President’s Message – July 2025

Challenging ourselves. Challenging each other. Being willing to ask questions and then ask again, probing to understand more deeply. This curiousness and questing have been part of art-making since time immemorial. What is our art saying – or trying to say?

The recent member gathering at Ken Zell’s place near Forest Park last month was a beautiful example of this practice in motion.

At Flea Zorkus, Ken’s work reverberates with bright colors and a sense of whimsey. His pieces are approachable. Joyful, even. But it doesn’t take long to figure out there are larger themes at play.

Ken is deeply intellectual – a life-long student with a strong core of spirituality. He speaks passionately about science and spirituality being compatible, talking through details of quantum physics and theism nearly in the same breathe.

Can he fully explain his work? Not really. He can walk through why he made each piece. He talks of being compelled to make the creative decisions he made. Of being driven to constantly move forward with his work. Of having a BIG vision for additional creations, and the ticking clock of mortality. Of wondering if he’s going to live another 20 years and be able to make his vision real. There’s a palpable sense of concern behind the enthusiasm and hope.

One of Ken’s pieces is a dental chair – part history, part surrealism. It cries out to be sat in.

But I can say from experience, that chair is not comfortable. Even as the gloriously polished walnut armrests drew my admiration, the seat and headrest dug in as if saying “Do you REALLY want to be here?”

 

It is easier not to get into the chair. It is easier to focus on what’s playful and bright – especially in times of turmoil in the “real world”. It is easier not to ask uncomfortable questions – even of ourselves. It was a relief to be helped out of the seat and move on to the seemingly playful “Incarcerated Carrots,” which I love to a degree that puzzles me.

After touring Ken’s space, we settled into food and conversation. Topics ranged from the “No Kings” march earlier that day to depression’s effect on art. Someone described Ken’s work as capturing silliness. He responded strongly, “No – that’s not right.” Forks paused on the way to mouths as we wondered if Ken would take offense. What followed was a gracious, thoughtful discussion of silliness, whimsey and joy in sculpture. Of the seriousness underlying works like his Bunny Church.

I relish conversations like this, that are personal and sensitive and based on a shared desire for understanding and being understood. No aggression. No raised fists, or even raised voices. Instead, listening. Questions. Listening. Questions.

As our time together ended, we gathered up the trash and extra napkins. We thanked our host, over and over. Slowly wandered to our cars, reluctantly letting go of the experience, leaving with hugs and full minds.

If you are still reading this meandering missive, I hope you’ll join us for the July studio visit and share the adventure. We’ll be at Bill Leigh’s glorious house on Saturday afternoon at 3 p.m., July 19th. And whether we see you there or not, I hope you let your art make you uncomfortable. I hope you ask questions. I hope you give wrong answers, then adjust as you have that “Oh!” realization.

In short, I hope you decide to sit in the chair.

Until next time,

Leslie Crist