Rainbow Hands

Well, March indeed came in like a lion. And I'm not talking about the weather.

I am talking about Sonwun and his art.

I have been tracking my young artist's work from the early days of scribblism, through dot-to-dotism, through realism and through attempts by "the system" to destroy his artist's heart and creativity. You'll find the journey chronicled here and here.

Go check 'em out. I'll wait here.

Anyhoo, true to form, last night Sonwun made another epoch-shattering explosion in the art world with the creation of his latest work, Rainbow Hands. And these works are his greatest leap forward since his first foray into realism with his piece "Me, Balancing on my Boinger."

And, just like the Boinger piece, this one came out of the blue.

Sontoo and I were going through the bedtime routine; warm milk in the living room, followed by stories, hugs and night-night upstairs. I noticed Sonwun was working in the living room as Sontoo had his milk, but I didn't pay attention.

He's been stuck in a bit of a creative rut of late and had reverted to monochromatic scribblism in, I believe, an attempt to get back to his artistic roots.

It happens to a lot of artists. They achieve a measure of commercial success, accolades, a prized spot on the Kenmore Art Gallery and they lose focus. It becomes about the money, the fame . . . not the art, for art's sake. Boinger had that affect on Sonwun's work.

But last night, after night-night for Sontoo, I returned to my comfy chair in the living room to watch Gordon Ramsey swear at people (it's okay, it was all bleeped out), when Sonwun presented me with "Rainbow Hands."

I was stunned. Speechless. It was beautiful.

Not only was it a complete departure from his earlier works, it demonstrated a new maturity for my young artist. Sure, he stayed within the lines, but the artist's heart was beating out a fresh and exciting form of expression.

Now, as his patron, I can fully appreciate his message in a way that the average observer, or critic, can not. Rainbow Hands speaks of Sonwun's desire for friends, his dissatisfaction with Michael Ignatieff's role as Leader of Canada's Official Opposition, his love of chicken fingers, his joy in Canada's gold medal victory in hockey, his desire for a clean, renewable energy source, his belief that Ford Canada should provide a loaner vehicle if a Ranger with 13,000 kilometres on it breaks down and needs a month worth of repairs, his love of Superhero movies and his prayer for peace in the Middle East.

It's all there, in multi-chromatic glory. We are many colours, one hand. Let's work together.

As I sit here this morning, I can hear the rattle of Crayola markers. Sonwun is up bright and early, anxious to continue his work, his message. And I can't wait to witness the next artistic evolution.

In the meantime I present, for the first time anywhere, Rainbow Hands:




Have a great weekend.

Artistic Evolution

I don't know whether to celebrate or mourn.

Sonwun has reached a new phase in his artistic development. He's now leaning toward realism and I'm not sure what to make of it.

Sonwun has always been a free spirit. He thinks outside the box, colours outside the lines and every day is no-pants day in his mind. Cast off society's denim prison, says he.

I admit, I have had some concerns with his art. One of his first friends, back in Gimli, was more of an in-the-lines kind of guy. This kid could colour and not only inside the lines, but with the correct hues for the occasion - a born realist, a Bateman in training.

And it was during this time that Sonwun was fully exploring scribblism, often monochromatic scribblism, which I, as his patron, preferred to think of as "pure" scribblism without all those distracting colours. He filled sketchbook after sketchbook with his work, quickly abandoning his lesser works and spending hours on his masterpieces, all in an effort to express, with wax and paper, his toddler angst.

Sure, he dabbled on the multi-chromatic side once or twice, but his heart wasn't in it. It was merely an experimentation, a walk on the wild side, and did not speak to, or from, his inner artist.

In time, he moved on and we were soon deep into dot-to-dotism. It began simply enough, with a mass-produced colouring book. He found some pleasure in the medium, but, again, being a free spirit, he found his artistic soul trapped within the confines of the pages. Dot-to-dotism, in its commercial form, lacked meaning. Why must four follow five every time. Maybe four likes the way 15 thinks, and would prefer to follow him. Maybe four wants to lead, maybe four is its own entity with its own dreams and its own raison d'etre, independent of the others, said he.

And so he abandoned the popular demands of Disney's corporate dot-to-dot cage and struck out on his own. I will create my own dots, said he, and they will not be squelched by pre-assigned numerical expectations. They will exist independently on the page, free to follow those they choose, if

they choose to follow at all. And, just when it is believed they have found peace, connection and stagnation, I will offer them new choices, new dots and a new perspective. And so he did.

Once again, blank pages were filled with monochromatic representations of his vision in this free-flowing milieu. The scribblism pieces that formed the backbone of the Kenmore Art Gallery collection was soon joined by his best dot-to-dotism efforts, fleshing out his burgeoning career.

Sonwun briefly flirted, as well, with performance art, which almost cost him his funding. One of this first works, Yogurt on Dog, fell on deaf ears in his art community and was quickly destroyed in a fit of fury by his otherwise tolerant patron. (Although one fellow patron of the arts, who is rearing a few artists of his own, correctly suggested I should have photographed the piece before its destruction - my bad). Equally misinterpreted pieces included Toothpaste Mountain- a Bathroom Experiment; and Baby Brother Blue, a fusion of his love of scribblism with a live subject.

But his journey, his foray into the art world, veered off the path yesterday. It took a sudden turn that shocked his patron and raised concerns that maybe he had discovered and embraced marketability. Perhaps his dreams lay outside of the Kenmore Art Gallery and he was seeking bigger, more profitable venues for his visions.

He was working in his studio, warming up with multi-chromatic scribblism when I left him. I returned a half hour later to find this . . .

He has titled it, Me, Balancing on my Boinger. It is his first foray into realism and, as I mentioned earlier, I'm not sure whether to celebrate or mourn. Only time will tell as we watch and wait, with bated breath, for his next artistic evolution.

In the meantime I am keeping an eye on Sontoo's early works, which vary greatly from his elder sibling's. Wax and paper bore Sontoo. They are not his mediums of choice. As for markers? He'd rather eat them which, I

believe, is one of his first performance art presentations.

He is, I believe, a cubist at heart (or head) and is leaning more toward sculpture, as witnessed by his work New Balance Bottle.

Stay tuned folks. These pieces will

be available for sale, just as soon

as I figure out how to use PayPal. Sonwun may be averse to commercialism, but his patron knows the value of a buck and has been cultivating this aesthetic garden knowing there will be a bountiful crop down the road. We patrons are like that. And, as such, I choose to celebrate his exploration of realism and will find a place for his most recent work at the Kenmore Art Gallery.