Never mind the fact that he was born some 600 years too late, Leigh J. McCloskey is every bit a Renaissance Man. Not someone stuck in the past, but someone part of what he calls an “emerging Renaissance.” An accomplished actor, McCloskey may best be known for his role as Mitch Cooper from the TV series Dallas. Through Julliard, to a career in TV/film spanning nearly 4 decades, McCloskey’s acting resume would seem creative enough for two lifetimes. After spending a day with him in the Hieroglyph of the Human Soul, however, you’d soon realize that McCloskey is concerned with much more than just playing a part. Indeed, spending time IN the Hieroglyph of the Human Soul. Entering the artist’s home only to see the room devoted to this craft of mixed media, brushstroke, and imagination, it would be easy to dismiss the Heiroglyph as a floor-to-ceiling, corner-to-corner rendition of archetypes in acrylic paint. However, after a few moments dissolving into the splendor of a work like this, objectivity takes a back seat. Add 3-D glasses with well-executed storytelling, and objectivity gets thrown out altogether. I thought I had come to hold an interview, but within minutes I realized the standard Q & A would not suffice: “Unscrew the locks from the door! / Unscrew the doors themselves from the jambs!” to quote Whitman, and this rallying cry provides the necessary architecture to describe a person who may very well be the last of the cave painters.

Leigh considers his career in show business to be a patron, allowing him the freedom to explore painting and metaphysical architecture without being subject to commercialism. His background as an actor may be played down as a source of funding, but Leigh’s ability to connect with an audience enhanced my viewing experience more than if I were to come upon the same work in a gallery or museum. In his home, his cave painting serves as a way to entertain, to pass along tradition, to demonstrate “where the art is, and to remind us where the heart dwells.”
Looking at the complexities of the Hieroglyph shows McCloskey’s success at using religious themes in a very contemporary way. Like the philosophers of the Renaissance who are credited with moving art from the religious into the secular, so too is McCloskey interested in the next shift in the artistic milieu. The result: A daily habit that connects images of Eve from the Judeo-Christian tradition with the likeness of Taoism’s Quan Yin represented in equal measure. But it’s more than the juxtaposition of symbols and cultures. The visual acuity matched with the caliber of storytelling is what makes this thing tick. Or not tick exactly; rather, it becomes the force which stops the clock.

I did my homework researching Leigh J. McCloskey the painter, whose father (also a painter) encouraged him, “When you can no longer explain something, then paint it,” whose technique had been honed by projects like the eighteen years he spent illustrating the Major Arcana of the Tarot with painstaking detail, whose grasp of philosophy both eastern and western is as evident in the brush as it is in the narration. But no amount of research would have prepared me for my experience. At some point in the afternoon, the Hieroglyph ceased being just art and instead transformed into a crash course in humanities and particle physics, as it rendered the colorful by-products of modern mysticism. An afternoon? More like an out-of-body experience that Hubble himself would envy.

The resonance left me feeling that it would be more appropriate to paint a picture or write a poem, rather than report who, what, when, where, and how. . . but why? I wanted concrete facts since inspiration is such a tricky thing to discuss. I wanted to ask blithely about tools and supplies, about process—the safe questions about color theory or how he gained proficiency in figure drawing. Unfortunately, such questions would only get me so far.

To be inspired, to be impressed, it’s helpful to lose footing, it’s appropriate to give up some fleeting notion of control. After a while, I abandoned my pen and note pad. Deconstruction turned into participation like alchemist’s lead into gold. Four hours passed in what seemed like forty minutes, and I left sure that I had only a fraction of the details, considering that the painting was four years in progress! Part soliloquy, part alchemy, through the storyteller, against the cyclorama of color and symbol, I was transformed from a journalist into a character during this play on what Leigh deems “visual philosophy.”

At the foot of Haleakeala (Hawaiian: House of the Sun), the volcano under most of Maui County, rests the small crossroad town of Haiku. Living there enabled the author to catch up on postcards while winter fell elsewhere.

Hands winding back
a wristwatch. Yellow leaves will
fall again next year.

Stone steps, precise;
climbing, sweating,
I have lost count.

The room in Haiku:
A small space with high ceilings
and many windows.

Standing for sunset
a man ignores his garden—
chickens scratch for worms.

Breath, like steam,
strokes the rosy heat
of her sunburned neck.

The fountain—seated
there, syllables
murmur and turn.

Sweet Subversives: Contemporary California Drawings

Long Beach CA – The Long Beach Museum of Art is preparing a new exhibition titled Sweet Subversives, which will open October 16, 2009 on the first floor of the Museum’s gallery pavilion. Sweet Subversives is a unique gathering of 31 drawings by Southern California artists who explore their personal vision of what a drawing means to them and how they achieve this vision.

Many artists stretch themselves within the traditions of mark-making on paper. Although all artists begin their creative process with the seemingly simple concept of a drawing, each artwork is taken on a complex journey—the media becomes mixed, papers become installation, and how we think about drawing moves within the complexities of each artist’s vision. Every artist in this exhibition represents the best of contemporary drawings and mixed media drawings in the greater Los Angeles area. Selected artists include Kiel Johnson, Tom Knechtel, Erika Lizée and Adonna Khare.

While each work in Sweet Subversives is unique, each piece reflects the artist’s personal interest. The artists challenge themselves artistically and conceptually with line drawings on paper. Regardless of the media, these artist drawings in all forms are much more than sweetly subversive to the restrictive understanding of drawings, the work in fact broadly includes abstract concepts and ideas, implied narratives, mathematics and issues of identity and personal expression. This exhibition further explores the growing pluralism in contemporary art, especially as artists address drawing. The eclectic intellectual and practical functions of drawings are substantial. Regardless of the subject or materials these drawings reflect the idiosyncratic but widely fantastic art created in the LA area. Sweet Subversives will close February 14, 2010.

Sweet Subversives will be celebrated with a private opening reception for artists, sponsors, and press on October 22, 2009, followed by the return of the LBMA After Dark.

About the Long Beach Museum of Art

Located on a magnificent bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the Long Beach Museum of Art features a historic mansion and carriage house, expansive galleries and gardens, oceanfront dining at Claire’s at the Museum and a unique Museum Store. The galleries and store are open Tuesday – Sunday 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Admission is $7 for adults, $6 for students and seniors age 62 and older, free for Museum members and children under 12, and free for everyone on Friday. Claire’s at the Museum is open 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Tuesday – Friday and 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. For more information, call (562) 439-2119 or visit www.lbma.org

Artist credits (from top to bottom):
Adonna Khare, “Elephant, Lion & Buffalo”
Denice Bartels, “Untitled 50″
Erika Lizee, “Together Our Intentions Grow Stronger”
Stas Orlovski, “Hairball #6″

He crossed the street in front of me, turned the corner after the savings
and loan and walked out of my sight. I had to turn at the next block
so that I could follow him. Soon I found him dragging the mower
up the steps to the county courthouse. I stopped in the parking lot, watched
and waited as he unlocked it and entered. Mine was the only car around
and it felt like I was stalking him. Trying not to be conspicuous,
I set my clock and switched off the radio. I thought I was going to be late
until I set the clock forward eleven hours. I set the clock
and realized that I was no longer late, realized that I needed
to find a better, different, job. I decided to return home
as he walked out—empty handed.