Goodbye Horses Release

•September 17, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Goodbye Horses

On Friday, September 22nd, 2017, from 9:00pm to 11:00pm, Justin Sonny Eagles will premiere his newest oil painting collection the Last Great Farce of Hope at the Loft Collective  12 S 25th St, Colorado Springs, Colorado, at the Goodbye Horses art premiere party.  After exhibiting in New York and Denver this will be the first time in seven years Eagles will showcase his art back in the area he grew up in and will be the fourth self produced show Eagles has done under his Little Wee Wee productions.

Unlike the conventional art exhibit, guests will have to approach these paintings a little differently, as they follow a particular sequence.  The collection follows the journey of individuals coming to America and then out west to achieve their dreams of hope during the gold rush of the 19th century, only for many life in the old west was not as pretty as they imagined.  The paintings are layered with numerous patterns, questions and ideas, such as several visual clues hinting the paintings are really about the experience of life growing from how one sees the world as a child to the reality of adulthood often be hard and even cruel.  Then there is a painting titled The Oppressed, which may implicate the entire collection is about rape and/or child molestation, the innocence of childhood and life destroyed in one moment of horror.

Here is the image of a woman who appears to be a working girl in a run down brothel, but unlike the common Hollywood wild west call girl, this is a grueling reminder of the realty of not only prostitution of the era, but the even greater ratio of sex slavery still currently in existence.  The viewer looks at a prostitute through a decrepit window, she looks back.  She tries to hide her face with a fan, but her eyes compel her fear and desperation.  She does not want to be there, but she cannot leave.  If her dreaded glare wasn’t enough, the decaying wood siding of the building enclosing her seems to scream in place of her vocal silence.  The thick paint of Eagles’ brushstrokes expresses the pain and brings it to life, while the broken spaces between wood slats substitute deep wounds. Eagles filled these scarred spaces with reds and muddy whites, yellows, and greens to represent blood, semen and feces, the stained colors of rape and sodomy.  Off to the side a bottle, which is a reoccurring prop in this collection, sits on the window sill.  The bottle’s neck is molded into a hawk talon with it’s claws gripping the body tightly, a sure metaphor for the young woman who is trapped in her brutal dismay.

Guests are encouraged to search the paintings for their own interpretation and meaning as they are welcomed with an root beer float martini, some of Eagles homemade cookies, and even his mother’s homemade pumpkin bread,—all made from quality ingredients.  There will be a poker table, nerf guns for high noon draw duels, and a foos ball table for entertainment. Signed limited edition metallic prints of Eagles’ paintings will also be available.

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The Last Great Farce of Hope

•September 13, 2017 • Leave a Comment

The Last Great Farce of Hope is the latest collection of paintings oil painter Justin Sonny Eagles will release in the fall of 2017.  Unlike the conventional exhibit of paintings, this collection is meant to be seen in a particular sequence.  The paintings follow the story of men and women who came to America in the 19th century to escape imperial Europe and better their lives.  Risking everything, they then trekked west across the states, in hopes of striking it rich in the gold mines.  For many though, life in the old west was not as easy as they dreamed it, which seems to be the underlying theme in this collection.

Like many of Eagles’ paintings, the Last Farce is layered with numerous ideas and questions, as well as hidden symbols and patterns, so one has to search for clues deep within.  For example, a viewer could wonder are the paintings the story of the old west experience or the growing pains of childhood dreams into adulthood reality?  Several of the paintings are done with direct references to children, the sloppy coloring on a soldiers epaulette, the silhouette of a ship in a bottle like something out of Peter Pan and the body of a train conductor in the simplistic shape of a child’s drawing.   Most of the paintings seem to be colorful, light hearted, even comical, except one entitled “the Oppressed”.

Here is the image of a woman who appears to be a working girl in a run down brothel, but unlike the common Hollywood wild west call girl, this is a grueling reminder of the realty of not only prostitution of the era, but the even greater ratio of sex slavery still currently in existence.  The viewer looks at a prostitute through a decrepit window, she looks back.  She tries to hide her face with a fan, but her eyes compel her fear and desperation.  She does not want to be there, but she cannot leave.  If her dreaded glare wasn’t enough, the decaying wood siding of the building enclosing her seems to scream in place of her vocal silence.  The thick paint of Eagles’ brushstrokes expresses the pain and brings it to life, while the broken spaces between wood slats substitute deep wounds. Eagles filled these scarred spaces with reds and muddy whites, yellows, and greens to represent blood, semen and feces, the stained colors of rape and sodomy.  Off to the side a bottle, which is a reoccurring prop in this collection, sits on the window sill.  The bottle’s neck is molded into a hawk talon with it’s claws gripping the body tightly, a sure metaphor for the young woman who is trapped in her brutal dismay.

To bring this horrifying image about, Eagles recorded and listened to the sounds of power tools such as a circular saw and a router, to create an endless agonizing mindset and didn’t eat everyday he worked on it, so the hunger pains would replicate the stomach turning terror of a victim of rape.  This painting presents the question is the entire collection actually the story of rape and/or child molestation, the purity and innocence of childhood and life being stolen by another, in a moment of unforgivable betrayal?  

Where the Oppressed takes a sharp curve into a deeper and darker side road, it does not completely dilute The Last Great Farce with melancholy.  There are two paintings which seem to be connected in expressing a path of hope for the future, “The Conductor of your journey” and “Meeting Edward Shiva.”  In both, the subject’s face is of the same individual, and although their bodies are different, they stand in the same position, only reversed like the porch supporting them, checking their watches and you the viewer’s time.  In The Conductor a train appears to be coming, as if the adventure is beginning, and in Edward Shiva a wagon is leaving, heading off into a soft glow of light.  Here it is suggested through a couple of clues that the apparent character of Edward Shiva is an undertaker or death in human form.  First theres the bottle in the lower left corner of the painting that has a skull and crossbones on it, and then theres his name Shiva, which in Judaism is a week long mourning period for close relatives and in Hinduism is a deity, Shiva the destroyer.  However Shiva destroys for the sole purpose of rebirth, and the character in this painting seems to be doing the same.  His face slightly smiles and the warm glow in the distance may just be a better tomorrow.  As with all Eagles’ art, this collection is open to interpretation.   Although it may not be known what Eagles’ concept was for certain, it is not what he created with his imagination that matters, but what the viewer creates with theirs.

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Children see the world as brand new, full of magic, hope and endless possibilities.  Everyone should see the world this way, but unfortunately over the years we are slowly broken down, enslaved and left searching to break free and float away.

-JSE

the gift

•March 12, 2017 • Leave a Comment

the Gift

& the struggle it creates within
.


    The gift; here I sit quietly in my studio, contemplating this; the gift. It was the gift I felt pulsating my body’s great Nile. The gift that fueled the gears of my thoughts, of my dreams. It was the gift that respired life into my soulless cage and drowned me in oil. Not the blackened blood of Mother mind you, but the colored waves of pigment that have long since become an extension of my being, expressed onto surface for others to gaze into; the gift.

    Yet here I sit, quietly in my studio, lost, trying to fathom an institution that has no tolerance for a man such as I. Here and now, I am a berserker discarded by his own community after the assimilation of Christianity among Scandinavian tribes. Son of a Brooklyn Bastard, child of heathen war hungry brutes, with no minds, or at least that’s how the children of three piecers tend to imagine our class. The nonconformist, or those who form to the appearance of the current nonconformist, gather in hip bars and cafes and ridicule my sort, judging and undermining us as ruff-necks, rednecks, and boorish imbeciles. Perhaps they are correct in their assumption, or perhaps we were merely less fortunate than those granted to be born and refined with a cultural and intellectual acumen. Perhaps our minds tire from the sweat, the calluses, the damp, the scars, the cold, the pain, the frustration, the hunger, the weight. Our shoulders starting to fall forward, our will stamped with the notion “If it ain’t one thing its another” and our psyche embedded with the conclusion “we always get the shit-end of the stick”. Does this make us simple-minded? Grant any being an opportunity to develop a notion of the abstract, of the exquisite and you will find men and women of all economic stature equal to one another.

    Despite my gray boot upbringing, I am entrusted a gift, one suffocating in the casket of “fine art”. The current aspect of the fine art network is that of a famished centipede devouring its own body, a vast perpetual hole. It would be unjust to accuse the artist for implementing this hole. As it would be unjust to accuse the gallery, or the collector, or the advisor, or the critic, for they all have their hands clamped tightly upon the shovel and take part in the digging equally. The gallery is the window to the artist and their work. The collector is the bloodline of the gallery’s endurance. The Advisor is the whisper of the collector’s understanding. The critic is the palate of the advisor. However the critic may only relinquish an impression of the artist who is seen through the window of the gallery. They are all cemented into an echo-chamber, or what we dim-witted street type simply refer to as a circle jerk.

    To make matters worse they raise the opinion of themselves within themselves, convincing one another that the art before them is of greater insight and they are of superior intellect to interpret such symbolism, while discrediting everyone and anyone as deplorable and irrelevant who does not concur with this assessment and who may think nonsense of this art. As a result of these matters, a multitude of today’s painting only embodies a branch off the tree of interior design. The notable art critic Jerry Saltz wrote, ”This work is decorator-friendly, especially in a contemporary apartment or house. It feel’s “cerebral” and looks hip in ways that flatter collectors even as it offers no insight into anything at all.”

     When the prowess succumbs, and the subjective have sealed their doors, the remaining evaporate into desperation. Humble is the present-day artist’s alias, for if a lone artist alters the name to confident, his own peers will disfigure him arrogant. Humble also births new carnivores ripe for feasting. First; the juried show, in which galleries institute submission fees upon the humble. If galleries were sincerely in pursuit of the finest and the innovated, would compensation per submission be necessary? (Which arouses the question why no gallery of any merit employ talent scouts like sports teams to hunt and seek out unique individuals to represent their gallery? They merely prefer on being immensely concerned amidst representing the humble. It would appear art is more business than artistry in this age.) Second of these beast of prey; the one nighter scene. A show that divulges a stimulating and entertaining night of numerous visual artists, music, and liquor. However this venue will charge the humble per each painting, compact art on walls like canned sardines, charge the guest on entry and again on libation, and with dawn’s new warmth have acted as no more than a placebo for the humbled.  

    The humble artist is expected to hand over a subsidy, as if the calling nature of progress blankets only the gallery, the venue from risk. Gratuity is common practice among bands, comedians and other sorts of entertainment, but therein lies the key word-entertainment. This very word is diabolical to an ar-teest, and is considered blasphemous. However the very pride which neglects the unholiest of words, gives rise to the very play in which the humble is subjected to self-inflicted slavery. If art occupies the rationalization of a being for a period of seconds to minutes, is that not a quality of entertainment?

    And so here I sit quietly in my studio, perplexed. I am confronted by a barricade of myopia and blank stares as I advocate my reasons for producing my own shows, for pursuing direction over my own creativity and for discontinuing the prostituting of my paintings…the gift. The gift I do not hope for only the eyes of private collectors and their exclusive fraternity of acquaintances to adore. The gift I hope to bestow upon all the world to appreciate. It is the gift I hope to share with you.

Looking into Tomorrow 

•March 5, 2017 • Leave a Comment

“Looking into Tomorrow” ( 1603 Behind the Clownface) oil on board  ©JustinSonnyEagles 

Ghosts

•February 15, 2017 • Leave a Comment

“Ghosts” (Behind the Clownface) 1605 oil on board, 2016

Asa Nisi Masa

•February 9, 2017 • Leave a Comment

“Asa Nisi Masa” (1604 behind the clownface) oil on board ©Justin Sonny Eagles 

What is Real?

•January 25, 2017 • Leave a Comment

“What is Real” (Behind the Clownface 1602) oil on board 2016 ©Justin Sonny Eagles