K A N S A S
C I T Y,
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PYSCHO CERAMICS Linda Lighton doesn’t care if you’re uncomfortable BY ELISABETH KIRSCH
Above: Pinky, the Tubacious Tubeworm, 2003; clay, glaze, china paint, lustres, 8 x 16 x 8.5 inches. Opposite page: The Kiss, 2004; clay, glaze, china paint, lustres, 12 x 9.5 x 9.25 inches
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With their blend of surreal retro glamor, sociopolitical and personal commentary, Linda Lighton’s ceramic sculptures command a double take. This veteran artist can make clay do just about anything, and her art has unabashed palpable appeal. But Lighton is also fearless when combining the sensuousness of her materials with controversial subject matter, whether she’s taking aim at environmental pollution, gun violence or sexism. She’s also quite comfortable creating fantastical creatures that exemplify gender fluidity. There’s a reason one of her first solo shows at L’Omega Gallery in Kansas City in the 1980s was titled “Psycho-Ceramics.” “My art might make some people uncomfortable,” Lighton says, “but I don’t care.” Her consummate artistry, along with her sharp wit, is what makes the medicine easy to swallow. Lighton was an activist even in her teens. She grew up in the mansion featured in the movie Mr. and Mrs. Bridge, and was expected to make her debut at the prestigious Jewel Ball held yearly at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City. (The ball was begun by her grandmother to ensure that Jews in Kansas City would gain greater acceptance into society.) She refused to go. Instead, she left home at age 19 to move to Lawrence, Kansas, got married and published a left-leaning newspaper called The Screw: A Twisting Device for Holding Things Together. This caused her father, a successful department store owner and horse breeder, to have her committed to a mental institution. After taking legal action to obtain her release, Lighton moved with her husband to San Francisco, then to Seattle, to Arroyo Seco, then back to Seattle. She had a child in 1969 and was divorced in 1971. Before her divorce she moved to a private section of the Colville Reservation of the Indigenous Nez Percé people in eastern Washington state where she built an eight-sided tree house and lived with her young daughter and a friend. “I decided I would live my life like a work of art. We had sheep, horses, I made my own soap. We were hungry a lot, and it was cold,” Lighton recalls. She took her daughter to the bus stop on a horse. “I just didn’t want my father to find me.” Lighton met her second and current husband in Idaho, and together they built the ultimate country home that was featured in Shelter magazines. But eventually, with her husband and daughter, she moved back to Kansas City so her daughter could attend a good school. Throughout her peripatetic early days, Lighton always found a way to study and make ceramics. “I wanted to make good art; not dishes,” she said. And after years of being restrained by her family, she remarked,“I also wanted to reveal myself. I had been brought up to be understated, to not talk and not to show myself. But I believe it’s an artist’s job to reflect what’s going in the
