Beginning Again Once More

Patte Wheat LeVan profiles sculptor James Kelsey.

Amy’s waterfront restaurant, Port Orchard Washington, Sunday afternoon, July 22, 2012. James Kelsey sits alone at the tall corner table reserved for Reel Friends, the indie film group he founded in 2008. He breaks into a pleased grin as I introduce myself, then unwinds his 6-feet-three-inch frame from the barstool and envelopes me in an exuberant bear hug. “Welcome! The Sunday routine,” he explains, pulling out a stool for me, “is meet here, walk over to the Dragonfly Theater, see the film, then gather at the 110 Martini Lounge and discuss it. We hug hello, and goodbye, and if the goodbyes last more than a few minutes at the door, we have to hug again.” “I’ve been reading your zany emails for months, thinking about joining,” I tell him. “Death of a Super Hero sounded too good to miss.” “Yes! I’ve watched the trailer10 times.” He leans in. “Would you like to see some of my work? I got this smart phone so I could show photos of my sculptures to anyone interested.” He thumbs through a gallery of breathtaking stainless steel and bronze abstract sculptures that exude a joyful, soaring energy. His work, I learn, is throughout Washington State–Tacoma, Bremerton, several in Port Orchard, Canada, Michigan, and Utah. “Somebody told me you’re an artist, but I had no idea what you did. These are amazing.” “Thank you. I’m also creating some smaller pieces, hoping enough people will want to buy them–I’m trying to save my house. I’ve lived here for 13 years.”

Reel Friends begin showing up. More hugs. After Death of a Super Hero James leads an animated discussion at the 110. His mellow tenor carries as he makes sure nobody gets left out or unheard. We disband, and he rides off on a maroon Suzuki. I go home and read everything on his website. Born poor, childhood spent in a housing project in Renton. Four years as a firefighter in the U.S. Air Force. Commercial pilot.  A hilarious bio that isn’t that funny as the struggle to find his way emerges between the lines. A full time career artist since 2002. Five good years, then divorce. Cancer survivor. He’s written a novel, unpublished.  The Last Icon. I call and ask to read it.

 He gives me directions to his house, only five minutes away. I enter an acre of sculpture garden that weaves amid curving stands of black bamboo and Japanese maples, ending at a renovated double-wide, bright with color, filled with art. Over coffee in his living room he produces a shopping bag that contains his 600-page manuscript. Morning coffee session two weeks later as he’s gathering things for a garage sale:

 He nods. “I know.” I offer to edit. “Yes. But I can’t pay you.” “I know. I’ll do it on spec.” Our conversations begin. Divorce forced him to refinance, skin cancer in 2008 coincided with the economic downturn, commissions dried up, $6000 in medical bills, paid off. He’s completing a small commission for a private party. Little blue cubes that will cascade down an inside wall.  Ironically, the sculpture he’s recently installed in the city of Belfair is called, “Beginning Again Once More.” We’re standing outside his studio, a huge white canopied Quonset building that sits below his house amid the Zen-like landscape he birthed from a forest of blackberry brambles. “I love gardening, getting my hands down in the dirt. There was nothing here when I bought my place but weeds and blackberries. I created all this.” He turns his face away and I realize he’s fighting back tears.

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Music wafts out of his house and studio–Irish punk rock, Japanese Pop, German industrial music. Eclectic, nothing I’ve ever heard before. This morning I’m watching him weld a sphere onto a small stainless steel sculpture I bought. “Music has a very strong influence on my mood and energy level,” he says “so I select it based on the task at hand. Modern “lounge” music that takes world music and gives it a more mellow, electronic ambient quality is great for helping me find my balance and peace. Asian Flute music is perfect for slowing and sweeping up at the end of a hard day.”

The garage sale yields a few hundred dollars. No further commissions or large sales. Several other Reel friends buy his small sculptures. It’s not enough. By the end of October, he realizes he can’t make the deadline, he’ll have to move. He searches the internet and discovers I.P. Callison Co., is selling a 6,700 square-foot cold storage building in Centralia for $60,000. “Maybe I can trade sculpture for it,” he says. Centralia is 90 miles away. We drive up together and resume a previous discussion of Taoism. He discovered Lau Tzu and the Tao Te Ching in the early nineties, and I want to know how his practice has influenced his art. “I believe that everything is connected,” he says. “Wu Wei is a deep part of my path–it means ‘non action,’ but it doesn’t mean ‘sit on your ass and be lazy.’ It means to not force things…thoughts…peace. When I’m not sure what to create next, I have two choices–I can force– tell myself I MUST start building something–but the more I push in this direction, the worse my ideas become. In the end, if I do create something, it is nothing I’m happy with. If I tell myself it’s okay that I don’t have an idea–if I just sit and sketch at a coffeehouse, half distracted, some new idea has always come: something good. I find beauty in the idea of Taoism and hopefully that shows through in my work. I’m a creature of the world I was born into and it seems I’ve taken the last 35 years trying to reprogram my spirit into a better way of experiencing life.” Callison’s headquarters is newly built, gorgeous–begging for sculpture. The assistant to the Special Projects Manager greets us and ushers us to a table in the reception area. Her face lights up as she looks over the photos of James’ work. She picks Eye of the Beholder II, Industrial Heart, and Helios, excuses herself, disappears to an inner office. She returns smiling. It’s a done deal. James has just traded three very large sculptures for a very large cold storage building. He signs the papers the following week. We stand with the agent on Kearney Street in Centralia, in the growing dusk, viewing the building. The old loading dock faces a subpower station. On the cinderblock wall opposite 8 sets of railroad tracks, “FUCK TINY DUKES” is writ in bold cursive. The agent rolls the door open, flicks on the flourescent lights and we follow him into what James will later dub The Art Cave. After he discovers he has bats for roommates.

We walk the length of the corridor; James is pulling open giant refrigerator doors on both sides. No bathroom. “There’s a toilet,” the agent says, “but it hasn’t worked for awhile.” Massive industrial unit fans in every room. Damp spots and deep puddles throughout that indicate the roof leaks. A lot. “Yes,” James says. “I can make this work.” Ideas are shooting out of him. “Clean, paint, but keep the industrial look. Raise the roof in the studio area.” His vision of transformation–studio, gallery, living space, reception area, garden, blooms before us. I’m infected. “Yes! I see it!” The agent nods, shifting his expression from incredulous back to neutral. “Good luck,” he says as we emerge into the gathering dark. A freight passes, graffiti glares on the sides of the boxcars, the sound of the train whistle follows us to the highway. On the way back James continues the expansive vision of his gallery as a magnet for positive change, to encourage other artists and promote public art. “Studies show that cities and towns that invest in Public Art prosper more than cities that don’t. Art brings more creative people into an area, they want interesting places to shop and eat, tax revenue rises, property values increase. Art speaks loudly about the priorities and future of a place and people respond in a positive way. For example, three Seattle neighborhoods that were incredibly downtrodden in the 1980s–Pioneer Square, Georgetown and Belltown–are now the most desirable. One of my goals is to actively seek artists to move here.” In November, a core team of Reel Friends forms to help pack, move, and prepare the Cave for human habitation. An unexpected big commission comes through from the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle. They want his Taureg Sun, plus a sculpture that he will need to create. It’s arrived too late to save his house. In January, James falls on his icy porch moving a too-heavy load. A waterline has to be dug the next day so a new toilet can be installed. Three of us are available to dig, James with a bad back, a retired schoolteacher, and me. We drive to the Historic Olympic Hotel in town for bathroom breaks. He posts a video on Facebook of me in the ditch, “California writer wields pickaxe for first time.”

A 26-foot rented Penske truck is loaded and heads southeast following the Princess, his ‘99 Isuzu work truck. Half of his studio is dismantled, enough left to continue work on the sculpture, bare bones necessities are left in his house.

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The Port Orchard Independent and the Kitsap Sun announce James Kelsey has been voted Best Artist of Kitsap County for 2012. Third year in a row.

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In February he attends a meeting of ArtTrails of Western Washington in Centralia and commits to having his Kearney Street gallery open for their 11^th annual Studio Tour in late September. He returns to Port Orchard to find a Notice to Vacate nailed to his door. He contacts metal artist Brad Tarbet near Centralia, makes arrangements to finish the Hutch sculpture in Tarbet’s studio.

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March 1. Six of us struggle through the final packing, cleaning. “Heimdall’s Trumpet,” his handcrafted speakers he created from a single piece of columnar basalt, quartered, are being eased down the steps and onto the Princess. They weigh 300 lbs. apiece. Two of us finish dismantling his office. Taped to the top of his computer screen on a small square of paper: “You can conquer others with power, But it takes true strength to conquer yourself. As long as the sun rises, And your heart beats, Tao is at hand.” The Princess is piled high with his remaining sculptures, the 22′ “Cubes” lies on its side with the half-finished Hutch sculpture. He drives out of his silent, empty studio, winds down the lane in the early spring chill. We stand together on the porch of his vacated house for a few minutes, then climb into our loaded vehicles and follow him.

Epilogue

•  He had only a toilet for the first month and showered at the home of another artist who lives on the gentler end of the neighborhood.
•  Reel friends continued to help when we could; Will, a retired electrician, drove to the Art Cave to help James with myriad projects that included pulling down eight 200 lb. fans without being killed or maimed.
•  The tagging continued. James painted it out, hoping the perps would grow tired and give up.
•  The Princess was violated, her side window smashed in.
•  He posted on Facebook, “I’m on the bleeding edge of gentrification.”
•  On June 23^rd, he installed the Hutch sculpture “Holding the Intangible” in front of Hutchinson’s new Center for Vaccine and Infectious Disease Study in downtown Seattle.
•  In late summer, his motorcycle was vandalized, a tire slashed on his pickup truck.
•  Seven Reel Friends helped pull the Art Cave together for “ARTrails,” the two-weekend Studio Tour for local artists that started September 21.
•  He finished painting the gallery and putting his sculptures in place 14 hours before the September 20 Gala at the Historic Centralia Railway Station. At 4:00 p.m. he was dressed up, at the door greeting people.
•  Brad Tarbet, the tall, gray-haired metal fabricator and sculptor who offered studio space so James could finish the Hutch sculpture, told me, “James’s whole vision on his art inspired me–seeing someone making his living as an artist is incredibly inspiring, he demonstrates that it’s possible to make something for the pure joy of making it. And I danced with the product of that leap, created my first large piece called “Dance” early this month…you know, ‘Dance like no one’s watching.’ For the first time in my life I ordered a palette full of material just to make a piece of art.”

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“What kept you going,” I asked James finally. “At any point on your very rough journey you could have sunk into despair–what has sustained you?”