WHØ THE HELL IS STEVEN BACKLUND?
Steven Backlund has been painting for over 50 years, yet almost nobody knows who he is. Google first brings up a pastor who writes books. Then an American Marine wounded in Vietnam in 1966. Not a word about the artist.
I hadn't slept for sixteen months, and I woke up when I saw his paintings. His cheerful grandson showed them to me.
My first thought: What a shame I'm too young to have my grandson telling people about my books.
My second: What the hell is going on in these paintings?
PLEASE KEEP YOUR ARTIST ON A LEASH
A painting has an artist, even if the artist has no audience. But sometimes it seems that without an audience, there is no artist either. No, let me put it differently.
If nobody knows who an artist is, who's supposed to tell him he's a good artist? And what happens when he finally finds out?
I'm thinking about this as I walk down the street. Ahead of me, a woman is walking a huge, playful Doberman. When she sees me, she tightens the leash. Would the dog have attacked me? I don't know. But he was freer before I came along.
Maybe the same thing happens to artists. At first, they do whatever they want. Then an audience comes along. And the artist tightens his own leash.
WHO'S WATCHING WHOM?
What sets an artist apart isn't how many images they come up with, but how far they can go exploring them.
Steven Backlund keeps returning to the same images. Mickey Mouse ears appear in paintings, sculptures, and even on an armchair. Elephants lose parts of their bodies. People turn into animals, and animals take on human faces. Two figures merge into one body. Sometimes the artist calls them his self-portrait.
I especially love his charcoal drawings. Every stroke rings like a bell of loneliness. Despite all those eyes. In this world, everyone is watching someone, but from a distance.
I wonder how Backlund's paintings would change if thousands of people started watching him.
ARTIST OR PRODUCT?
In fifty years, you can change careers, countries, wives, go through wars and divorces. And keep painting. I wouldn't be surprised if Steven Backlund turned out to be both the pastor and the Marine from Google.
I try to imagine what it's like to return every morning to work that perhaps no one will ever see. I like to think I'm capable of that too. But then I check my book sales.
I want more people to see Backlund's paintings. But the thought that he now has to be turned into a product annoys me: discovered, recognized, evaluated, and sold. Why does someone like me have to come along and announce that he's discovered an unknown genius? Why can't a person just paint for fifty years?
Wait. That's exactly what he's been doing.
Instagram demands that artists constantly prove they exist. If you don't show people what you're working on, you don't exist. Luckily, sometimes all you have to do is wait for your grandson to grow up.
A SIGN OF TRUST
I'm still walking down the street. Another dog runs up to me, wagging its tail and putting its paws on my jeans. The owner lets me pet it. I crouch down and reach out my hand.
A few seconds later, the dog turns away and walks off.
"That's it, he's had enough of you," the owner laughs.
I haven't slept in sixteen months. Maybe I'm imagining all of this. I laugh too.
Maybe Steven Backlund doesn't need my essay at all. Maybe I'm the one who needs it.
I still don't know who Steven Backlund is.
But at least now you know his name.
Then again, his grandson can tell you more about the paintings: