An Inside Look at the Santa Monica Art Studios

It is the middle of a beautiful Saturday, a couple of weeks before the hustle and bustle of open studios. I decide to take a tour with one of Santa Monica Art Studios’ two directors, Yossi Govrin. Stupidly, I almost miss my turn because I’m too distracted watching a plane land at the Santa Monica Airport. It’s an interesting place to find 22,000 square feet dedicated to the fine arts.

Yossi describes his art complex as a “learning creative center.” Created in 2004 after working closely with the City of Santa Monica for four years, the studios were part of a concerted effort to bring back the artist community that left during the bidding war for space between dotcom companies and film studios. In that spirit, this space is not about a solitary approach to art. Yossi personally interviews every artist who wants to rent here, ensuring that they are interested in becoming part of the community. However, while “community” in the arts can so often connote a leveling of taste or an egalitarianism that elides all critical distinction, it’s important to see that the SMAS is a meritocracy. Or at least a benevolent dictatorship of taste, personified in this case by Yossi Govrin.

When Yossi interviews a potential renter, he looks for vision and a unique approach to art. Also, to weed out what he calls “prima donnas.” He wants to be bowled over, like he was two years ago when Berenika Boberska pitched him her idea for an exhibit that combines fairy tales with architecture and art. The result? The Cautionary Tales: Feral Structures exhibit is now on view in the Arena 1 Gallery, the exhibition space of SMAS devoted to only the most unique contemporary art. When Yossi’s impressed, the artist doesn’t just earn a workspace in the hangar, but also the implicit faith and support of its captain. He tells me about a young artist whom he’s recently taken in, “A lot of people don’t like his stuff, but I see something there. There is a process, and he hasn’t quite gotten there yet, but he will.” The determination in his voice is plain; he believes in this man’s art as much as in his own. It’s the security and conviction of thirty years of making sculpture, photography and painting, and fostering the creativity of others. When interviewing artists and writers often, one grows jaded – they tend to be interesting and that, after a while, becomes the norm. It’s a rich person’s problem; talented people in a pool of talented people don’t always stand out. So believe me when I say that Yossi Govrin is a different story. Within the first five minutes of meeting him, I looked down to make sure I was still wearing pants, because I was sure he had charmed them right off of me. I take pictures of his cement sculpture series as he takes pictures of me – noticing my raised eyebrow, he explains that he takes pictures of everyone and everything, hundreds of pictures a day. I try not to feel self-conscious and question him about the fibers in the cement. “They are hemp. You can smoke them,” he deadpans and puts the fluff of hemp from the head of the electric blue sculpture he calls Exposed near his mouth, miming a lighter with his hand. As I peer into them, touch them, photograph them, I feel how different each cement figure is despite being cast from the same mold. Odd as it may sound, this is some emotional cement.

I point at the sculpture with bells in its torso, “What’s this one called?”
“Man with a Bell,” he says. There is a beautiful duality to the piece beyond the simple black/white contrast. If every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings, what does it mean when the bells are trapped in cement, their tongues rendered silent and useless by their concrete prison? This is the kind of thought that drives Yossi to create, and the kind of thinking he prizes in others. “Come, you have to see what some of these guys are doing,” he motions to me excitedly and we are on our way, creeping through the empty studios like the Hardy Boys. We knock and then enter the empty studio of Maddy Le Mel. As I look around, it’s clear this is more of an imaginarium than a studio. I am immediately intrigued by an installation that involves hand-tools, many of them obscure, hanging in front of pictures of tools juxtaposed with words. I had never considered a paint roller insolent, or associated a monkey wrench with rage before. It’s difficult to walk away from something that makes you think in a new way, and I silently congratulate the absent Maddy. I walk over to the other side of the studio where I see the nuts and bolts of Maddy’s work – in many cases, literally boxes of nuts or bolts, clips, papers, pieces of fabric, rocks, fake trees, old dental tools. “That’s Maddy for you. You give her a pencil, she’ll make a forest out of it,” says Yossi.

Yossi is so infinitely quotable that interviewing him feels like cheating. We leave Maddy’s studio and enter the colorful world of Julie Weiss, an Oscar-nominated costume designer whose incredible wide-ranging work includes everything from “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” to “American Beauty” to “12 Monkeys.” You might think that costume design is a craft, not an art – but then you’ve never seen what Julie’s design boards look like. One in particular, for Selma Hayek in “Frida,” catches my eye. Julie’s color and fabric choices combined with a naturally graceful line next to scribbled notes on design are a perfect unit of art, a character’s personality captured like a butterfly under glass.

There is a lot more to see, as we make our way to Lola del Fresno’s studio. To my surprise, she’s actually there, tying up some loose ends before she heads off to China for an exhibit. Her work is big, ranging from life-size to 103” x 61,” largely white, and it glows in the sunlight. Once my eyes adjust, I notice that each canvas houses a single figure, rendered with deceptive simplicity. These characters confront me with such raw vulnerability I momentarily become embarrassed. I want to tell the naked woman splayed out in front of me that I’m sorry I’ve walked in on her, and to ask the little boy why he looks so troubled. Lola’s people are most often nude, and it is not the casual nudity of say, ancient Greece. Lola uses it to maximize the impact of the viewer’s collision with her people, avoiding clothing or background as much as possible to make for a more powerful universal experience. From a technical point of view, her composition is flawless, her minimalist approach moderating the careful application of layers of graphite, inks, and acrylics with rubbing and washing out. Every line and every drop is necessary, no marks are wasted. I wish Lola bon voyage, and Yossi and I make our way to his studio.

We’re back where we started, I’m taking pictures of his work as he’s taking pictures of me taking pictures. Our little meta experience is coming to an end as I photograph a half-sculpture, half-lamp. The chandelier on top reads like a crown, or a head with a magnificent hat atop it, and makes me think of 18th century balls and winter holidays. The figure is stately and a touch absurd, like a distinguished aunt. It’s called Nightwatch, I’m surprised to learn – the Rembrandt connection is not obvious, but then Yossi turns the chandelier on. I get it immediately; he wanted to capture the radiance of the faces in the Dutch painter’s masterpiece. It’s his cheeky take on the inward glow.

“No, it really comes from within – I ran the cord through the middle of the sculpture.”
“What’s this one called?” I ask about the sculpture with sawed off branches inserted into its torso.
“Branching Out,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “I put the branches in the body because I was hoping they would grow.”
I laugh. Life from concrete. Like an art community from an airplane hangar.
“Is it working?”
“I’m still waiting. I’m very optimistic.”

For more info about Santa Monica Art Studios, visit http://www.santamonicaartstudios.com/