Where lint is art

By Shermakaye Bass

Special to the American-Statesman

Saturday, August 25, 2001

He couldn't help himself. Andy Colquitt had to possess this particular plastic fin from the drum of a particular dilapidated clothes dryer. There was something he liked about it. Then he craved another (similar but different), then another and still another. Before he knew it, he had an assortment of plastic dryer fins, plus the spoils of general clothes-dryer forays -- loose change, washed-out bubble-gum wrappers, perfectly formed spheres of dryer lint, a plastic baggie left in a jeans pocket. . . .

And so a small fixation began. Colquitt found ways to group his urban artifacts in an aesthetically and psychologically pleasing fashion and eventually to incorporate them into his existing collections, which include squadrons of potted meats, kitchen stools made of juice cans, polyester polka dotted blouses, beer bottle caps and more.

In just such a way, many oddball collections are born. "Mas! Mas! Mas!: A Show of Curious Collections" exhibition at Gallery Lombardi at 910 W. Third St. through Sept. 1 is an altar to those weird congregations of objects and ideas that happen into our lives.

For reasons we often can't pinpoint, we all collect things -- objects that for us take on meaning in relation to other objects or environments. Usually they represent memories or longings. Invariably, they symbolize our subconscious drives and affinities.

In the exhibition, we find orphaned Polaroid images, hairballs, Thai flashlights that resemble fake cameras, tape-recorded grievances, burned cowboy boots, wooden crutches, "Have You Seen Me?" notices, paintings of amplifier tubes, dental relics, 300 Mona Lisas and unicorns.

Colquitt, who curated the 50-person "Mas!" show, says the idea arose from his exposure to others who collect things that would've wound up in the garbage (and often do end up there, thus the scavengers' axiom of "one man's trash is another man's treasure").

"I am interested in the little mental blips that announce themselves with someone's connection to a collection of things. I guess therein lies our connection to each other," Colquitt says. And, therein lies a mirror for our deepest selves.

It always starts small

Like most of his fellow gatherers, Colquitt's congregation of dryer lint began innocently enough. The artist/builder began snagging abandoned dryers so he could use the white enameled metal sides to make furniture. Then he became fascinated with the variations of the different appliances' plastic fins. Once he'd exhausted the fin interest, he moved on to the things he found within them. Enter the exquisite, graduated order of his lint-ball collection, also on view.

Stephanie Reid, another contributor to "Mas!", collects "insects and itty-bitties in vessels and photos." She started accumulating photographs of insects "because I simply found them to be interesting creatures. Then I started seeing dead ones, so naturally, I brought them home to create little still-lifes out of them."

Reid's desire to amass insect parts and photos of insect parts and display them in vials is fairly straightforward. "For me, collecting insects is a fascination with their world -- plants, flowers, strange and amazing insect behavior. (It is) to demonstrate an appreciation for the mere is-ness of a material object and then to share that appreciation with others and draw them into another world."

Order in the world

Insect collecting is more common than, say, assembling gerbil-chewed wood bits (also in the show). But what is uncommon -- or, actually, more common than any of us realizes -- is the impetus to collect strange things, seeming non sequiturs to our daily routines, and to assemble them in some spatial way. For many people, collecting is unconscious, unintentional. It helps us make sense of the world. It feigns order. It helps us survive.

"Collecting is instinctive," says Penny Van Horn, a "Mas!" contributor. "Let's think of it as hunter/gatherer behavior. Finding groups of similar things is one of the first things we learn as babies."

It's true that from our earliest days, we are given children's picture books and asked to identify items that "belong" together. As we grow, our society tells us to notice the similarities and differences around us so that we can at least develop a gut vocabulary of what's inside the "norm" and what isn't. From there, we can choose how to mesh with the natural order of things. Then there's the call of the wild or weird.

"I see two reasons for collecting: For the collection itself, and for the act of collecting," says Michael Stewart, whose installation in "Mas!" includes an accumulation of ash from below his barbecue grill. "Probably those who value the collection more are looking for greater civilization in their lives, while those who value collecting are looking for less. . . . My collections are the residuals of compulsive behavior. I put little value on the collection, but rather, I cherish that action or pleasure or relief that it represents."

Collector Ken Malson writes in the exhibition's catalogue this observation about the desire to acquire: "Everybody is a collector of something. Our whole economy is based on collecting STUFF: What is our consumer confidence today, what will we be buying today that will be `collectable' tomorrow? It is my responsibility as an American to take care of and store a certain amount of STUFF."

He adds, "Being a visual artist, I'm attracted to all kinds of things with patterns or character. Besides the Mona Lisa fetish (in the show), I also collect small metal objects from parking lots. You've seen them -- bottle caps, Skoal lids, car parts. Just STUFF. I like to think of it as helping the environment. It makes me feel like I'm doing something for mankind by collecting STUFF."

Ultimately, our urge to gather, scavenge, accrue, accumulate, amass, collect, hoard, squirrel away and/or group things must be rooted in something subliminal, and thus universal.

Colquitt refers to the phenomenon of "multiples of things," and there is definitely something to the safety in numbers sentiment. For instance, most people aren't content with just one specimen of something; we need a dozen of that something. Perhaps we're afraid we'll lose the cherished dinosaur-shaped ashtray from Stuckey's, so without planning to, we start collecting other types of weird ashtrays from roadside pit-stops -- just in case. And isn't that all about Boy Scout-style preparedness, hunting and gathering? We fear we'll run out of something essential -- food, clothing, money, love -- and so we make weird arrangements with ourselves to prevent those losses.

Stuff of comfort

Still, most humans realize that we have little dominion over the universe, much less our own societies. We control the things we can by collecting items that for some reason give us a mental anchor, evoke meaning, outline who we are.

In a way, then, gathering and grouping is about creating a line of fiction that we ourselves can enact if not truly believe, something we can hang onto in a constantly changing environment. Maybe it's just a Styrofoam wig stand that led to an invasion of other Styrofoam wig "heads." If we believe it has value, then it does. Thus the line of our own tightly written safety-net fictions unfurls through our collecting of oddball stuff -- which is no different really than acquiring expensive cars or animal trophies or relationships or couture clothing.

Gian Calaci, whose hairball collection is in the "Mas!" show, sums up her impulse to collect as "trying to make a totality of what's around us." Collecting, she says, is "imagining a perfect domesticity, longing for a territory."