9 minute read
Matt Mccormick
MATT M c CORMICK AMERICAN IDOLS
Picture a lone figure with just his horse and his pistols for company. He is not a man of words, preferring instead the solitude of a life lived in tandem with wideopen plains and dirt-road dust. An outsider, for life and by choice. This is the picture of one of the first American heroes: strong, stoic, a survivor against all odds, a man of honor. He saves the day and then he rides, alone, into the sunset.
The cowboy, immortalized by screen legends like Clint Eastwood and John Wayne, lives on, spurred forth by a new kind of fantasy in our digital age. We are witnessing a burgeoning need to be alone with nature, with our private selves, amid the constant chatter of an interconnected world. Some of us wear flannel shirts and scroll through flat lays of “everyday carry”—gear we don’t at all need in urban life such as army knives or compasses. Some of us grow beards. Some of us take our dogs and go camping. Some of us play Red Dead Redemption 2. Though there may be very few career cowboys left in 2019, cowboys are far from a dying breed. Because everybody wants to be a cowboy.
No one feels this more than LA-based artist Matt McCormick, who imbues his work with Western American symbolism and often depicts cowboys at the center of his pieces. “I smoked two packs of Marlboro Reds a day, for years, because deep down I wanted to be a tough, rugged cowboy when I smoked them,” he confesses, a bit sheepishly. Nowadays, his fascination with the cowboy manifests itself in his oil paintings of sweeping American plains inhabited by meandering Old West characters. McCormick was formerly living another version of the quintessential American wanderer—as a tour manager for Tyler, the Creator and Trash Talk— alongside being a tattoo artist. A frenetic lifestyle and subsequent substance abuse led to his decision to leave it all behind to fully concentrate on art. Now, sitting with us in his well-lit studio in downtown LA, he seems relaxed, at ease, when he tells us about the bliss of being left to his own devices and able to work—to use his words—at his own “creative speed.”
Like the cowboys in the paintings propped carefully against the walls, McCormick prefers to work in solitude, his only company two huskies named Emmy Lou and Tony. His studio is not easy to find, tucked behind a warehouse on the outskirts of Downtown Los Angeles. You’ll often hear the strums of Neil Young
and the Grateful Dead as he works, logging long hours from 9am until midnight. He often paints portraits of other infamous outsiders, like Dennis Rodman or Pete Rose, whose public fights with private demons cause us to reflect on our own personal battles. “All of them have gone through some form of severe trauma, and whether they made it out alive varies from work to work,” McCormick says of the former American idols-turned-outcasts. Their struggle for a chance at redemption is arguably one of the loneliest journeys the contemporary person can face—a story of the American anti-hero. The San Francisco-born artist has had his own share of tribulations as a successfully recovered alcoholic, and it’s not hard to imagine these figures of American pop culture, pictured alongside the steadfast Old West heroes, as reflective of his own struggle and survival.
We visit Matt in his LA studio to speak to him about his personal and artistic journey, and why our draw to the good, the bad and the banal of classic American icons still runs deep in our veins.
While both within art, the life of a tattoo artist and that of a painter is very different. Describe the pace of your life now in comparison to when you were tattooing. The creative speed. With the tattoos, I would almost always conceptualize, design and execute within a twohour period, while simultaneously aiming to please one specific person—versus now, when a painting can take anywhere from days to months, and outside of select commissions it’ll just be pleasing myself, which arguably can be more difficult. Outside of that, though, life is much calmer because I’m professionally and personally allowed more time.
You have also been a tour manager for Tyler, the Creator and Trash Talk. How was that experience? What was the lifestyle like? Tyler and Trash Talk have been great friends of mine for years now, and both were instrumental in me making art my career. One of my long-time close friends,
Brick Stowell, was tour managing Odd Future and we connected in New York while they were in town. He basically invited me to stay with him and help him with the tour managing. At the time, I had essentially run my New York life into the ground, so it seemed like a great pivot. After a year of jumping from couch to couch in LA, I started touring with Tyler.
My first task was stage design, which Brick and I took a crack at with absolutely no knowledge of set or stage design. Needless to say, there were some easily avoidable mistakes, but that led to a year or so of touring with Tyler. On all the tours with him, I’d always bring art supplies to give me something to do on the long drives. Tyler was always really supportive and encouraging of me pursuing art as a career. So when I finally made the decision to tattoo and make art full time, Tyler, Lee, Taco and the rest of the gang were the first to get tattooed.
Tell us about your background in art. What’s your earliest memory of appreciating art and also making art? I was raised with two working artists for parents. Making
art was highly encouraged; viewing and appreciating art was standard. My earliest memories are hanging in my parents’ shared studio and having all kinds of different materials to create with. Two creative moments that stand out were typing a poem on an old typewriter and making collages from these roll-on vinyl letters you would kinda etch onto paper with a special tool. There was also weekend art lessons with my dad, linoleum woodcut, lessons on drawing the human face, etc.… one of those things you take for granted, until you’re old enough to actually appreciate it.
You’ve included subjects like Chris Farley to Dale Earnhardt to Dennis Rodman in your works. How do you select these characters, and what do they have in common? When I started painting the portraits on their own, it was for a show that was focused on my pre-teen years. I was really interested in how everyday, mundane objects could transcend that space and become significant pieces of making [us] who we become as adults. Toward the end of making the work for that show, I added four portraits
of film characters from movies that had a profound effect on me. Those four works got the most visceral reaction from the viewers but, separate from that, I really enjoyed the process of painting them, and when I returned to the studio I had this urge to paint more. There was one that I hadn’t done yet, a Macaulay Culkin portrait from the cover of Home Alone.
As I was painting, I really connected with this infamous, almost tortured, soul that Macaulay had become in the prying eyes of the public. From his friendship with Michael Jackson to his relatively documented drug abuse, we had all watched his rollercoaster of a life and formed our own opinions on this person. This was intriguing to me, so I was curious to paint more of these people who had achieved a level of fame where they’re scrutinized almost to a mythical status. All of them have gone through some form of severe trauma and whether they made it out alive varies from work to work. The paintings almost act as a mirror for the viewer to reflect upon their own insecurities or championed moments.
In your own words, what is significant about the cowboy persona and what about him intrigues you? Cowboys are really interesting for a variety of reasons. They started for me when I was a child as the ultimate example of what “a man” should be, hardened by the elements, able to defend and support themselves from the
land and their bare hands. I’ve continued to enjoy that side of it, but as I’ve continued to explore them further, I’ve discovered a deep-rooted symbolism in our culture that the character embodies. I smoked two packs of Marlboro Reds a day for years because deep down I wanted to be a tough, rugged cowboy when I smoked them. Not because the cigarette itself was any more cowboy specific, but because, funnily enough a friend of mine’s grandfather and his advertising firm had chosen to rebrand Marlboro from the “Cigarette that didn’t smudge your lipstick” for women to the cigarette for the rugged cowboy. With that pivot in advertising, a mentality and public perception was attached to this item that is still with us to this day. I’ve always had a fascination with the character, but as I get older it’s caveats like this that continue to build this narrative that I enjoy exploring in the work.
You mentioned leaving behind a life of substance abuse. Can you talk about that and what role it has played in your art and life? I decided to get sober when my life reached a point where it just couldn’t possibly advance without making a substantial change. My art had dwindled to a pretty pathetic output level and I was just puttering along. The details aren’t necessarily that important, but between my work, living situation and friendships starting to erode, I knew the end was inevitable. A very close friend of mine had overdosed and passed away and the reality of the situation finally became obvious enough to make a change.
As far as my career and life, everything benefited substantially. Not to jump on a soapbox, but nothing that I had happening would be happening if I hadn’t made that decision. That being said, this is just my personal experience and just one example.
What are the themes that continue on through your work? A lot of it comes from a very subconscious place. One of my favorite quotes is from the artist Carmen Herrera. When asked why she makes her work, her response was, “If I had the words, I wouldn’t have to paint it.” I would hope that the work provides a space for the viewer to have their own interpretations and experiences.
