Larry Blizard has nothing against painting but at some point in his long career as an artist, working across many mediums, the 85-year-old observed that the drawings in his sketchbook seemed to contain a special quality that the paintings he was creating at the time, did not—a kind of vitality or intensity. “Gradually, I began to devote more effort to sketching, until drawing took over completely,” he says. Drawing, he found, also calms his nerves. “I lose myself in the act of moving my pencil, bringing to life forms from my imagination, and the whole process becomes a kind of meditation.”
Unemployed Rabbits, graphite, 30 x 22 in.
Blizard also feels that sketches provide more room for the viewer to interact with the work, and for his own pieces to interact with one another. “When I look at Rembrandt’s Self-Portrait at the Frick Collection, or Velázquez’s Las Meninas, at the Prado, they seem complete—there is nothing to be added,” he explains. “On the other hand, when I see an artist’s sketch or drawing there is an ‘unfinished’ quality, which allows me to share in the creative process. I know this sounds crazy, but it is the closest I can come to describing my experience. When spread out together, my work seems to form some sort of ‘conversation.’”
Matador, graphite, 19 x 22 in.
One of Blizard’s signatures is to use nature’s little “critters” as stand-ins for humans in his scenarios. (He achieved early success through his placement of bananas in everyday situations. “This series was very successful and the Razor Gallery, no longer in existence, sold everything I gave them for over 26 years,” he says. “But I grew tired of bananas).”
In Residents Only, a barbecuing bear addresses a duo of birds of prey as they eat their own delicacies at a nearby picnic table, while gesturing to a chaotic scene unfolding on the water. “In this drawing, I was trying to express in a humorous way, my bewilderment at the ton of restrictions which seem to govern a visit to our local waterfront park,” he says. “In fact, most suburban parks seem to possess an aura of exclusivity.”
Similarly, Unemployed Rabbitsaddresses entirely human concerns. Blizard explains, “While living in a period of economic uncertainty and political turmoil, I employed the images of downcast rabbits and a top hat to express the feeling of absence of any magic solutions.”
Men’s Room, Grand Central, graphite, 30 x 27 in.
Men’s Room features an assortment of wildlife. Is that a kangaroo and some monkeys? It’s hard to tell because they’re lined up and facing the cave wall in a familiar stance. Inspired by visits to the men’s bathroom in New York’s Grand Central Station, “It is also a humorous dig at male insecurities,” says Blizard.
Graphite in hand, and armed with a playful tongue and cheek sensibility, Blizard gets most of his material by observing the humble creatures in his own backyard. “Because I employ critters in more human situations, I don’t dwell too much on the critters’ actual habitats,” he says. “I sketch the critters whenever I can see them in repose, but draw from memory when I am working on a piece…Since I am not working from a subject in front of me, there are mistakes in my work. If I can spot them, I try to make corrections. Otherwise, I simply leave them in. [Ultimately], my efforts have always centered on self-expression.”
Residents Only, graphite, 14 x 13½ in.
A solo exhibition of Blizard’s work will be on view August 19 through September 20 at George Billis Gallery in Connecticut, with an opening reception on August 21 from 6 to 8 p.m. —
George Billis Gallery 1700 Post Road • Fairfield, CT 06824 • (203) 557-9130 • www.georgebillis.com
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