This past weekend was my first Bridgeport Art Trail, an annual city-wide event during the second weekend in November. It goes on from Thursday-Sunday with shows, events and presentations occurring concurrently–there’s no way you could see it all in one day!
I had to check it out, despite my busy weekend, so I started my sliver of the trail on Sunday afternoon. I only made it through the three East Side stops: American Fabrics and Art Building, Bridgeport Innovation Center, and 785 Union Ave: MNTD Studios.
The following artists are some of my favorites from the event.
Steifel’s work is brightly colored and surreal. Her simplified planes of color and minimalization of detail are reminiscent of Lichtenstein, yet her approach is distinctly hers. While his work harkened to the comic strip, hers is reminiscent of early video games–and not just because her style, color, and texture choices are so blatantly FUN.
And it’s no wonder–so is she. We discussed process and technique, she shared a work in progress that was visceral and resonated deeply, yet was lighthearted and whimsy. A perfect balance, in my opinion, of addressing a simple topic with an elbow-nudge that conceals a larger conversation about societal issues.
Speaking with Jodi was a reminder of the value I see in artists having the ability to connect one-on-one with collectors. Collectors may like a work of art, but being able to interact and see the work and the creator with a wider range of context is a gift that deepens a desire to take a work home. The tortured anti-social artist might have a place in a museum, but collectors don’t just want a pretty picture–they want to feel the essence of the creator beam at them in the rooms where they live their daily lives.
Let me start off by admitting: I’m not an abstract art person. During my visit to the AMFAB artist studios, there were a few rooms I peeked at through the doorway and didn’t walk into for this reason. I find many resulting abstract or geometric works to feature rushed, hurried, and unthoughtful brushstrokes. The feeling of scattered chaos isn’t one I like to feel when looking at art, unless an unsettled feeling is intentional to drive home an intended message.
Rosetti’s work does nothing of the sort. Both her color choices and her brush strokes evoke a strong sense of calm. Many of her large scale works were abstracted sunsets, and she had a geometric piece that made me think
“omgthatwouldfitperfectlyhighonmywallinmybedroomwhereididn’tthinkanypaintingcouldlookgood”
But then I promptly remembered that I was visiting as an artist and not a collector. And that I’d have to sell quite a bit of paintings before I could cop a $7K abstract painting, no matter howperfectitisforthatspaceomgthecolorstheanglesthevibe.
After briefly browsing her Instagram, it’s no wonder I observed her abstract art as more thoughtful than the average. Check her process:
But overall, her figurative work is what stunned me. Especially this work in progress (or not?) on her easel:
An audible gasp escaped my lips.
Also notable about Rossetti was her in-your-face soulmate-type friendship with an artist down the hall, Linda Colletta.
Linda Colletta was in and out of Kelly Rosetti’s studio. They had the other one mentioned on their signage. Their interactions were finish-your-sentence, they admitted to often matching clothes. They had a saccharine type of friendship that would make any husband jealous and make every lonely artist yearn, and it made me like both of them more for it.
Linda’s work doesn’t include any figurative, but it doesn’t need to. While I often find abstract work to be decorative, hers demands a thoughtful pause. From her woven pieces to her weirdos, they all demand attention in more than a fluorescent green way: you can tell each corner, each stroke is intentional, inspired by the muses.
Even her studio space has me inspired, as I’m in the process of adjusting work space and storage for mine.
Brown’s studio was the first that took me aback. The expansive space where she creates is towering with a narrative of creative exploration that spans decades: from crocheted wired sculpture, to homemade bioplastics made from natural materials and then sculpted to both rigid and fabric objects, to prints of rural buildings…and this great video project I uncovered on her website.
It was hard to choose a favorite, but I could not get over these shackles she created using bioplastics that included actual money and traditional homemaker crafting techniques entitled Financial Restraints.
Since hers was the first that left me awestruck, I was too shy to take many photos even after asking her for permission. I did also get the picture of this work, Breadwinner. The caption displays the thoughtfulness and depth of the concept.
But I didn’t even get a photo of her aprons! Which I adored so much I inquired for the price. You’ll have to find those by clicking through to her website.
Schuldt caught my eye immediately upon reaching the top steps of MNTD studios, and his smile was inviting. I entered the room and was immediately floored by his hand-beaded self portrait.
As I looked closely at the details–tiny seed beads stitched abutted to one another for the entirety of the cloth, he assumed what I was wondering about in just the right moment and engaged me in conversation. The weaving represented a dream he had.
Now, I know the trope:
But, not so with this dream. He was engaging in his telling it–I found myself wide eyed and anxious for the rest of the story, rich with symbolism, dripping with details: “And then what happened?”
Schuldt was overall an interesting, meticulous student of the world and creator. His work was just as detailed in research as it was in process.
Kiko Hernandez’s work is a little surreal, a little caricatured, and a whole lot of fun to look at. Inspired by pop culture, he paints familiar faces but streeeeeeetched and exaggerated, emphasizing characteristics of the character or public figure.
You may remember that my oldest son loves The Big Lebowski, and that he and my youngest dressed as The Dude and The Little Dude for NYC Comic Con 2024. So I of course had to snap a photo of Kiko’s representation of the famed cowboy narrator from the film.
Kiko was with a friend of his, another artist, at the event. Chatting and joking with them about art reminded me of my high school days when I was “one of the boys”–so I couldn’t help but ask where they met. The Milford Arts Council, it turns out. Sounds like I might need to join another art group.
Miguel Angel Mendoza, also known as Xquendanu Arte’s talent blew me away. His portraiture is done with such care, when I looked at one of his paintings of a young girl, I thought: “He must love her. Is this his daughter?”
I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I asked who she was, he told me when he worked at Little Pub, he asked his coworkers for models. This girl was a relative of one of his coworkers. He went on to show me that his portraits were all people who descend from Latin America. He migrated from Mexico thirty years ago, and his heritage runs deep.
He may not love his subjects like family, but his warmth is felt when interacting with him, and the resulting portraits make it clear that he loves his work deeply. How could he not?
Tabachnick’s work is a masterclass in composition. With the world on fire and all, it does feel gluttonous to only admire painted works on freshly-bought canvas, and her work shows that simple, well-executed composition and landfill-bound items are materials enough for evoking emotion and striking imagery.
I didn’t meet Andy. He wasn’t in the studio space representing his work when I passed through BIC. Regardless, his presence was felt through his paintings of warehouses and shuttered buildings local to Bridgeport.
I’ll be amongst them next year or in one to come. Only time will tell!
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