“A Decibel Disparate” Exposing the community to local artists: musicians, writers, designers, performers, thinkers, who are doing things outside of the “Annapolitan box.” You will find no sailboats or Blue Angels here. This is a place for raw and unique talent. Let us look at our city with a “view askew.” Diversity is life.
Between the Weird&Mundane, Sacred&Profane: J. Marshall Smith
By Brianne Leith
Photos by Kelly Jo Prewitt
After seeing his art, his paintings, their frightening and off-set beauty, the person sitting in front of me whimsically smiling, seems misplaced. Tortured figures, vibrant colors slashed throughout, J. Marshall Smith’s art can not be described as frightening, but an essence of lunacy and fear lurks behind the mastery.
“Life is beautiful. It’s complex. It’s suffering… but not always. If there is no suffering; there is no comfort. You need the bad to realize the good. Life is strange, beautiful and ugly at the same time.”
His art is different. His art is colorful. His art is like life.
“I want my art to speak truth, ugly or beautiful.”
Jonathan Smith, J. Marshall Smith for art purposes, has been creating art all of his life. “It’s kind of like asking, ‘How long have you been breathing?’” He smirks, his eyes smiling sweetly through his sarcasm. “I guess my first show was in Kindergarten…” He shoots me a mocking look from over his glasses. “…but my first solo show was when I was a senior at Annapolis Area Christian School in 2007. That’s when I became serious about being an artist.”
Jonathan looks down at his hands, for no apparent reason. He could have been lost in thought. He could have been awkwardly awaiting the next question. None of those suppositions seemed correct or fitting. He peers up at me, “Why do I always have paint on my hands?” “Because you’re an artist.” “Because I am sloppy.” He smiles with the top row of his teeth. “People always make excuses for artists… ‘Why is he in a dirty shirt at a wedding?’ ‘Oh, he’s an artist.’” His blue eyes arch to a sliver. He leans back in his chair, and slightly throws his head back as he laughs. The coffee shop chuckled with him.
As of today and until March 27th, a collection of J. Marshall Smith’s work hangs on the walls of City Dock Coffee in Downtown Annapolis. “My art is cutting edge, but also old fashioned. I think it fits in best as Post Impressionism.” His art includes drawings and paintings in oils, markers, and pens. Mostly two-dimensional views adorn canvas, paper, wood, books and pieces of furniture.
One stunning work of Jonathan’s is an oil painting done on particle board from a bed. The piece is called, “Rise Up, Oh House of Israel!” A dark valley swarms with skeletons, in this mutely colored piece. Your eyes raise up with the source of the bright white light, and the tips of the soldier’s spears. Your eyes fall back down into the depths to admire the armed skeletons emerging out of the murky terrain. “In Ezekiel there is a valley of dead soldiers that are reanimated. It is a symbol of healing, redemption, and love, but at the same time it’s terrifying and powerful.” This painting feels, it moves, it stops those who witness it. “This story is also referred to as the Valley of the Dry Bones.” Jonathan lifts his elbows in a chicken-like dance motion, and proceeds to rhythmically squirm. His mouth propped wide open and there is a foolish gleam in his eyes. He stops abruptly.
“I don’t know if skeletons dance like that.”
The skeletons Jonathan created dance with realistic shading and contouring, as they dwell motionless in the pit; their hollowed eyes lifted to the sky.
“Art for me is an almost religious experience. Some artists turn art into God; I do not. It is life. I want my work to communicate with people, not confuse them or keep them guessing. You should not have to be wealthy or educated to understand. I don’t want that. I want people to be able to afford it. I want my art to be complex, but understandable, so it can affect people.”
Jonathan stares seriously at me. His glasses mask a part of the intensity of his artistic passion, but they can not entirely restrain the glow that rips through.
“The High Art World is only about your ego. Like what Robert A. Heinlein said, What the self-styled modern artists are doing is a sort of unemotional pseudo intellectual masturbation . . . whereas creative art is more like intercourse, in which the artist must seduce — render emotional — his audience, each time. …And artists keep depicting their own suffering. Don’t tell me about suffering. There is enough suffering. Art should not be about the artist, it should be about communicating or involving the viewer.”
In a piece that depicts two of my loves, Jonathan included this kind of participation. A literary book with pages covered in paintings. Exquisite. “I love books, and did not want to change one, but it was already filthy from use. The pictures developed an idea. Each page was like a narrative, as the paint bled into the next page.” This single piece contained over a hundred original paintings and drawings. It took almost two years to complete. To my dismay, it has sold. “I loved doing it, I probably will do another one.” Not in time for his month-long March show.
Jonathan sits in the coffee shop that will soon be filled with his art. I watch him. I joke with him. I wonder what it must feel like for him to be surrounded with his own creations, his “children,” his own manifestations of beauty.
“I believe that true and beautiful, do not need to be pretty or attractive…
My art is an act of worship
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