Art by Mike Goodlett. Mike Goodlett’s (1958-2021) art has fascinated me from the day I first laid eyes on one of his panorama shadow boxes featured at a Gallery Hop in Lexington, KY. I was mesmerized by the piece and immediately returned to the gallery to purchase it. It had to be mine!

It was the first of many pieces that would form a collection (eight in total that vary in size and medium), spanning Mike’s creative output over nearly two decades. It drew my attention because of its distinctive style, and perhaps because it was reminiscent of another nascent collection of mine, namely folk art produced in Eastern Kentucky, a region that is part of Appalachia, south of Lexington where I was living.

Beyond the boundaries of this Kentucky connection, Mike’s art is also, for me, suggestive of the work featured at the Musée de l’art brut in Lausanne, Switzerland. The museum was initiated by French artist Jean Dubuffet who brought under one roof a unique and comprehensive collection created by “self-taught creators who produce art brut, people on the fringes of society who harbor a spirit of rebellion and tend to be impervious to collective standards and values,” (Image 1).

Mike’s art

Having gained an art degree—contrary to those artists represented in Lausanne—Mike’s creative output seemed to balance both ‘outsider’ artistic expressions (folk art and art brut) in two distinctive manners. His first style is one where his vernacular idiom is rooted in the unique regional and cultural heritage of Kentucky. The other character of his art finds its locus where the subject matter delves into deeply personal territory, filled with autobiographical obsessions and fears—not unlike those found in art brut (e.g., Adolf Wölfli) (Image 1). There is a duality in Mike’s approach to existing artistic expression, yet he offers a distinct perspective that is constant while also always evolving.

What is most tangible for me as an owner of art (or better said, custodian) rather than an art critic, is that I see in Mike’s work how he consciously shied away from more traditional standards of beauty. This is “in favor of what [he] believed to be a more authentic and a humanistic approach to image-making.” For me, these are qualities that make Mike’s engagement in his work so appealing, provocative, and refreshing.

Over the years I have lived with his art, I continue to find the work to be authentic as a direct expression of an artist’s inner anguish. There is much sensitivity at work here, a presence that is accompanied by a complex world filled with disquiet, gay subject matter, scribbles, metaphors, allegories that are often associated with a mysterious reoccurring female character, and the self-portraits depicting Mike in a variety of forms and shapes. As I am writing down my thoughts, I realize that there are so many interpretations of his work that none would do justice to the potential of his talent. A talent sadly cut too short.

The eight pieces in my collection span over twenty years of his artistic creation. Each of the artifacts are unique in their three-dimensionality, ranging from those made from glued pieces (overscaled books and collages); objects (wood and plaster sculptures); to panorama shadow boxes (the latter representing for me, in a most cryptic and uncanny manner, the subconscious of Mike’s identity).

A first visit to his studio

I remember visiting his studio located minutes away from the hamlet of Wilmore, Kentucky for the first time on a beautiful spring weekend. He lived in a white country house that had been in the family for several generations, a house that seemed almost abandoned at the end of a dirt path. If my memory is correct, the house had at that time no inside plumbing, but did have running water.

The reclusiveness of the place was unexpected, but as Mike was standing to welcome me at the front entrance, it took a more familiar atmosphere. Tall, thin, and almost bald with a week-old beard, his face was anchored by dark eyeglasses; a gentle demeanor that reminded me of what I could have imagined: the personification of the iconic American rural schoolteacher, had only Norman Rockwell painted a man!

Mike’s art was featured throughout his home, and had I not known him from several visits to his downtown Lexington studio (at that time at the Gallery du Soleil), I might have had second thoughts about venturing further into his inner sanctum. Leaving my unnecessary worries aside, I encountered a world unto itself that was nothing less than sublime. The art on the walls emphasized the house’s wear and tear, the wallpaper mostly in fragments, exposing the marbleized yellow texture of glue alongside torn strips.

Magically, the art seemed to come from the wall or merge into it. Cracks in the unvarnished flooring showing a century of use, unifying the rooms, and, as we chatted about art, we ended up in Mike’s studio. The room was larger than any other in the house and was the physical expression of his inner sanctum (Image 2).

Two books

At the time of my visit, two large books—as Mike called them—were leaning open against one of the walls. Their scale and intricate content drew my attention. Measuring respectively 33 by 62 inches (book 1, Image 3), and 36 by 79 inches (book 2, Image 4), both were the result of his early creative output. The first was constructed as an asymmetrical triptych while the second one was more like an overscaled art book that folded along its center.

Although greatly exaggerated in scale, both books are stylistically reminiscent of medieval enluminures; a technique practiced primarily by monks who copied scriptural text as well as secular books by decorating borders of manuscripts with intricate designs to complement the written narrative. In Mike’s work, much of the iconographic content is blurred with calligraphic prowess; a technique that we will discuss further in the two shadow boxes. For both works of art (i.e. books), the enluminures were not restricted to the borders. Here they decorated the entire canvas and are like living sketchbooks at full scale (Images 3 and 4). I have never seen any other similar books created by Mike; thus, I am very proud to own them.

In each book, the background support is lined with canvas and covered in a cream-colored cotton, almost gauze-like on which an additional layer of paper (also illustrated by the artist) or cotton fabric overlay. Upon closer look, one discovers seams. Although faint in their expression, joints between pieces of paper are minimal and suggest that most of the drawings had initially been done as vignettes, then carefully applied to the canvas to compose the larger final narrative.

At times, pieces of paper—where glue has not been fully applied—were folded to give a double thickness, perhaps for purposes of rigidity, while the remaining paper segments undulate over the cotton surface giving depth, almost as if the paper was breathing. There is perhaps a more pragmatic reason for this method. As my hand caresses the surface, I realize that the obsessive repetitive application of scribbles with a ballpoint pen has given the surface a stiffness while also rendering a beautiful sense of being wrinkled. It even makes a sound when touched.

Without venturing to suggest any symbolic meaning throughout the artwork, I could not take my eyes away from the beauty and artistry that I was discovering. For me, appreciation of art is twofold; instinct (unlearned behavior) and intellectual (critical thinking)—and yes, in this order. Both types of enjoyment eventually merge to create an impression of delight and surprise. In particular, when dwelling on specific areas, some of Mike’s figurative themes are reminiscent of Dutch Renaissance painter Hironimus Bosch, whose fantastic and magical connections depict grotesque characters as imaginary, and perhaps more importantly, as caricatures of the human condition within a medieval society ruled by pagan symbolism.

In Mike’s work, the similarities with Bosch’s might be appropriate, yet many of the narratives scattered throughout his art intertwine with a highly individualistic approach where the visual content and meaning(s) carry beyond the surface. At the core of Mike’ art is a humanism based on metaphorical layers. All at play here and extending beyond Mike’s ability to depict his own life (read personal demons) and the world around him. Here, like in Bosch’s work, Mike’s art seems to explore his deep-seeded fears through symbolism and allegory. What might surely capture his autobiographical obsessions are not isolated events; they are ever present in both books, and, in fact, are a constancy throughout his oeuvre.

Two shadow box panoramas

The two panorama shadow boxes in my collection are perhaps most revealing of Mike’s art and are—in conjunction with the sculpture titled Burning City—the impetus that led me to collect his work. What to say about them as a private collector is challenging because of the potential of ridicule by seasoned art critics who have made it their calling to provide interpretative meaning to the art under scrutiny. But let me give it a try.

For me, both of the shadow boxes are in a certain way a natural extension of the above described books and the large collage art piece (Image. 7). The shadow boxes sublimate the two dimensionality of the books into a symphony of space, a place of enchantment. Set within a wood frame—one painted in white to mute the construction, the other highly ornate with symbols of forgone cultures—the frames are part of the art. Of note, in the shadow box frame featured to the left in Image 6 the three eyes are suggestive of those found in Egyptian art representing “protection, royal power, and good health.”

This more ornate frame is done through his favorite medium, black Paper Mate Ballpoint pen (depicted as an object in the twofold book), as if the frame was a portal to the content. This strategy suggests defining a visual order and clarity, counterbalancing the tumultuous content of the interior by inviting the viewer to enter a visual journey. In both of the panorama shadow boxes, a rigid plastic sheet protects the inside art, while separating the two worlds: Mike’s intent, and the viewer’s endless interpretation of a theatrical performance whose first act one might have just missed.

What I mean by that, is that there is no correct point of entry into Mike’s work. There is no beginning or end to our reading of the interior content. Indeed, panorama is for me an appropriate word as it obliges us to seek a ‘larger’ view of how we interpret the pictorial representation of each of the scenes that Mike has so ingenuously orchestrated.

Themes

Prior to concluding, I would like to highlight three themes. Returning to his books, and without going into detail about their larger iconographical meaning, I have chosen themes that are most visible.

Vessels

Reminiscent of inspired creatures we find in medieval art, spaceships are omnipresent within both of Mike’s books. Their actual significance remains unknown to me, but perhaps they are intergalactic time capsules floating around the pictorial space or returning home with newly encoded information. These armored almond-shaped vessels are almost cute, similar to miniature die-cast toys or cartoon space-like flying ships that appear as vestiges of a by gone industrial era.

Like early menacing submersibles with tripod feet ready for combat, many of his creations carry on their back’s little ziggurats, houses, or igloo-like shelters with faint outlines of railings at the edge, as if warriors standing on the main deck would be protected from falling into the abyss. As these vessels merge into a tormented Vasarely-like background, they puke black smoke from chimneys as they propel themselves through the space of the canvas.

Fire

The expression of fire is a constant in Mike’s art and is found in another piece that he produced in limited versions; namely the Burning City which he decided was no longer an appropriate subject matter after the horrific events of 9/11. I had commissioned one after seeing an earlier version at the Gallery Soleil.

The Burning City is, beyond its acquired connotation, a marvelous little piece of art. Made out of wood, the overall composition reminds me of views from Metropolis, a film by German expressionist Fritz Lang that serves as the background for a female robot combatting the intellectual elite and the working class. In the Burning City, the skyscrapers—symbols of today’s late capitalist society (Image 5 far left)— is Gotham under fire. The city is brought to its knees; defeated and overwhelmed, and will soon be devastated. Beyond those ‘future’ ashes, the sculpture is superb and remains an essential piece of conversation among guests.

Again, as I am unsure of the chronology of Mike’s work. I cannot testify that the Burning City predates the books. A ziggurat-like building with flames doubling its height are centrally placed in book 1, and the order of the creation and inspiration for this is unclear to me.

Writing and numbers

It would be an understatement to say that writing was essential to Mike’s work. Quasi omnipresent in the two shadow boxes, words are expressed in a variety of ways throughout all of the pieces I have collected. At times they form the background tapestry on which his three dimensional world takes place. Scribbled words— “Please forgive me; Please allow transformation; Please allow some Mercy” —as well as numbers are set horizontally, vertically, upside down, and at times overlapping to purposively conceal the full meaning of a sentence. Perhaps this emanates from Mike’s desire to obscure true interpretation by the viewer, as I know that these fragments were torn from his personal notebooks and built into his art to take a new life of their own.

Of equal interest to me is his handwriting which echoes that found on musical scores, where the lettering accentuates the aesthetic composition of the page. The words flow into each other, almost dreamlike, where words would inflect on one other to form not only meaning but a textural beauty reminiscent of Arabic calligraphy. They form the background on which the art takes place (although the words and folded paper often combine) and include endless sketches and drawings, all in the same ballpoint pen with excursions in red as if words could drip out, becoming drawings that take a life of their own; amorphous.

Other artifacts such as cigarette packs and ashtrays with lingering butts, metaphors of human organs depicted with the meticulousness of a Dürer, are mostly exaggerated to a degree of vulgarity. Day to day domestic utensils, overscaled and amorphous hands and feet in a surrealist style reminiscent of Salvador Dali (announcing the visuals within Mike’s later plaster work), and even totem-like clay figures with a nearby book on Greek sculpture capturing goddesses in a contrapposto position encourage endless questions. Snakes as sexual fertility agents, preservatives, arabesques, and those now famous spaceships, do not allow the eye to rest.

Conclusion

In retrospect, and after much admiration and study, I still cannot define Mike’s work. It is overly complex in its multiple meanings. However, I have come to understand his oeuvre to be one of moral courage, where Mike was without inhibition able to pour his soul into each of his creations. This is true for any work of art, but in Mike’s case he confronts the viewer with a world of dreams and fantasies. Today, I would argue that more than ever, the content represented in his art is daring, provocative, and at times shocking for both conservative and progressive viewers. They indisputably conceal meanings, but the locus of Mike’s talent and freedom of expression was in his ability to create symbols with suggested meanings that only belonged to the viewer.

I had reached out to Mike to discuss many of the above thoughts, but life took him away too abruptly from an exceptional, unique, and daring autobiography of work.

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