WAYNE GILBERT 1946-2023

BY JOHN BERNHARD PHOTOGRAPHY BY HALL PUCKETT

I was in Switzerland when the sad news reached me. Our dear friend, the cherished artist and gallerist Wayne Gilbert, bade farewell to this realm in late August, creating an irreplaceable void within the vibrant tapestry of the Houston art scene.

Wayne Gilbert came alive while playing with the dead. His art emerged from a cherished fascination derived from the ambiguities of our tumultuous path from life to death.

Working with dead people, he created paintings made from funerary ashes, which fell somewhere between love and hate, and elicited reverence or revulsion.

There is no mistaking authorship of his paintings, they all bear the mark of his unique, and mystical vision. His work often encapsulated the complexities that define our human experience, presenting us with the chance to introspect upon the dichotomy of life and death, existence and oblivion.

Below, I wanted to share a fragment from an interview I had with Wayne, an excerpt that found its place within the inaugural edition of ArtHouston back in 2014. In his words and artistic revelations, his spirit shall forever reside, a testament to his enduring impact on the world he graced with his presence.

JOHN BERNHARD: You’ve said that life, to you, is a journey through the unknown. Can you explain how this relates to the nature of your work?

WAYNE GILBERT: Good question, but it’s really pretty simple. Let us take just a few examples of the moment’s reality: yesterday in Houston a man killed seven of his family members, Donald Trump was embarrassing humankind with his egotistical arrogance and ignorance in the name of his money, another person was probably placed in a funeral home to be left behind, the super collider was zooming around embracing Higgs, a grand tiger was killed by a Neanderthal without any point that would sustain itself in this universe, it was 103 degrees outside, and on and on.

My perception is just one of approximately seven billion and it all seems to end up being some form of gross generalization based on the endless unknowns I mentioned. One of my favorite thoughts is, “If you wait for life to make sense, you’ll miss it.” As it relates to my work, it’s as mysterious to me as all of the comments above. I would imagine I share a common thread with most folks in the world, which means I couldn’t tell you why I am what I am and why I do what I do, I just make art.

JB: What’s your ultimate hope with the human aspect of your work?

WG: I would hope that someday it be acknowledged as legitimate art in the realm relegated to the museum world so it could be protected the way they protect great art. It would make my death far more comfortable knowing that the huge degree of love and respect I have for these less fortunate people will be safe and secure. If I was a betting man, I would bet that most of them never had the chance to live the grand life I have been fortunate enough to live.

Bill Jacobson

Josh Pazda Hiram Butler

During the summer, the Josh Pazda Hiram Butler gallery proudly showcased “945 Madison Avenue,” exhibiting New York photographer Bill Jacobson’s unique architectural photographs. Carefully curated, half of his thirty minimalistic images were displayed, portraying captivating angles, intricate details, and the essence of the iconic Marcel Breuer-designed building. These photos were taken during an interim period after the Whitney Museum’s departure, capturing its features and patinas generated by decades of visitors. Each photograph featured in the exhibition masterfully portrayed architectural elements, such as grand facades, stairs, intricate details, and captivating angles, creating an intriguing visual exploration of space.

Jacobson’s work reveals Breuer’s architectural essence even without artworks. The building’s history includes occupants like The Met Breuer and Frick Madison, and it was recently acquired by Sotheby’s. Jacobson’s images provide insight into its first life, embodying his forty-year exploration of visual perception, absence, and presence. www.pazdabutler.com