DAVIDGOUGHART

Showing posts with label dark art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dark art. Show all posts

Friday, April 17, 2020

Dear Dreary

 

That’s me speaking from my latest interview with Dahlia Jane for her newly relaunched Upon a Midnight Dreary site.

She’s a dear friend, and we go back donkeys years, or at least not too far back to the days when I couldn’t get arrested, let alone any interest in a show.  Thankfully, she didn’t let that stop her, and in fact this excellent article she penned, was the only notable exception to the complete indifference for my Purgatorium show back in 2014.

She’s been radio silent for a few years, plotting her next move, but in her absence, the blogosphere has filled up the void with dark art podcasts and the like, but I maintain she was the first, so they are all really just riding her coattails.

At any rate, she’s bringing her original blog back, as a chronicle for how artists busy themselves in such times as we live in, and I’m honored to be among the first to be included.

So here it is, in which I chat about daubing during Covidolation, my next series “Infernal”, Fred and Rose West, toilet paper and more.


Give it a gander and spread it about, but please stay home while doing it.

Necrosurrealist David Gough paints ‘Hell on Earth’ against the backdrop of a pandemic

Thursday, January 24, 2019

Chin Wag with Chet Zar




Here's a real treat. I had the honor of being invited onto the mighty Chet Zar's, Dark Art Society podcast recently, talking about all manner of things. Influences, origins, art stuff and our shared appreciation of Withnail and I. 
To use a quote from that film, just when thought "the only programme I was likely to get on was the fucking news!"
Anyway it was a blast and I thoroughly enjoyed our "chin,chin" wag. Thank you so much Chet. 
Listen to me waffle here:

https://soundcloud.com/darkartsociety/david-van-gough-ep-97

You can also become a fully fledged member of the D.A.S from the following Patreon  for as little as a buck a month.

www.patreon.com/darkartsociety

Wednesday, October 24, 2018

The Divine and the Divined




18″x 18″
Oil on panel


My own contribution from the recent Tales from the Darkside show at LaBodega.

Rather drolly-or should I say troll-y, I got some push back on this when I posted it on social media from the usual self righteous quarters. How oddly ironic, that the dogmatic ever entreat that they be accepted in every faction of existence, yet never seem willing to extend the same courtesy themselves. 

Happy Holidays from Starbucks anyone?

Regardless, they are a ways off the mark in their usual bobble headed outrage for this one.
It was originally planned for the series I’m working on “Paradiso’s Fall”, which has become something of a vignette of ill omens, pointing towards what I perceive as man kinds inevitable demise. I’m hearing the term “personal apocalypse” coined a lot since I first used it some months back, but I believe it’s a predisposition inherent within us all.

This piece, portraying the mother-the holy vessel or paragon of virtue, literally transformed to the symbol of that final nail, is just merely another emblem of a paternally manifested future, inherently pushed to its own end. If you’d have said “Enola Gay” and “Little Man”you’d have been on the money.

Anyone who further missed the point, clearly didn’t see the whacking great atomic symbol, smack bang at the center of the piece. But then, I daresay nuclear proliferation in the hands of a madman who loves to push buttons, barely warrants a  semblance of grey matter either.
The worm coiling from the cuff, is just a further token of dehumanization, as we slither back toward the primal dirt from whence we came.

So perhaps its biblical after all.

Monday, October 22, 2018

Seeing the light




Tales from the Darkside at Labodega. October 13 2018.

Some said that the grim pall of clouds that had gathered over San Diego, seemed apropos to the theme of the show. But if the summoning of stormy skies was as an ill omen to dissuade hordes of eager visitors, it hadn’t worked on that particular night.

And if there was a breeze detected, it was likely a result of my audible sighs of relief. Why…? Because my first co curated showcase, featuring over fifty contemporary dark artists – Tales from the Darkside at  LaBodega gallery was finally here.

It’s long been a given, that any visible art scene on the west coast, pales by degrees south of the I5. Having lived in San Diego for over a decade, I’ve certainly found that to be the case. But this night was different, it felt like the chance to dissolve the barriers, level playing fields and overcome the inequality that exists in a gallery system so riven with wrong headed prejudice towards the genre, but also one where an exclusion zone exists for anyone who isn’t a darling of the LA art scene. On October 13, established painters shared walls alongside bright, fledgling artists, alongside artists who are veterans and never really ever get a fair crack at the whip. All a collective,all and unstoppable force toward a common cause-dark art, because in times such as these, culture can be both a black mirror and a catharsis.
And if I’m want to wax lyrical and pile on superlatives, it’s because I’m still heady from the experience, as utterly draining and exhausting as it was, because make no mistake, being on the other side of the easel for a change is all encompassing. Small change when one considers the stellar retinue of artists and the work they produced.

My Indebted gratitude then to them all, to the folks and friends who attended the event, and most of all to my brother and sister, Chris Zertuche and Soni Lopez Chavez, for giving me the opportunity to host an event at such a remarkable gallery.

For purchase details, please contact Chris at labodegagallerysd@gmail.com

You can see a preview and photos from the show from the following links:

Tales from the Darkside preview

LaBodega official photos

Poster Art by Martin Woodhead-“Harbinger”

Sandy Yagi
“Hatching Death #1”
Oil on panel | 12×16″


Paul Nebarra
“The Forsaken”
Oil on canvas| 9″ x 11″

Jeff Christensen-
“Away, the ghost”
Oil on panel |11″ x 14″

Brooke Weston
“Vermillion Temple”
Taxidermy Deer/mixed media


Nannette Cherry
“Anamnesis (After Jozeph Simmler)”
oil on board | 12” x 12”

Monday, September 10, 2018

Tales from the Darkside




Co-Curated by David Van Gough


So how cool is this? Tales from the Darkside-(not to be confused with the old TV series) a single showcase, bringing together-or bridging together to be more precise-the dark art community from all over the world.

Over fifty artists from as far afield as Austria to Alabama.

And what a roster of top talent we have lined up. Having been fortunate to have seen some of the previews for the show, I am overwhelmed by the grand guignol of creative artistry that’s going to be on exhibit.

But don’t just take my word for it, look at that list of names below.
Blurbage details are as follows:

La Bodega Gallery presents
TALES FROM THE DARKSIDE
A Group Exhibition Co-Curated by David Van Gough


From Hieronymus Bosch to Zdzislaw Beksinski, artists throughout history, have explored the darker side of the imagination. Drawing from the monstrous excesses of the periods they created in, or speaking to the inner turmoils of the psyche, darkness in art has been a potent, visual language, which expresses the deeper recesses of the soul.

In the month that is the festival of Samhain, Tales from the Darkside will be a showcase that is both a manifestation of the shadow side of art, and a representation of the best contemporary dark artists working today.

Saturday October 13th, 2018
6:00pm to 10:00pm / Free Admission

Participating Artists :

Alissa Renzetti
Ally Burke
Amber Michelle Russell
Amy Rodriguez
Andreas Nagel
Anthony Champ
Bill Remington
Bri Valdivia
Brooke Weston
Brynn Elizabeth
Carrie Anne Hudson
Celene Petrulak
Clint Carney
Clinton Neuhaus
Cory Benhatzel
Dan Harding
David Russell Talbot
David Van Gough
Donnie Green
Dos Diablos
Edgar Marquez
Edward Frausto
Enys Guerrero
Evgeniya Golik
Gregory P. Rodriguez
Ivonne Carley
Jay Ferguson
Jeff Christensen
Jen Lightfoot
Jeremy Cross
Jessica Perner
Jim Pavelec
Jorge Gutierrez
Karikatura
Katherine Lomax
Lana Gentry
Lee Harvey Roswell
Mark Jesinoski
Martin Woodhead
Matan Chaffee
Megan Buccere
Nannette Cherry
Nonie Cruzado
Paul Neberra
Paul Vargas
RF Pangborn
Rick Dienzo Blanco
Ron Lemen
Sandy Yagi
Scott Holloway
Shane Izykowski
Stefania
Stephanie Vega
Sunol Golden
Tatomir Pitariu
Tehani Farr
Theodore Limn
Tom Haubrick
Vanessa Lemen
Vince Packard
Vincent Castiglia
La Bodega Gallery
2196 Logan Avenue
San Diego, CA 92113

www.labodegagallery.com
www.davidgoughart.com

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Death Rattle



“We are all bound thither; we are hastening to the same common goal. Black death calls all things under the sway of its laws.”
Ovid
“The gormless and the baying crowd right there.
They can’t get enough of that doomsday song,
They can’t get enough of it all”
David Bowie-The Next Day
Another skull.
One more deaths head dug up from the boneyard- commissioned on this occasion-but no less symbolically apropos for the dark times we live in.
When has that not been the case I ask myself?
Its not just my default anymore.
Death is prevalent. Everywhere it seems-because I believe the 242 year old experiment called America is dying.
Or has a suicidal streak running through it at the very least.
It could be these Divided States of Angst. You’ve felt it-that permanent unease we find ourselves in now.
Where acidic cauldrons froth over daily, and drown everything with toxic rancor and insanity.
Where another deadly school massacre, draws pious platitudes from crowing gun fetishists in tinfoil hats.
Where a swamp is substituted for a malfeasant cesspool of corruption, calamity and chaos.
Where every right eye is turned blind to the trashing of democratic norms in favor of trash talk.
Where Nazi’s and Russian despots are ‘fine people’ and the FBI is ‘treasonous’.
Where celebrities and sports figures ought to remain silent, when there is a game show host in power.
Where Evangelicals lament the downfall of Christian family values over a coffee cup, but endorse candidates who are adulterers with an appetite for porn stars and children.
Where an Intel dossier detailing a Presidents penchant for pissing prostitutes is ‘fake news’ but a pizza parlor harbors a Satanic, ritualized, child- sex /murder, cult…
To Mars.
And it’s not just the rank hypocrisy–it’s that there is a faction that seems fervently intent on hurtling us towards some cataclysm. Certainly, The Evangelical Taliban positively creamed its chaste gusset when the bloviator in chief, sought to recognize Jerusalem as Israels capitol. No doubt fulfilling the apocalyptic wank fantasy of every Christian jihadist, hungry for judgement day.
Because making America great means no greater cause than eliciting ‘Liberal tears’, even if the outcome is we are all annihilated in a tweeted, nuclear, maelstrom.
Sitting at the celebrating Bowie concert last week, singing along to songs performed by competent stand ins and his still sizzling former band, it hit me that part of the challenge now feels like the very best of us-the generational voices that would propel us forward, the thinkers of the enlightenment and champions of cultural change, have been replaced by the very worst of us.  Hitch, staring down the barrel of a cancer that would consume him said that he not only feared that he would have to leave the party, but that the party would go on without him.
Except the party ended when the life and soul was gone. Death took him along with all the other vanguard, free thinkers of his generation, and left us with the odious. The avaricious. The volatile. The dogmatists. The bullshitters, brainless barbarians and fools.
With almost uncanny timing, I write this as it’s announced Stephen Hawking has passed.
Intelligence, along with bastions of education and science are now vilified as ‘elitist’, substituted with a brain numbing diet of  TMZ, X-Factor, Fox News and Jerry Springer to occupy the vacuous mind of the plebeian. Little wonder then, there sits a President, perfectly suited for the National Enquirer generation.
Perhaps when they switched on the Hadron Collider it caused a fissure in the space time continuum, and we hit an alternative timeline,  a timeline where every virtue was turned on its head.  Indeed, the year that elected America’s greatest aberration and folly, brought with it a mass exodus of figure heads from every station.
Some might even say 2016 was akin to a rapture.
I really hope that notion leaves some Evangelicals as alarmed as the rest of us are feeling right now.
Except, I remind myself that in that same week as I watched Bowie’s guitarist, Gerry Leonard, lean over his guitar like a little blue rinsed granny, while a crowd of aging fans stormed the stage,  Guillermo Del Toro took an Oscar for his monster movie- ‘The Shape of Water’. As did the horror movie ‘Get Out’ highlighting racism, and finally Bowie’s great friend-Gary Oldman,  for his turn as Churchill in a movie fittingly titled for these times ‘The Darkest Hour’.
it’s a welcome rejoinder that as artists of darker themes, the torch falls to us.
Because as barren as it feels right now, we are on fertile ground.

Sunday, June 4, 2017

Riding a dark horse.


Back in the saddle on this one then.  Pushing my charge to the finish line while I manifest the next series.  If memory serves, I began this one at a live painting event at the Ruby Room in San Diego, on what was purportedly a Mayan predictor to the end times-12/21/12. Of course, it turned out to be the usual load of apocalyptic bollocks, but given the current state of world events, one wonders whether the countdown to midnight was merely set in motion on that date.
Each day feels like a dark revelation in new levels of madness now, a hangman’s breakfast for a world ever on the precipice of some fresh horror, all delivered by a bloviating buffoon tweeting diatribes of inanity and petty gripes, like an indignant, salivating ape lobbing feces.  And whilst my beloved England comes to grips with another night of deadly attacks by radicalized zealots, the true modern day terrorism it seems is on the collective psyche.
For one of the envisioned pieces, I’ve been researching Jonestown and Heavens Gate, and though I’ve grazed the draw of cultism before of course with the Man/son series,  it’s been unnerving not to draw parallels with the ease by which the masses can be so easily subjugated here.  As if the contemporary pied pipers are political and pastoral pontificates, enchanting with arias of disenchantment, hypnotizing the dogmatically obstinate. In these dark days, it’s hard not to feel like all is lost, like the experimental petri dish marked mankind has mutated into some monstrous pathogen.
Which reminds me, I watched my friend Chet Zar’s wonderful documentary “I like to paint monsters” the other day, and he said something in it which really struck a chord, and to paraphrase, it was that dark art makes sense of a dark world that doesn’t. It’s a moving and hugely inspiring film if you haven’t seen it (please do), but it reminded me that the artists role is more important than ever, and that I’ll keep doing my part to fathom the unraveling shitstorm, in the event that we make it for future generations to disseminate.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Darkness falls



"The night will always win.
The night has darkness on it's side"

Elbow


You can't see it yet, but I never had a painting defy me so much before. Shall I tell you, that we've had the most torturous, tempestuous, taciturn, tantrums together. A veritable Tempest in fact, which-given the theme and adjunct velocity of recent events-is as close to tapping the vein as nicking an artery with a straight razor.

 I think of Manson whenever I hear "straight razor", along with "boxcar" and "jug of wine", which-given my inclination to the latter-means he's constantly in the shadows, even when he isn't making the news for pending nuptials to a 20 something Mansonoid.

 I digress.

The shadows is certainly why then, the new one is behaving so precociously willful, since my every intention with the last series was to exorcise black from my palette...in more ways than one might imagine. 
Naturally, the dark is a constant periphery for me, the oily slug of lamp black-an oxymoron if ever there was-my default. Why that is I could attribute as much to some unfathomable predisposition as much as the dark pockmarks stung by life, but there you have it.

It took the faux Frieda Kahlo exhibit at Liberty Station to shake me of my doldrums, shine a beacon and all that cliche jive. My word-all that pain and bitter disappointment, embellished by other hands in garland hues, light dancing in every corner, vivid brilliance illuminating sharper than a boxcars glass shards. Misery by proxy.
Except, afterwards, I scrawled something on a dogs ear, about her legacy seeming like the suffering theater of female empowerment in the face of misogyny, but it felt misogynistic to even pursue the trains thought.

It struck me that in all things, it's too easy to cast shadows. 

In that light, Vincent begins to almost make sense.