Revised Profile

Don’t Judge An Artist By His Paintings

Intended Publication: The Index

David Elhart gives a clear and early warning about his political views, “Just don’t get me started on George Bush, ok?” Yet, his paintings do not espouse the passionate stances he holds so dearly to his heart. He explains that he keeps his political ideology completely out of or hidden within his art because people do not like messages in the paintings they hang in their livings rooms or see at coffee shops and restaurants. “I don’t set out to be political. I set out to create another place. Unless you read the titles, you might not even know.” For example, his painting, titled “Venus Barrier Sustained Biosphere” is a commentary on current environmental practices. David explains it as “We can go live in Venus after we destroy the Earth.” The actual painting, however, does not betray his true feelings. It simply looks like a barrage of colors and shapes. An attack of reds and oranges and browns.

The painting embodies David’s signature style—his rambunctious interpretation of pop art. “I’ve got a very busy mind,” he says, “I put it into my paintings.” He uses acrylics, fixative, and varnish in order to separate colors and paint one color over the other. He warns the oil has to go over the acrylic and not the other way around or else paint will chip everywhere.  He also does a lot of work with oil based pens. The pens are pricey, but he says the pigmentation is well worth their cost.

In addition to playing with vivid colors and grand shapes, David manipulates texture. He particularly likes taking paint rollers and gauging pieces out of them in order to create spongy layers. He never uses an easel and opts to work on a flat surface so the paint remains stationary. A substantial factor in the creation of his art is his need to control. Elements, such as wayward clouds, which appear to be random, are actually painstakingly placed in order to communicate exactly what David wants to say.

While continuing to talk about his art, he repeats the theme that it’s not from a deep, philosophical message. He says the endpoint is to have fun. “I kind of paint blindly”—he explains that nothing about his art is pre-planned, and it’s more of a sum of his thoughts.

He also speaks about his age, “People who don’t know me anticipate a younger person.” The artist, however, is a man in his late sixties, who works in light-wash jeans splattered with paint, Champion sweatshirts, baseball caps, and sandals with socks. His full beard and antiquated glasses complete the look, which is reminiscent of a grandfather.

Perhaps it is the cartoonish character of David’s paintings that lead people to believe the artist must be young. His flamboyant style is exemplified in his piece “Sleeping Wave” in which a sun is set against a sky blue background, while two shapes that appear to be icebergs imperfectly mirror one another. A small ship with 3 tiered sails hides to the right of the far iceberg, and puffs of clouds are depicted with bars of white. Although a seemingly simple design, David uses bright yellows and blues with hints of orange and brown as well as thick outlines of black to sharply demarcate the various shapes, causing the viewer to stop and try to figure out what he/she is seeing. Even though the viewer immediately recognizes the typical scene, the jolting geometry calls for a longer look. The viewer then notices the sun melting down the canvas by means of various reflections, the asymmetrical relation between shapes, and the perfectly straight lines within the icebergs that are angled out like sun rays.

Indeed, David’s work is an intriguing balance of technical art and the fine arts—he attributes the mix to his past work, which involved him being very precise. He thinks his technicality adds to the story telling capability of his artwork. David’s favorite types of stories to tell are about things that reflect memory. With a sense of awe in his voice, he describes staring at the deserted paper mill in Vicksburg and wanting to ask it, “Please, tell me what went on here...even though the building can’t talk. The older [the building] the better.”

Or on a trip to Ellis Island, when he became wrapped up in the emotional experiences preserved in the location. He speaks quickly as he thinks about the memories it holds, seeing them as alive and vital because they are “trapped in the walls of the building”. His face lights up during his recollection, much like the face of a little kid who has just discovered a secret shortcut.

David’s youthful exuberance complements his pervasive pragmatism. His choice to not use his art as a vehicle for his radicalism reflects his sensibility, “Here in the Midwest if you want to sell anything you got to be a bit more conservative.” But, David has never made his living off art. He worked in pharmacological research for forty years before he devoted himself to painting. He had taken a few art classes at the University of Iowa and received training at the Layton School of Art in Milwaukee, but his art had to wait out of necessity. It was a practical decision that came down to having to pay the bills, “I needed to eat and being an artist wasn’t going to get it,” he explains. So David received his Associate’s Degree from Milwaukee Technical College and his Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Wisconsin. Thanks to the G.I. Bill that he earned while serving in the Vietnam War, he moved to Iowa in ’74 and simultaneously worked and studied at the University of Iowa. He then went on to work at Lakeside Labs, which was the ethical research arm of Colgate Palmolive. He specialized in animal welfare and also taught for twenty years. Although he retired four years ago, he mentions possibly teaching at Kalamazoo Valley Community College in the future.

Through his work in research, David got to travel to Japan in 1991 for one month and again in 2001 and 2006. He went to learn the methods they use in their research, but mostly comments on the culture, “Japan is like one large extended family. They’re very community oriented” and “Japan is so clean...the people are so courteous”. Many of the paintings found in his basement studio include themes of Japanese culture and Japanese characters, which he loves to use. He says, “I translate the Japanese right of the Google.” Although David speaks fondly of Japan, he would never move there because all his family is in Michigan.

It is apparent that family is central to David. He has been married for 46 years to his wife, Rose, and has two kids, Julie and Andy. He painted the door leading to his studio with his grandson, one of the two kids of the younger generation who has shown an interest in art. He says, “I have a history of art in my family.” His uncle was head of the art department at Michigan State University, and at the turn of the twentieth century, his great-aunt started Oxbow, an art camp run by the Art Institute of Chicago. Every summer, they “took the clipper” from the University of Wisconsin and spent the summer doing art in Oxbow. He also had a great-aunt who worked for a publishing company in New York City. “I come from a family of kickass women,” he says.

Considering his family history, his choice to marry a strong woman makes sense. Rose was not keen on the idea of an individual interview, but her personality is clear through her interactions with David and his descriptions of her. David admits, “I’d be lost without my wife.” Rose provides the balance David needs to function by remembering all the dates and places and logistics that seem to escape his memory. When asked what her job description is, she says, “I keep him [David] in line.” Rose fills in the gaps in David’s narrative, correcting him when he forgets or adds a year to his life’s timeline. She provides a necessary structure to David. When talking about his work ethic, David says, “I’m certainly addicted [to painting]. I stayed up all night last night. Rose gets so mad at me when I do that.” Given the organization that Rose provides, it is possible that the lack of her presence in David’s studio is the reason for its chaotic nature.

His studio is a mess that is confined to the basement, which is not impervious to the distractions of the rest of the house, such as the barking of his dogs, Frank and Jesse. His work table is the size of a school desk and is cluttered with pens and stencils. Paintings are scattered in every direction, making the small space palpitate with color. Tools of logic, such as rulers, seem out of place in a room that looks like it regularly struggles to reign in David’s creativity. He apologizes for the mess and calls any person who ventures into his studio courageous. 

He admits his studio is particularly disorganized because he is in the process of getting thirty pieces ready for an upcoming show in Three Rivers. He’s not excited about the show, however, because he dislikes the people who generally attend art shows, “Quite a few of them are there for the wine. The more they drink, the more they think they know about art.” He grimaces at the thought of the alcoholic stink of their breath, but reasons that it is nice to sell pieces because, “It helps me pay for my habit.”

His habit. David does not see art as his job because he has never used it to support himself. Yet, art cannot simply be David’s habit. Art is the bridge from his logical mind to his innovative soul. He says, “I enjoy doing what I’m doing so much because I’m discovering.” One can be thankful for the gift of David’s discoveries. It is rare that personal discovery leads to such remarkable creations.