled. (ca.1957). [Clipping from an unidentified United States, newspaper}. Copy in possession of the Museum of Art History Collections Department.

In celebration of the holiday season, we look back on how Christmas traditions developed in the United States during the 19th century. The Western Hotel Museum with newly installed Christmas decorations Prior to 1874, and the Southern Pacific Railroad, Lancaster did not exist beyond a train stop from Bakersfield to the metropolis of Los Angeles (MOAH Collections). Like the first American migrants, settlers from many diverse countries would make their way to the city, hoping to establish their own businesses and lives. In approximately 1888, the Western hotel came into existence, at that time known as the Antelope Valley Hotel. The property was sold to Englishman George Webber in 1908 who had come to the United States in 1885. Myrtie Eveline Gibson Sullivan would also move to the Antelope Valley in 1908. Myrtie would marry George and come to own the Western hotel from the 1930s –1960s (MOAH Collections). During the 19th century, American Christmas time looked a bit different from what we know today. The Western Hotel in 1914 (MOAH Collections, 2023.FIC.351) George and Myrtie Webber on a Snow Day in Lancaster in 1914 (MOAH Collections, 2023.FIC.352) According to Penne Restad from History Today , in the early 1800s, Americans didn’t think of Christmas as a national holiday. Many colonial settlers came from diverse European cultures and religious traditions. The New England Puritans for example, did not practice having decorations or a tree for Christmas. If Christmas was celebrated, it was done very modestly, with no emphasis on décor (Khederlan and Restad). Whereas Southerners, who were influenced by the royalist culture of Victorian England, would celebrate for multiple days, holding feasts (Mackinac State Park). By the middle of the 19th century, communication and transportation increased in America. The economy became more fast-paced, and the population and country’s size itself increased. Tensions between Americans would grow, and the Union became increasingly more unstable. Restad suggests that this fast-paced and overwhelming change caused Americans “to long for an earlier time, one in which they imagined that old and good values held sway in cohesive and peaceful communities”. People wanted a unified national tradition (Mackinac State Park). It was during this time that Americans took to Christmas, and it grew into a more widely celebrated holiday event, with old themes and new ideas ascribed to the holiday. By the 1850s, most Americans adopted the German custom of the Christmas tree. Early Christmas trees had more simple decorations such as strings of popcorn, oranges, lemons, and candies. Small gifts of were hung and given to children. In 1848, the Illustrated London News published a drawing of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert having a Christmas tree on their table. The tree tradition was brought to England by Prince Albert from Germany, which spurred the tradition in England and the image was widely produced in the United States, helping spread the popularity of the Christmas tree (Starmans). Illustrated London News’ 1848 drawing of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert’s Christmas tree (Khederlan, Courtesy of Creative Commons) Published in the English Stonehaven Journal on January 9, 1849 is a description of a Victorian Christmas tree, which held many delights (Starmans): THE CHRISTMAS TREE AT WINDSOR CASTLE. A Christmas tree is annually prepared, her Majesty’s command, for the royal children. The tree employed for this festive purpose is a young fir, about eight feet high, and has six tiers of branches. On each tier or branch are arranged dozen wax tapers. Pendant from the branches are elegant trays, baskets, bonbonnie’es and other receptacles for sweetmeats, of the most varied and expensive kind, and of all forms, colours, and degrees of beauty. Fancy cakes, gilt gingerbread, and eggs filled with sweetmeats, are also suspended try variously, coloured ribbons from the branches. The tree, which stands upon table covered with white damask, is supported at the root by piles of sweets a larger kind, and by toys and dolls of all descriptions, suited to the youthful fancy, and to the several ages of the scions of royalty for whose gratifications they are displayed. The name of each recipient is affixed to the doll, bonbon, other present intended for it, so that no difference of opinion in the choice of dainties may arise to disturb the equanimity the illustrious juveniles. On the summit of the tree stands the small figure of an angel, with outstretched wings, holding in each hand wreath.” The tradition of Christmas cards, the singing of carols in public, and cooking large meals for your friends and family emerged (Khederlan). The first mention of Santa Claus appears in an 1823 poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas” by Celement Moore and the first documented Santa impersonator in America was in Philadelphia in 1849. Christmas would become a legal holiday in Massachusetts in 1856 (Mackinac State Park). Shortly after, the Civil War began in 1861 and ran until 1865. The Civil war intensified the celebration of Christmas in that the holiday was a time to celebrate peace and family, and soldiers would be leaving theirs behind at war (Restad). By the 1870s, with the reconstruction of the US underway, the marketing of Christmas would take off. Newspapers and women’s magazines would suggest a greater sophistication of Christmas trees, with value placed on the uniformity and style of the tree. Christmas trees became the centerpiece of Christmas décor, as a place for the display of beautiful balls, stars, and more. Department stores would sell all kinds of goods, with ornaments imported from Germany sold in stores (Restad). Instead of making homemade ornaments, there was a pressure to buy them. At this point, the commercialization of Christmas looked more like it does today. It was during the 1870s and 1880s that gift giving would also take off. Restad suggests that gift giving was a sign of the bustling economy, but also a means of Americans promoting relationships with each other. Prior, giving small hand-made presents was common, but the need for wrapping and purchasing presents was promoted later during this time. These practices demonstrated not only materialism, but kinship and community. It was around this time that Lancaster was established. In 1900, it was estimated that one in five Americans had a Christmas tree (Redstad). Below is a glass negative plate of the Wright brothers’ Christmas tree in their Ohio home in December of 1900, three years before their famous flight. Many gifts can be seen below the tree. Christmas tree in the home of Wilbur and Orville Wright at 7 Hawthorn Street in Dayton, Ohio in 1990 (Shorpy The American Historical Photo Archive) With Myrtie and George running the Western hotel around this time in the early 1900s, it is likely that their halls were fully decked. These practices are reflective of what many Americans and Lancaster inhabitants do today, indicating that our holiday traditions are deeply rooted in the past. For the rest of this month, the Western Hotel Museum will be decorated for Christmas. Works Cited Khederlan, Robert. “How Christmas decorations evolved through the 1800s It’s time to deck the halls”, Curbed , December 9, 2016. How Christmas decorations evolved through the 1800s - Curbed Mackinac State Historic Parks. “America’s 19th Century Christmas Traditions: A Connection Between the Past and Present”, December 20, 2019. America's 19th Century Christmas Traditions: A Connection Between the Past and Present - Mackinac State Historic Parks | Mackinac State Historic Parks (mackinacparks.com) MOAH Collections. “The Western Hotel Museum Self-Guided Tour”and 2023.FIC.351-353 images. e60af9_b024f49c353d4f74af2eb165975c6b8d.pdf (lancastermoah.org) Restad, Penne. “Christmas in 19th Century America”, History Today Volume 45 Issue 12, December 1995. Christmas in 19th Century America | History Today Shorpy The American Historical Photo Archive, Image of Wright brother’s Christmas tree from December 1900. Christmas With Wilbur and Orville: 1900 | Shorpy Old Photos | Framed Prints ). Starmans, Barbara J. “Old Time Christmas”, The Social Historian. Old Time Christmas - The Social Historian

If you’ve done your fair share of exploring in the Mojave Desert, you may have come across some odd things – maybe, perhaps, even a mummified animal. When people think of mummification, typically the pharaohs of ancient Egypt come to mind, but the process of mummification can happen naturally in dry environments as well. Some use the term “mummy” to refer to bodies that are deliberately embalmed in chemicals, but the term has been applied to accidental/naturally made mummies since the early 17th century ( New English Dictionary on Historical Principles ). A mummy can be defined as a dead human or animal whose soft tissues and organs have been preserved by either intentional or accidental exposure to chemicals, extreme cold, low humidity, or a lack of air. To understand how mummification occurs, it is important to first understand the process of decomposition. Decomposition begins at the time of an animal’s death and is caused by two factors known as autolysis and putrefaction. When an animal dies, the heart stops, and blood can no longer supply oxygen or remove carbon dioxide from the tissues. This causes an animal’s cells to break down, which releases cellular enzymes. These enzymes can break down the other surrounding tissues and cells in the body. This process is called autolysis- in which the body’s own enzymes begin breaking down the body (Dominguez). After death, there is a small amount of oxygen still present in the body. This oxygen is sought after and used up by cellular metabolism and microbes that are naturally found in the body, such as in the intestinal tracks. This leads to the growth of more organisms, which consume what carbohydrates, proteins, and lipids are available in the body thus breaking it down further. This process is called putrefaction (Dominguez). Later, other decomposers such as bacteria and scavengers such as insects, coyotes, vultures, and crows can break down the body further, aiding in its decomposition (Gibbon, National Geographic). Bodies that are mummified do not go through this entire process. When exposed to the right conditions, putrefaction does not occur as bacteria are not able to grow and survive. In purposeful mummification, the body is often treated with embalming chemicals which repel insects and slow down the putrefaction process by killing bacteria already in the body or by stopping the cells from becoming a nutrient source for other bacteria to consume (Dominguez). Naturally, remains can be mummified in both cold and hot temperatures. In very cold environments, the body freezes before bacteria can grow and break down the remains. In dry environments, there is a high amount of heat and a lack of moisture. This heat causes bacteria to die and stops the body from further decay (Dominguez). The Mojave Desert is a prime location for natural mummies to occur, as we have a very hot and dry climate which can prevent bacteria from forming and halt the decomposition process. In addition, other naturally forming mummies have been formed in peat bogs, a type of wetland with a lot of dead plant material or peat occurring in it. The soil in these bogs is acidic and does not have a lot of oxygen- which leads to less bacteria growth and thus less decomposition. At MOAH, we have several mummified animals within our collection. On display at the Western Hotel Museum is a partially preserved Desert Tortoise, which has one of its front feet preserved, scales and all. Found at the Elyze Clifford Interpretive Center is a partially preserved mummified rabbit skull, which has become misshapen and still has some fur present. 2022.FIC.397 Partially mummified rabbit skull from MOAH Collections Perhaps one of the most interesting items is a mummified mouse stuck inside an amber glass bottle. This item was excavated in 1994-1995 by archaeologists when the new Lancaster Sherriff Station was being constructed on the corner of Sierra Hwy and Lancaster Blvd. The bottle is likely from Lancaster residents from the early 1900s. It is likely that the poor mouse ventured inside the bottle looking for water or a sweet treat and was unable to get out. 1996.13.57 Mummified mouse inside glass bottle photo provided by MOAH Collections 1996.13.57 Mummified mouse inside glass bottle video provided by MOAH Collections To learn more about the Mojave Desert environment and the animals and plants that call it home, be sure to visit the Elyze Clifford Interpretive Center at 43201 35th St W, Lancaster, CA 93536. We are open on Wednesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays from 10 am to 4 pm (Closed Holidays). Works Cited Dominguez, Trace. “How Do Mummies Form Naturally? 10,000-year-old mummified lions were recently found buried deep in a glacier. What are the other ways nature takes us back in time?”, Seeker , published on 11/8/2025. How Do Mummies Form Naturally? - Seeker Gibbon, Victoria. “How scavengers can help forensic scientists identify human corpses”, The Conversation. How scavengers can help forensic scientists identify human corpses (theconversation.com) MOAH Collections. Images of 1996.13.57 and 2022.FIC.397. National Geographic. The Role of Scavengers: Carcass Crunching. The Role of Scavengers: Carcass Crunching (nationalgeographic.org) New English Dictionary on Historical Principles. “Mummy”. A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles: Founded Mainly on the Materials Collected by the Philological Society : James A. H. Murray : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive.

Up Legacy Various Artists Eric Johnson: Legacy A 30 Retrospective Main Gallery Craig Kauffman, Dewain Valentine, John Paul Jones, Tony DeLap, Tom Jenkins East Gallery Lisa Barleson: 3M Jewel Box Jennifer Faist: The Deepest Tales Stay Etched Well Fargo Gallery Andrew Benson Education Gallery R.Nelson Parrish: Meditations on NorCal Top of Stairs Charles Dickson: Legacy A Lifetime Survey South Gallery Legacy takes a close look at how artists spanning different generations influence each other and their communities. Legacy is defined as something passed down by a predecessor; in art, that “something” can range from material techniques to inner wisdom. Legacy is the fruit of passion and dedication that overflows from an individual into the lives of many—legacy is inspiring. Eric Johnson: LEGACY A 30 Year Retrospective Science and engineering have become so complex, even fantastical, that sometimes I forget the very simple, seemingly miraculous, fact – that an equation of symbols can describe, even predict, the phenomena that define and shape the physical world; that there are underlying functions of some dark math waiting to be discovered. Yet, math is only an abstract construct we imposed on the surrounding world. Things are not actually as rigid and perfect as the models that describe them. There's always some deviation, deformity, some slight departure from perfect, however infinitesimal. The “grid” doesn’t really exist. But this can be experienced and explored just as much through art. By looking at any of Eric Johnson’s sculptures individually, this is readily apparent. But looking through the sketches, studies, models, and fully-finished works spanning over thirty years, any visitor of Eric's retrospective will develop a heightened sensitivity to the breadth of ideas that influence an artist, and how they develop and coalesce into an interwoven body of work. How the nascent interest is reiterated and refined. The scope of what challenges and influences an artist in the making of an individual piece is not always apparent from a single work of art, maybe not even to the artist himself. However, stretching out an artist’s work over thirty years models the enormity of the subconscious process at any given moment in art-making. Because at any given moment, you don’t actually know everything you know. Eric's work is great for a retrospective for this very reason. From the first piece of the retrospective’s thirty-year span, Two Towers, you can see ideas that still recur in his most recent works. First, it introduces to the rigid, grid-conforming structures of math (i.e., the rectangular prism), the most minimal distortion to ordered form. It also prompts the viewer to ask about the material – how was this twist formed? Was it carved that way or was it shaped by torsion? Is the process the same for metal as it is for wood? Even early works that seem unrelated to his more recent and developed pieces share common threads or ideas. For example, his early drawings of tea cups, suspended mid-fall, demonstrate both Eric's interest in the laws of nature (in this case, gravity) and the properties of materials (fragility). As Eric became more eloquent with resin, wood and paint, his ability to interlock and weave multiple concepts through a single work bloomed as well. The more recent individual pieces in Eric's oeuvre evoke a variety of forms and ideas. In his composite resin "hearts," allusions range from weathered seashell to solar flare; they look sturdy as vertebra, but delicate as porcelain dish. You also get a fantastic sense of the material itself. As the disks narrow and taper, they reveal how the material behaves under varying thickness. And it takes a master of a material to enable a layman to explore it with commensurate depth. Other works, such as Pasopna, look ossified, yet wilted; organic, yet shaped by a grid; warped, yet structurally sound. Others have even more curious combinations: carapace and fluid-dynamic structures, horns and airplane spars. MOAH’s proximity to the aerospace industry makes this a great place to contemplate these pairings of manufactured and organic, mathematical theory and physical surface. Southern California, too, is an appropriate place to watch Eric infuse Southern California’s Light-and-Space and Finish Fetish movements with biology and deviation, almost like he’s moving backwards, stretching the immaculate surface over equation and bone. -Andi Campognone, Curator Craig Kauffman, Dewain Valentine, John Paul Jones, Tony DeLap, Tom Jenkins Johnson’s exhibition is paired by a group exhibition showcasing work made by his artistic mentors, DeWain Valentine, Tony DeLap, Craig Kauffman, Tom Jenkins and John Paul Jones. DeWain Valentine is best known for using industrial materials such as fiberglass, Plexiglass, cast acrylic and polyester resin to produce large scale sculptures that reflect and distort the light around them. Tony DeLap’s work is known for its illusionistic qualities, influenced by his interest in magic. Craig Kauffman paintings are known for their openness and dynamic use of line and his sculptures are known for their experimental materials and vivid color. Tom Jenkins makes paintings that are drawn using spinning tops and various hand-made mechanical drawing devices. John Paul Jones was a painter, printmaker and sculptor widely recognized for both his figurative and abstract work. All these artists played an important role in the development of Johnson’s professional and personal life. Lisa Bartleson: Q & A with Andi Campognone, MOAH Manager/Curator What is your relationship with artist Eric Johnson? / How did you first meet? Bartleson: Eric is one of my dearest friends and confidants; he is family. Our first encounter was very funny – especially knowing Eric as well as I do now. The first thing he said to me was, “Looks like you swallowed a five dollar bill and it broke out in pennies,” and I thought, “Who is this crazy artist?” It wasn’t long after this encounter that I learned that this crazy artist was Eric Johnson well known for his mastery of resin and mold-making. I was at a place in my career where I wanted to learn how to work with resin. I asked a mutual friend if she would introduce us. I arrived at Eric’s studio with a specific agenda, to learn how to create objects using resin. My first lesson with Eric and likely most important was that there really isn’t room for agendas – particularly when you are learning a new material. I learned that there needed to be openness to the creating process, to surrender any expectations. As a mentor, Eric gave me just enough guidance so that I didn’t fall on my face too hard. For me, this was perfect. The real learning came from mistakes that I made – with the two of us trying to figure a path forward. After mentoring with Eric, I left the studio with far more skills and knowledge than when I started. More importantly, I was left with a better understanding of how to be an artist –what it means to be an artist and how to stand on two feet and be vulnerable in your thinking and strong in your practice at the same time. How has Johnson influenced your studio practice? Bartleson: Often times when I am sanding or having a problem with a piece, I think WWED (what would Eric do)? The answer usually is that I have to pause, go back to 320 sandpaper and rework the surface until it is perfect and ready for the next level. Something that a lot of folks may not know about Eric is that he is fiercely driven. I always try to channel this energy while preparing for exhibitions. Jennifer Faist: Q & A with Andi Campognone, MOAH Manager/Curator What is your relationship with artist Eric Johnson? / How did you first meet? Faist: Eric and I first met through another artist when I attended a show of his work at Simayspace in San Diego in 1996. At the time, I was the gallery director for Susan Street Fine Art in Solano Beach and was working to bring a traveling group exhibition called, “The New Structuralists,” to the gallery. Eric was one of the artists in that show, and I got to know him and his work. We remained in touch and followed each other’s work in the ensuing years. In 2004, I curated a group exhibition at ANDLAB, “Suspension,” which included his work, and in 2005, we were in a two-person show together in Palm Springs entitled, “Less a Thing...” From August, 2006 to April, 2009, I shared Eric’s studio in San Pedro. My husband and I were living in the loft, and I had half of the storefront area for studio space. Eric was using the warehouse area for his studio space, and we shared the resin booth in the yard. How has Johnson influenced your studio practice? Faist: Eric’s studio was the largest space that I had ever worked in. There was room to pin up color swatches and pattern studies. I could hang finished paintings on the walls with room to stand back and look and still have plenty of room for my work table and drying racks. It allowed me to think bigger and make some larger work. Sharing a studio also meant having another artist to bounce ideas off of and get feedback on my paintings. During my time there, Eric was working on “The Maize Project,” so I got to see his casting processes in person for an extended period of time. The social aspect and personal connections made during casting parties and studio visits were also influential. I even had the opportunity to meet some of the trailblazers of “California Light and Space” through Eric, like DeWain Valentine and Craig Kauffman. How does this influence manifest itself in your work? Faist: I think the reason we made good studio mates is that we shared an affinity for resin Finish Fetish artwork, painting/sculpture hybrids and an analogous layering process. Eric exposed me to different kinds of pigments like those used in the automotive industry. I think that allowed me to feel freer to use more metallic and interference pigments in my paint layering process than I had before. Andrew Benson: Q & A with Andi Campognone, MOAH Manager/Curator What is your relationship with artist Eric Johnson? Benson: I worked for Eric as a studio assistant from roughly 1997 to 2000, starting in his Santa Monica studio through the build-out of his first San Pedro studio. At the time I was 17 and had run away from the desert to figure what my purpose was in the world. Eric was as much a mentor, surrogate father and friend as he was my boss -- I even slept on his couch for some time when my precarious living situations fell through. How has Johnson influenced your studio practice? Benson: My time working with Eric impressed upon me a specific approach to materials and tools that I still carry through my practice even though my work is now primarily digital video and animation. With resin, a synthetic material that carries with it a chemical background and accepted practice -- Eric developed a style of working that had little to do with the instruction labels but developed organically from years of handling, watching and feeling the material. On any given piece, throughout the work, we would engineer makeshift jigs, contraptions and tools to make the work possible. The way that Eric built surface color from the outside in was an approach I had never seen before and it was stunning. Every sculpture was the result of this process that was as much magic as it was chemistry, engineering and practical labor. I learned the way that a radial sander feels in my hand when it's doing the right thing, how to hold steady a slippery piece of hard resin polished to a frosted glass surface while the spinning machine in my other hand removed any imperfections. The best comparison I can think of for the work is that of an artisanal bread maker, learning the art of kneading, fermentation, shaping the dough and knowing through practice what it needs to be absolutely amazing. How does this influence manifest itself in your work? Benson: For my own working process, I've primarily chosen video and animation created with digital tools, but the way I think of the materiality of digital media owes a great deal to the formative years with Eric. I create my work by tweaking, adjusting and manipulating not just pixels, but the processes that generate and propagate them. I spend a great deal of time thinking about and attempting to reimagine how a digital representation is put together, what are all the processes involved and how many times it gets translated along the way. I've learned just enough hard graphics science to dig deeper into these processes, but the core of the work is in the intuitive chasing after the material, finding something that works even when I don't understand it and building tools around those magical results. The quest to feel and manipulate your mysterious medium and to communicate through these means is a rare approach for electronic media in an age of highly polished CGI and slick production, but it's in my veins at this point. R. Nelson Parrish: Q & A with Andi Campognone, MOAH Manager/Curator What is your relationship with artist Eric Johnson? Nelson: My relationship with Eric Johnson is strictly through myth, legend and reputation. I first became aware of his work through the Maize Project when it exhibited at the Torrance Art Museum in 2008. I had recently completed my graduate program and was amazed at the modular production of the work contrasted with his ability to create stunning, unique pieces. I didn’t think it was possible to make stand-alone pieces, in multiples, using mold production. More importantly, I was impressed how the Maize Project was community based, as there is a key component of including all types of people to collaborate in the making of the work. Both the community of collaborators and the modular production, in my mind, are the hallmarks of the piece. I again saw the Maize Project at William Turner Gallery 2012 and was reminded of modular production. It directly influenced me in creating #100 (1A – 20E) and #105 (Light Over the Pacific). Both pieces are comprised of over 90 smaller pieces that are modular and synergetic in nature. How has Johnson influenced your studio practice? Nelson: Possibly the biggest influence of Johnson’s work on my practice is the engineering of his work. I have never been that precise or mechanical in the fabrication of my work. In the past, my process has been more of a “cowboy up” mentality. Just do it then figure out how to do it better, later. The more and more I engage with Johnson’s work, the more I understand how well engineered and planned out his pieces are -- there is beauty in that. More importantly, I realize that while focusing equally on engineering and planning, as well as the art, one can make far superior pieces than just shooting from the hip and grinding it out. In the end, it is a much better system. How does this influence manifest itself in your work? Conceptually? Nelson: This influence has affected the newest progression of my work immensely. As I switched to a bio based resin, have needed to fabricate molds and am now using aerospace aluminum as core material, all of this requires massive amounts of engineering and scheduling. Johnson and his means of production have influenced my workflow. Constantly pushing materials, tools and boundaries in order to get it all right and all done on time. One could say that it is artisanal fabrication and manufacturing, in the best way possible. To have an idea; how something should look and feel sometimes takes years before it is executed properly. That requires a lot of quiet tenacity and patience. I can see that in Eric’s work and it is inspirational. Conceptually, I am a big color and motion guy. I love the way Johnson’s work takes simple pigment and hue yet while static, makes it flow through form and shape -- simple, elegant and stunning. Charles Dickson: Legacy, A Lifetime Survey Charles Dickson is consumed with how things work in a mechanical, creative, spiritual and political context. As a Sculptor he embraces many mediums, he explores the nature of the materials he uses in order to understand and challenge their properties in traditional and unique applications. At the core of this process Dickson inquires, “How do I learn to speak through the materials, to discover the truth about the materials and express the beauty of my artistic vision?” Dickson’s obsession with finding the truth of a form has been documented in his 45 year homage to the African American woman. Rather than work from an imagined form, he realized early in his career, that he had to undress it, to uncover the truth of its essence. Dickson’s work with black nudes was also the precursor for a much larger artistic dialogue on the politics of beauty and how the consequences of slavery reverberated in contemporary society that has extended throughout his entire career. Dickson states, “This dialogue propelled me to immerse myself into the artistic heritage of Africa, searching for the language, tools and symbols, to recreate and recover the enormous spiritual influence and indigenous beauty this tradition has had on the world. It has also encouraged me to develop works reflecting the unique circumstances of the African American experience that traces back to its African origins.” Charles Dickson is a self-taught artist born in 1947 in Los Angeles, CA. He has public works of art at the Watts Towers, Los Angeles Metro Rail Green Line in El Segundo, Hope and Faith Park in South Los Angeles and the City of Costa Mesa Performing Arts Complex, among others. He is currently an artist in residence at the Watts Towers Arts Center Campus and the Caretaker of the Watts Towers of Simon Rodia with LACMA’s preservation program. He is also working with the Los Angeles Neighborhood Land Trust and Offices of The Trust in Public Land LA River Center to create sculptures within the community. Dickson lives and works in South Central Los Angeles, CA. January 24 - March 15, 2015 Back to list

Patrick Park < Back My Name is Winky By Patrick Park Today is February 29, 2021. My name is Winky. It is currently the coldest it has ever been. A cold, dark world. Is this all there is to life? A false hope that we may someday escape from this clutching prison. Is that all we can look towards? It feels like a repeating cycle. We grow up together for a while and then one day, some of us stay while others depart. But why me? Why couldn’t I join my friends in the beautiful paradise that is the afterlife? It feels so lonesome, like a rainbow in a storm. I am not beautiful, I am merely a minuscule object that is lost in the vast, unforgiving universe. My bright colors cannot fight off the harsh weather, nor can it ward off the mythological beings whose single footstep can destroy a colony. What is my purpose? A million years can pass and not a single being will notice my presence. We all desire to leave our mark on this world. What is the purpose? A temporary span of experiences known as life is something we consider priceless, but why? An existential question that has been asked throughout history. What is my purpose? Providing something for others until I join my fallen comrades. Why? Why can I not frolic and laugh like those titans? Why can I not run like those animals with four legs? I am stuck with no movement. I am stuck with no purpose. I am stuck with no family. I am stuck finding meaning in my own life. The titans refer to me as a “flower of death”, using me as a crown when mourning the deceased. A fitting name, truly. I suppose I should feel flattered as our family was chosen as a means to honor a titan’s death. They act as though death is something to honor. An interesting concept to say the least. When we die, we (as flowers) are often used as compost in order to help the future generation. But if there’s anything I learned, it’s to live in the moment. Just a few months ago, I had all of my friends near me. We chatted, laughed, and even asked each other questions about life. We were quite the philosophical bunch. However, we had an older gentleman, a fern plant to be exact, that always told us to enjoy the time while it lasted. We often ridiculed him. We believed those times would last forever. Even when each of our companions disappeared one by one, we laughed it off saying that they would be back. We were delusional really, refusing to see our own reality. Perhaps the day will arrive where we may see each other once more. I have not been feeling my best throughout these days, I fear my time to join the afterlife is coming. Today is March 1st, 2021. Something strange happened yesterday. The weather is suspiciously getting warmer. Usually, it feels like an igloo forming inside my petals during the nights however, yesterday’s night was somewhat bearable. Also, I see a tiny seedling about 2 feet on the right. I know it’s nothing and may not survive, but I still feel excited. I lost all my friends, one by one. The fact that I might have a new friend in the near future makes me happy. Would John be a good name? Perhaps I will name him Winky Jr. Although my time is coming soon, I will do everything in my power to grow this seedling. It feels silly to say this out loud but I already feel a bond with this poppy seedling. I will teach it the different things I have learned in this lifetime. Teaching them about the titans, teaching them about the different seasons, and teaching them the different plants. I feel this is the purpose of our lives, plant or titan. Of course, you should expend some of your energy, but you should expend some of your energy to help grow the future generation. I will keep you updated on the progression of this seedling. Today is March 2nd, 2021. I have an update for you. The seedling is almost old enough to begin communicating with me. I’m so excited, I can feel my roots jumping up and down. I also feel nervous about talking with this seedling because I haven’t talked to anyone in person in such a long time. It is also my first time physically communicating with a poppy plant. Poppy plants have a reputation in the plant community as they are one of the most beloved flowers in the state of California. Being able to meet a poppy in person is an incredible honor. I will keep you updated tomorrow when we are able to communicate. Today is March 3rd, 2021. Another major update has surfaced, I have finally exchanged words with the young Poppy. It woke up, scared and confused. I had to talk to it, telling it where we were and what it was. The young Poppy asked for my name, to which I replied “Winky Jr.”. It asked what I was and replied, “A Periwinkle flower”. The Poppy looked confused and went silent for a minute. I decided to start up the conversation once more with, “You are a Poppy flower, a flower that is beloved by the Titans”. The Poppy asked what a titan was. I claimed it was a name we gave to the humans as their footsteps often shook the ground. Of course, this was a silly mistake as it asked what a human was. After spending the whole day passing on my knowledge to the young poppy, I began to give the poppy his own personal traits. The Poppy asked what a good name was. I asked, “How does Summer sound?” The Poppy agreed to this name and our friendship began. After this, Summer thanked me and I welcomed him. Although Summer was the one thanking me, in my heart, I felt I needed to thank Summer. She became the one shining light after several months of darkness. I realized I didn’t need to run and shout like the humans, I just needed someone like me. Someone who could relate to my struggles, someone who was literally in my feet. My will to live became stronger than ever. I hope to see you again tomorrow journal. Although it’s a shame I will not live long enough to see Summer grow, I’m glad I could meet them. Previous Next

Up Imagen Angeleno Various Artists Special Exhibition : Dark Progressivism Artists : Ken Gonzales-Day Linda Vallejo Abel Alejandre Ana Rodriguez In celebration of the Getty Museum’s Pacific Standard Time: LA/LA initiative, which is a far-reaching and ambitious exploration of Latin American and Latino art in dialogue with Los Angeles, MOAH presents its winter exhibition, Imagen Angeleno . This exhibition will include solo exhibits of work by: Ken Gonzales-Day, Abel Alejandre, Ana Rodriguez and Linda Vallejo. The Main Gallery will feature a special exhibition, Dark Progressivism: The Built Environment , guest-curated by Rodrigo d’Ebre and Lisa Derrick. Inspired by the 2016 documentary film Dark Progressivism , written by Rodrigo d’Ebre and co-directed by Rodrigo d’Ebre and James J. Yi, this exhibition highlights the street and public art movements that characterize Los Angeles’ Southland. Dark Progressivism: The Built Environment answers the question of which movements are shaping 21st century art with a multi-faceted approach that looks to the streets of LA, where innovations in design and the idea of vandalism as a form of artistic resistance are embedded in the city’s identity. Artists featured in Dark Progressivism: The Built Environment include: Michael Alvarez, Sandow Birk, Chaz Bojorquez, Liz Brizzi, Roberto Chavez, Gajin Fujita, Peter Greco, Roberto Gutierrez, Jason Hernandez, Juan Carlos Munoz Hernandez, Louis Jacinto, Susan Logoreci, Manuel Lopez, Eva Malhotra, Horacio Martinez, Jim McHugh, Gerardo Monterrubio, Nunca, Estevan Oriol, Cleon Peterson and Lisa Schulte, Felix Quintana, Carlos Ramirez, Erwin Recinos, Rafael Reyes, Joe ‘Prime’ Reza, Sandy Rodriguez, Shizu Saldamando, Alex Schaefer, Jaime Scholnick & Big Sleeps. Dark Progressivism Curated by Rodrigo Ribera d'Ebre and Lisa Derrick The Dark Progressivism: The Built Environment exhibit is a survey of the region’s Dark Progressivism school of thought, which dates back to the Great Depression, and is brought into current day. Special emphasis is placed on the post-war era through the present. The exhibit sheds light on the organic relationship between photography, painting, literature, architecture, sculpture, cinema, mural, and typography. The creation and production of these works derive from a noir cityscape, in a land where the bright colors of flora and fauna, native and transplanted, belief somber secrets and complex histories. The origin of Dark Progressivism begins with the built environment. As a result of restrictive housing covenants against people of color, clusters of orderly and planned suburbs sprouted all over the metropolis, while high density, marginalized, and underdeveloped communities developed elsewhere, forming a belt around Downtown Los Angeles. Far from tourist destinations, these communities were invisible and associated with slum housing. During the Depression, people of color, born and raised in Los Angeles, were fired from public sector jobs so that “White Americans” could find employment, while thousands of Mexican Americans and Mexican-born immigrants were repatriated to Mexico. At the same time, “socially progressive” housing projects were designed by renowned architects as a form of containment to house low-income Mexican and Mexican American communities. Housing projects such as Maravilla, Rose Hills Courts, Ramona Gardens, Pico Aliso Village, Dogtown, and several others became a reality, and thousands were displaced into the shadows of the projects; thus people of color and these communities became more invisible and further fragmented. On the bleak streets of this built environment, the youth responded by writing graffiti on walls in the form of community plaques, and carving names and neighborhoods in cement to show that they too existed in the dark metropolis. From then, through the changes, whether physical and social, violent or benign, of the ensuing decades, contemporary artists in a variety of mediums have been directly informed by this noir cityscape. Dark Progressivism: The Built Environment deconstructs the metropolis’ trajectory through an unprecedented historical lens, with works from artists who are not only impacted by the opaque topography, but who are also contributing to the dialog of progress. Ken Gonzales-Day Profiled Racial profiling and discriminatory treatment of persons of color remains at the center of political debates about criminal justice, terrorism, national security and immigration reform despite the increasing understanding that race has more to do with culture than biology. Many studies have been made involving the literary and art-historical depictions of race in text and painting, but the sculpted figure and the portrait bust have garnered little attention. Ken Gonzales-Day: Profiled addresses these forms. It became evident in Gonzales-Day’s research that historically sculptures and portrait busts were created using other works of art such as photographs or illustrations as reference. Many sculptures are copies of copies and with each new artist comes a reinterpretation of the previous. This cycle of replication has resulted in the progressive distortion of the subjects’ depiction. In others, the busts were not busts at all, but fragments from larger sculptures composited from various models. Profiled is about more than the uncanny double, it is about the fragmented and fractured subject and its visual potential. Ken Gonzales-Day is a Los Angeles based artist whom received a BFA from Pratt Institute, an MFA from the University of California Irvine, an MA from Hunter College and is now a Professor of Art and Humanities at Scripps College in Claremont, CA. His work has been widely exhibited including: LACMA, Los Angeles; LAXART, Los Angeles; Tamayo Museum, Mexico City; Palais de Tokyo, Paris; The New Museum, New York City; Generali Foundation, Vienna, and more. Ken Gonzales-Day was also awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship in photography in 2017. Linda Vallejo The Brown Dot Project Linda Vallejo’s The Brown Dot Project continues her work examining the growing Latino population and American’s changing attitudes towards color and class. The Brown Dot Project began with the artist’s consideration of statistics concerning Latino populations and how abstract painted works could spark a dialog about these numbers and their influence on the viewer’s perception of race and class. The “brown dot” abstract image of these Latino data numbers emerged after much trial and error. Once Vallejo’s work led her to the grid, she began dividing them into quadrants and a pattern began to manifest. Vallejo continued the project’s production by experimenting with formal variations based on Latino percentages and her experiences with indigenous weaving. The first images she produced recalled American Indian and Mesoamerican blankets, weavings and ancient ceremonial sites. Later, Mondrian, Chuck Close, Agnes Martin, Charles Gaines, and other grid-oriented modernists came to mind as she was forced to create new variations within the work. Vallejo studies a variety of data sets, including topics such as the number of Latinos in any given city or state, the national number of Latino executives, the number of Latinos involved in the American Civil War. As an example: The population of Los Angeles County is represented by 48,400 total squares. The county’s Latino population (48.3%) is represented by 23,377 dots arranged in 467 sets of 50 dots each (and one set of 27 additional dots). As her dates sets expand, so too have the works, growing in size from 9 square inches to 24 square inches, the largest of which are 36 square inches. Counting of these squares and dots, completing the corresponding mathematics, and “dotting” the page takes hours of concentration on both topic and execution. Abel Alejandre Urban Realism Abel Alejandre spent the first seven years of his life in the rural region of Tierra Caliente, Mexico. In these early years, Alejandre and his family lived without electricity and running water. They emigrated to Los Angeles in 1975, which Alejandre describes as being akin to traveling a century into the future. Looking back to this transformative period, Alejandre aims to examine and reinterpret what it means to be a human being, a man and the member of a community. These themes are explored in his work as his subject matter focuses on discounted and overlooked moments that subversively yet actively shape our culture. By isolating these instances into hyperrealist vignettes Alejandre intends to stimulate the onlookers’ reflection. The autobiographical elements of Alejandre’s work delve into the public and private spheres of masculinity and vulnerability. He frequently uses roosters to symbolize machismo, manhood, valor and patriarchy as they are animals known for their fierce instinct, beauty and determination to fight until its enemy is completely dispatched. Through his work Alejandre evaluates and questions the role of masculinity’s in contemporary society. For over twenty years Abel Alejandre has been perfecting his practice in acrylics, woodblock prints and graphite. Alejandre’s graphite drawings makes up the largest body of work and require upwards of five months to bring to fruition, averaging eleven hours per day and consumes about 700 pencils each. Ana Rodriguez Floral Interiors Ana Rodriguez’ canvases—with their feminine color palettes of pinks and purples and dripping textures that are reminiscent of frosting or cake batter—are at once mysterious, feminine and deeply personal. The artist grew up in the small community of Maywood, California, neighbor to the numerous chemical plants, refineries, public waste areas and foundries of Commerce and Vernon. As a child, Rodriguez recalls being highly aware of how the rancid smells of these factories mixed with the sweet scents of small bakeries and cake shops in her city. Memories of this olfactory sensation are pervasive throughout her current body of work. Rodriguez’ paintings also often incorporate references to the 99 Cent Store decorations that adorned her childhood home, providing a link to her family’s social class in an attempt to acquire a deeper understanding of the nature of classifying beauty and objects of value. Patterns reminiscent of kitchen cabinet liners, linoleum flooring, wallpaper and fabric from childhood toys and clothes emerge from beneath dripping washes of color in an amalgam of neon and pastel hues and abstract forms that seem to melt and ooze in and out of gravity. Allusions to the natural environment are also present in the artist’s color palette: splashes of pink mix with orange and gold, evoking the striking appearance of East Los Angeles’ sunsets, melting over the smokestacks of factories and the rooftops of crowded apartment complexes. Nostalgia and memory, fantasy and whimsy collide, mingle and overwhelm as abstraction and pattern coexist across Rodriguez’ paintings. Ana Rodriguez earned a BFA from California State University Long Beach and an MFA from Otis College of Art and Design, where she currently teaches. November 11, 2017 - January 14, 2018 Back to list