By Ed Huyck
By Melissa Wray
By Patrick Strait
By Jonathan McJunkin
By B Fresh Photography
By Ryan Siverson
By Kendra Sundvall
By Ed Huyck
On the fifth floor of the Calhoun Building in the Lyn-Lake district of Minneapolis, above the improv classes, dance studios, and screen-writing seminars of the third and fourth floors, and far above the body piercings, martial-arts training, and traffic sturm und drang of the ground floor, Jason Kassel has turned a corner in his life. Kassel, a former Ph.D. student of philosophy at the University of Minnesota, has given up a longtime pursuit of the academic life to found his own artistic movement, which is represented in the new studio he has opened, the Eat Bugs Gallery.
"New Expressionism," says Kassel on a recent hot July afternoon in his small unair-conditioned space, "is as much a philosophy of life as a way of understanding our art. My philosophy celebrates primal emotions, honesty, dialogue, open communication, and connection with others. It's through this connection that humans feel most fulfilled. It's a way of thinking that goes back to the Greeks."
A slightly stout man of 30 years with a head of light hair cut close to his round head, Kassel smiles with childlike merriment as he launches into a practiced monologue. He is obviously savvy about modern communication, wielding such weapons of the computer age as e-mail, an Eat Bugs Web site, and a relentless sense of self-promotion that led him to run for Congress in 1998, as well as to take up art without any prior training. Yet Kassel's enthusiasm for his new endeavor seems entirely unaffected. As he speaks, I manage to steal a few glances at the paintings he has hung over every available space on the walls of the gallery's three tiny rooms. Mostly, they are boldly colored items with exuberant, if a bit underdeveloped, daubs of acrylic paint. The imagery that he and his artists employ is rudimentary, even juvenile, consisting primarily of stick figures, flat geometric shapes, symbolic objects, and ghostlike faces. Still, there is a certain intangible spark present in a good number of them.
Kassel stops before the first painting he ever did, which he calls "Man and Woman Worshipping Agni, the Hindu God of Fire." Painted in November of 1997 during a time of heavy study for Kassel, it is a mishmash of sloppy and muddy paint on a piece of large, unstretched canvas.
"One day after reading all day, I went and bought a piece of canvas and some tempera paints and a cheap brush from the hardware store, and I painted this," he says, losing himself in an explanation of who and what the purplish stick people are, and why they are rushing toward a green-gray tree while stick gods "couple" in a brown-blue sky. Kassel makes a number of sweeping hand gestures over the canvas and quickly loses me as well. Unlike some of the more recent work, nothing is particularly distinctive in this painting except the energy of his brushwork.
"This is painted in the Renaissance style," he says.
"I can tell," I quip, which, after a slight pause, causes Kassel to launch into a booming spasm of laughter. We both stand for a moment in front of the painting, and a momentary silence overtakes us. Kassel seems to guess what I am thinking.
"Painting is dead today because the creators have taken the soul out of painting. There are paintings that are far superior technically to these in my gallery," he says, his arm sweeping across the space. "But they lack the vitality and soulfulness of these paintings. If the person moving the brush lacks an inner vitality, then it comes out on canvas. The mass entertainment of our society anesthetizes people, so it makes sense that painters would make soulless work."
He pauses for an instance, then thinks of something else. "How to phrase this? I'm not someone who believes in the idea of progress--having the latest and best. I believe in the notion of personal feelings. The original moment of understanding may carry truths. We may not have to move on. I believe strongly in using expression with an emphasis on the creator's psychology. We [the artists of the New Expressionism] differ in that we're less technical, and self-taught....Therefore, we're free to do what we want."
Kassel goes on for a time about bourgeois attitudes, about the homogeneity of American society, about "The Air Conditioned Nightmare," Henry Miller's 1945 tract on American conventionality, which he cites as an influence, and about the writing of various moral philosophers who inspired him, and the stultifying conformity of the academic world that forced him to give up scholasticism for art. I half expect him to launch into a dissertation on alchemy, the planetary spheres, and all manner of debauchery he has become acquainted with during this time of free exploration, but then, all at once, he is speaking of the business end of New Expressionism.
According to Kassel, there are signs that his message is slowly reaching people. The number of artists who have signed with Kassel has grown recently from three to eight or nine, and artists are beginning to contact him out of the blue about having shows. More to the point, Kassel has sold some work of late, including three paintings on eBay, the Internet auction block, though admittedly his prices are so low--between $100-$200 per painting--that he can hardly cover his overhead costs. Kassel cites several peripheral events--open-mic poetry, trip-hop concerts, and the like--that are helping to keep him afloat as he waits for the trappings of success. Meanwhile, though, he has no illusions about the difficulty of maintaining an art gallery in these trying financial times for artists. And so Kassel keeps compiling his mailing list, sending out press packets, and plugging away at his vision. "My gallery is different, because it's built on New Expressionism and I'm trying to move that," he says.
Find everything you're looking for in your city
Find the best happy hour deals in your city
Get today's exclusive deals at savings of anywhere from 50-90%
Check out the hottest list of places and things to do around your city