Is Animal Painting Dead?

Of course it's not.

But the question is a metaphorical prod being poked by Ron Kingswood.

There was a period during the last decade when I heard people asking, “What is up with Ron Kingswood?”  Think of it as the Johnny Depp equivalent to "What's Eating Gilbert Grape?"

A Canadian painter hailed as being one of the bright young talents in wildlife art in the 1970s and 1980s, Kingswood had seemed to drop off the face of the Earth, or least disappearing from the wildlife art universe as defined by the circuit of shows, collegial hobnobbing and having an ever-vigilant presence in galleries.  The same could be said of John Felsing.

On canvas, Kingswood’s subjects were going in the same direction, finding a different orbital path.  His increasingly humongous canvases began featuring animals—often birds (he is an avid amateur ornithologist)—in ways that abandoned the Rule of Thirds and The Law of the Golden Section.  They appeared to be sliding off the surface, leaving behind the subject in half profile.

The rest of the canvas was largely a color field utilized to convey volume in negative space.  If he painted ducks, they never appeared in balanced symmetry;  it wasn't merely painting a pretty picture that he was after. 

Wildlife was fleeing the scenes and, it turns out, so was Ron Kingswood fleeing from convention. Here was an artist who commanded enormous popularity, had prominent galleries representing his work, and already was praised for being original.  As practically a kid, he had his work accepted into the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum Birds In Art Show.  But he started to give his past up.  He wasn't disowning it;  he was moving on, and he felt that some of those who had known his work earlier, and were admirers of it, were ironically among the most resistant to Kingswood's change and setting him free.

People asked:  Why would Kingswood take the risk of giving up sales, which meant giving up money?  Why would he want to mess up a comfortable good thing?  Why is he not playing by the rules of our club?  Collectors wondered:  Why is he not painting what we want him to paint?  What's up with Ron Kingswood?

His new works, part of what turns out to be a transition phase, fit the definition of epic. They make one feel as if they were standing in front of a picture window that gave way to a sea of ambient effects; indeed, size mattered. The pieces had to be big—some of them 16 feet across— in order to feel big.  Some reside today at the National Museum of Wildlife Art.  Viewers loved those, too, and the artist had room to let his mind wander around inside of them, to think about what direction he was being pulled.

Still, Kingswood was going stir crazy inside the boundary of a genre—wildlife art—that imposed what he considered smothering limitations. His work pressed on, continuing to shed detail and becoming bare boned; a stark change for a viewer who encountered it cold.  His new contemporary galleries that, for the most part, were not oriented toward traditional wildlife representation, welcomed it.  His old admirers looked at it, scratching their heads, without realizing that he had boiled his former visions down to simple lines and elemental basics.  Indeed, there has been a progression.

It’s difficult to get in the mind of any creative person.

As Kingswood walked away from his established career and started drawing and painting more minimally and yet more intensely emotional—and, in turn  displaying his work  elsewhere, he was hard pressed to provide an answer to those who demanded to know: “What is up?"

Now we know. For him, simplicity is the result of distillation.   To be original to himself, it meant not pandering to what other people wanted.  Kingwood has penned an essay in this edition of Wildlife Art Journal titled “Is Animal Painting Dead? ” It helps resolve the mystery and explain what continues to serve as a catalyst for moving away from the familiar for terra incognita.  And, in his piece, he lays down a challenge at the feet of wildlife artists, collectors, viewers and art magazines with this observation:

If art is about individual self expression and tapping into the wells of different life experiences, and if no two artists are the same in spirit and soul, then why does so much wildlife art look alike? It's a question that leads to more interesting questions than it opens the door for easy answers. Along with Kingwood’s words, we present a selection of his newer works that speak to his philosophical shift.

Don't shoot the messenger. If wildlife art is ever going to withstand the derision directed at it by those in the Ivory Tower, then it has to be big enough to have a bigger conversation about where it fits into a larger sea of fine art.  It does not have to be one thing or another.  Part of this discussion includes how art can motivate viewers to think differently about the world around them.  We believe there should be no separation between those who gravitate toward the art of nature and the time in which we live on the planet.  Timelessness in aesthetics does not have to mean being frozen in a time capsule created in the past.

It's easy to throw up quotes by old masters on Facebook pages.  It's harder for an artist to heed what a true master meant, by choosing difficult paths as opposed to ones of least resistance or trying to become not a painter who is willing to make hard choices, but become a celebrity instead.

Kingswood, by the way, is not alone in questioning the direction of wildlife art.  It's happening all over.  Let me name the names of other artists besides Kingswood and Felsing who were, and are, frustrated by the narrowness that seems to define the genre.  Who are some of the others with whom I've had this conversation:  Tom Quinn , Steve Kestrel , Tony Angell, Simon Gudgeon,  Harriet Mead,  Carel Pieter Brest van Kempen, Leo Osborne,  Richard Ellis, Kent Ullberg, Lars Jonsson , Ken Bunn, the late Bob Kuhn , and even 10 years ago, the late Lanford Monroe . So let's get on with it and have a real discussion.

Along those lines, a note to our readers: Wildlife Art Journal and its sister magazines Western Art & Architecture and Big Sky Journal are not "pay to play" magazines.

We don't tell artists and galleries that we'll feature you in a story if you buy an ad from us.  Some art magazines do that in subtle and not so subtle ways. All we say is look at the quality of the writing they offer in return.

You don't have to buy your way into the editorial content of our magazine.

That's not how it is supposed to work. 

Are we happy and appreciative when you take out an ad in WAJ?  Absolutely, it helps to keep us in business and, in turn, you get exposure before an international audience for a pretty low price.  Please buy ads;  buy lots of them. 

But more important to us is having an honest dialogue about wildlife art. That's why we think you'll find Ron Kingswood's essay so provocative.  Some readers will be inspired, others may be offended and threatened, but rest assured you wouldn't find the story in other magazines worried about offending advertisers. We do not want to be a vanilla-flavored art forum.

Being a creative artist is about taking chances; it is not a domain for the meek.  During our first year, when we wanted you to become acquainted with us by providing a lot of content free, we've offered you glimpses at over 2,400 images by more than 1,200 different artists who are trying to to make statements with wildlife and nature subject matter.

There are a lot of stories in the holiday 2010/new year 2011 edition of WAJ that will force you to think about how wildlife art fits into your life, your own relationship with nature, and the importance of conservation. Again, a concentration of stories you will not find anywhere else.

The question before you is this:  Do you want to be part of a new discussion, or not?

If the answer is yes, click here on our Full Table Of Contents and weigh in.

Happy holidays and here's to a great year ahead.   We value your enthusiasm.