By Jen Swindle
Each artist is as unique as the
art that he creates. And so is his studio. Joseph’s studio walls
are covered with small, magazine cutouts of all his favorite
pieces, some by classics like Valesquez and Rembrandt, others
with contemporary paintings by fellow artists and friends. Joseph
is built like a football player, has an easy smile and a calm
disposition. He is artist through and through. During our interview,
he told me, “This is what I think about all day long. This is
all I want to do. Nothing can pull me away from this except
my family. And that is the only thing more important.” It was
a very neat experience to be able to meet him and get extra
insight into his life and works.
Tell me how you got started
in art the art world?
Even as a young child,
I remember being fascinated by imagery and the appearance of
things. Perhaps all children are. A child absorbs the world
mostly through his eyes. I think I was blessed early on to have
an eye for shape and proportions. Children instinctively pick
up on the subtleties of experience. They naturally learn to
speak just by hearing. I guess for me, in a way, to draw was
to speak and to see was to hear.
Click to Enlarge
Silent Night
Drawing is a natural form of expression
for any child, and I remember having a lot of confidence in
my native ability to draw what I saw. I think that mostly developed
at home, with my family.
Was art a big part of your childhood?
Well, I had a great childhood.
I come from a big family — twelve kids. When we were growing
up, there were four of us boys in one room that was meant to
be a hallway, with just a little bunk bed. My dad taught institute,
which kept us kids with clothes on our backs, but without much
in our pockets. Since we didn’t have a lot of toys, my older
brother came up with the idea of drawing our toys on little
pieces of paper. So we had these little paper squares with figures,
or animals, or whatever, drawn on them. Making these paper “action
figures” was as stimulating as anything, not just for my creativity
and invention, but also my ability to draw.
In order to have a toy I wanted,
I had to draw it like I wanted it. We drew entire football teams,
whole armies of cowboys and Indians. Every thing you could want
as a kid. If a friend had a toy I liked, I soon drew my own
paper version. I remember seeing the movie 20,000 Leagues
Under the Sea. That started a whole series of drawings of
submarines and sea creatures. Everything that excited my imagination
would become a part of my “paper games,” as my mother would
call them.
Refections
Did you draw all the toys or
is the whole family artistic?
A number of us have a propensity
for art, but I was the one really obsessive about these paper
games. A great regret is that none of my paper toys survived
past my childhood. But in my mind I can still see some of my
favorite ones. I drew an Indian that became a hero in many of
my games. I remember drawing his legs and thinking how I wanted
the shape of the thigh and the curvature of the calf. Even in
grade school I was thinking about anatomy — pretty good anatomy,
too, if I remember right. Again, I think it is because at such
a young age you learn differently, better, especially if you
are motivated to learn in order to play.
When did it occur to you that
this was what you wanted to do?
I lament the fact that at that
time, I didn’t feel like I should be an artist. In my family,
there was the mentality that you earn a living through hard
work; you provide for a family; you are responsible. Growing
up, we always had chores. We all worked hard. I remember working
along side my father and brothers, doing sweaty, dirty, good
old-fashioned work. Art just wasn’t work, it wasn’t responsible.
It didn’t seem to connect with the things that were most important
in life. It was something I did for fun. I remember getting
to an age that I felt embarrassed about my paper games, feeling
like I was too old for that stuff. Especially when I started
getting acquainted with adults, people that I admired, who excelled
in things that were important. Being an artist didn’t seem to
fit with that. So I turned away from art.
Daughter of Jarius
About the time I started BYU, as
a chemical engineer major, my parents gave me some oil paints
for my 18th birthday. It was an instant addiction.
Having paints instilled this great hunger to express the beauties
that always captivated me. I remember being at Lake Powell and
going to the front of the boat to be alone and to marvel at
the reds in the cliffs against the blues of the sky and water.
I’d be at a lecture at BYU, mesmerized by the chemistry professor,
not by his colorful lecture, but by his colorful face. It seemed
that all day, every day, no matter what I was doing, I would
notice subtle changes in colors and lighting and wonder how
I would paint it.
Gates of Day
I also began to look at paintings
and felt I knew how they were done. I thought, “I can do this.
I can see how that color was mixed and how that brush stoke
was applied.” It reopened a door. I was in love with art again.
In my spare time I began painting studies from Rembrandt and
Velasquez. I started doing portraits for people. I did portraits
until the day I left on my mission. In fact, I was still finishing
one painting just hours before I went into the MTC.
I was ready for the hard work of
a mission, but putting aside this new infatuation for two years
was truly a sacrifice. But I felt a conviction that a God-given
gift wouldn’t diminish by serving Him. I wanted to focus completely
on the mission, the work and the people. So when I got home,
I was starving to paint something. I hadn’t finished my first
painting before I knew my passion was too much to ignore.
In Similitude
So you made the jump?
Yes. In the end, it came down to
just feeling like I should be an artist. It became a moral decision
in a way. Like I said, I grew up thinking that work was digging
a ditch, not going to play somewhere with paints. But my vision
of art had changed, especially since my experience as a missionary
among the people of Brazil. Digging a ditch can be helpful,
but gladdening the heart and enlivening the soul can be essential.
If art could do that, it could be more than play or even work.
It could be a mission. It could connect to the spiritual dimension
of life. It could nurture faith, and feed spiritual cravings.
Needless to say, I switched majors at BYU and have been 100%
artist ever since.
Cold Night
How long have you been a professional
artist?
I got back from the mission in
the summer of 1994. Besides teaching at the MTC, art has been
my sole source of income. I was doing commissions while still
a student at BYU, juggling my student work with professional
work. At the time I remember thinking, “After a few more years
of study I will be through developing my craft, then I can just
focus on creating great art.” But it hasn’t fully happened yet.
I’m still wearing the cap of a student while trying to perform
like a professional. With most of my paintings, I am trying
something new. There’s such a mountain of skills to master.
So I still feel this need to go hide away for a couple of years
to focus only on learning.
Do you feel that most of us
remain students our entire lives?
Family Visit in Liberty
Every master is still a student
at something. Years ago, Nelson Shanks, a portrait artist with
whom I studied in New York, said to me, “Attack your weaknesses.”
That’s difficult. Creativity can present a whole spectrum of
challenges, and it’s so tempting to stick with familiar territory.
But a weakness overcome is a powerful testament to our capacity
for growth. There must be a balance between attacking your weaknesses,
taking risks, and keeping to sure footing and allowing your
strengths to expand and seep into everything that you do. I
believe all talents are interdependent and interconnected. They
branch out and grow more like trees than skyscrapers. Developing
your strengths will naturally diversify abilities. And when
you’re out there in a universe of weaknesses, your strengths
can be your polar star.
What are some of those natural
strengths?
In my earliest work you can see
a facility for drawing and painting accurately from observation.
But when you aspire to paint scenes you’ve never actually seen,
say from history or the scriptures, it demands more of the imagination
than of observation. That requires not just seeing, but understanding
form and light (or color), the two elements of visual phenomena.
I have always understood form better than color. Maybe I was
meant to be a sculptor. I just natively understood the structural
essence of a subject. All of my frustration was centered in
understanding what color to use and what effects light had on
everything it hit. Understanding light and color better became
a big focus of mine.
Icy Crucibles
I also found that when I’d simply
copy observed color in nature to canvas, I had this tendency
to do everything too dark. That’s because light acts differently
in two dimensions than in three dimensions. In two-dimensions
there is only a representation of light and color. There are
a lot of paintings that I did when I was younger in which I
was trying to replicate nature on the wrong level, not understanding
the language and the parameters of paint. In the real world,
the possibilities of light and value are endless, but with paint,
there are limits.
Is it difficult to work within
those limits?
Every language has its limits.
It is necessary to understand your language and what its limits
are.
A Savior Is Born
Like in life, there is a price
to be paid in art. Sometimes we receive things by grace, but
it comes after we’ve worked, after we’ve done all we can. In
the artistic sense, that means mastering your craft and the
laws that pertain to art. Religious art has as great a standard
of excellence as any because the art needs to measure up to
its purpose; it needs to connect to something much higher.
How have you seen religious
art change since you’ve been painting?
It’s changed drastically. For many
years I have felt in my gut that there would be an explosion
of interest in understanding the great tradition of art and
blending it with the high standard that religious art intrinsically
demands. There’s a lot of great art happening and a lot of great
art that will continue to happen. I have this gut feeling that
this is only the beginning.
Seeking Shiloah
Do you see something specific
encouraging these changes?
I think it helps to have synergy
among artists. That synergy can bring a season of change. The
one-man-art-movement is for the kind of culture that encourages
disparity or scarcity. That’s not a Zion culture. We all have
great potential, and Zion is about opportunity. I love to see
the camaraderie among artists. We have so much to learn from
each other, and no need for petty comparisons. Comparing yourself
to another undermines your growth. It changes your focus. Our
standard must be principle-based, not people-based. As an artist,
you get a lot of criticism and a lot of compliments and sometimes
they replay themselves in your mind. However, both criticism
and compliments can create illusions. They are more often descriptive
than constructive. You can start hearing the wrong voices in
your mind. The most reliable voice is your conscience. Our artistic
ideals come not from each other, but from within. The Light
of Christ and the Spirit of God dictate what our own art can
and ought to become. That’s a long journey, but I think as a
whole we’re on our way.
Glad Tidings
What motivates you to keep going
day in and day out?
The two proponents of religious
art: religion and art. If I had nothing else in life but art,
I’d still be driven and addicted. The joys of creativity never
cease to motivate. But my greatest ambition is to influence
people in a spiritual way, in a way that engenders hope and
belief in our Maker. The realm of art can be a bridge to the
realm of religion and spiritual realities. A bridge must conform
to the two worlds it connects. Great art must connect the senses
and the Spirit. I know it’s worth devoting my life to connecting
to that realm of the Spirit. I just hope I can build bridges
that are worth crossing.
Description of a few pieces
Moses Seeing Jehovah
Moses Seeing Jehovah
The account of Moses seeing Jehovah
is of singular significance in the scriptures. Through Moses,
we learn man’s place before God. Having been acquainted with
the courts of Pharaoh, and the greatest spectacles man could
offer, he learns that “man is nothing, which thing I had never
supposed” (Moses 1:10). But he learns the difference between
the natural man and the eternal man, that his great worth is
in that “I am a son of God, in the similitude of his Only Begotten
Son” (Moses 1:13). This experience was a catalyst to his great
life’s mission, and later even Nephi looks to him as a hero,
saying “Let us be strong like unto Moses” (Nephi 4:2).
Journey to Bethlehem
Journey to Bethlehem
As a foreshadowing of His future
triumphal entry into Jerusalem as the Son of David and the King
of Israel, the unborn Christ is carried by a donkey to Bethlehem
to be numbered of the house and lineage of David. Mary looks
tenderly, perhaps knowingly, at the shy shepherd boy they pass
along their way. Would she have remembered the prophecy that
spoke of her future son as the “Shepherd of Israel”? (Psalm
80:1) Mary’s hand is held to her womb as she meets the gaze
of the shepherd boy as a reminder that “unto us a child is born,
unto us a son is given” (Isaiah 9:6). Joseph’s focus is on the
path ahead, and his hands, one opened and one closed, reflect
both the strength and gentleness of the provider and protector.
Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd
Dear to the Heart of the Shepherd
Dear to the heart of which
shepherd? There are two shepherds depicted in this painting,
and each must give his life for the other. The crippled shepherd
boy’s crutch is a symbol of the cross he bears in emulation
of the object of his joy. In composing this painting, inspiration
came from the words of a favorite hymn: “E’en though it be
a cross / That raiseth me, / Still all my song shall be / Nearer
my God to thee!” (Hymns, no. 100)
Hope
Hope
Depicted here is the hope of a
child because of its mother, the hope of a mother in her child,
and the hope of every child and every mother because of the
baby Jesus, who would become the author of hope and salvation.
The Good Samaritan
The Good Samaritan
In this parable of compassion,
the Good Samaritan is both a pattern of Christ, who administers
to all that have fallen, and is an example for all those who
seek to be a true disciple of Christ. As Latter-Day Saints,
we are called to “Go and do thou likewise,” considering all
people as our neighbor, coming to the aid of every wounded and
weary soul we find along our Jericho road. In the painting,
the figure of the man who fell among thieves is reminiscent
of Christ’s figure on the cross, and thus is a reminder of Christ’s
teaching that “Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto one
of the least of these
my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
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