To Have and To Hold?

By Nancy Wolsk

Below is an excerpt from the gallery artzine accompanying

the Morlan Gallery exhibit, ‘To Have and To Hold,’ written by

Nancy Wolsk, Professor of Art History at Transylvania

University. Reprinted with Wolsk’s permission.

In seventeenth-century Rome, the master painters Ludovico and

Agostino Carracci presided over a successful academy and frequently

collaborated on major commissions. The two formed a

strikingly successful partnership, yet Ludovico in a letter to his

cousin complained that his brother was “always looking for something

to find fault with” and that “his continuously taking poets,

writers, and courtiers onto the scaffolding (was)…the reason why

neither he nor anybody else ever did a thing.”1 The letter reveals

how two artists, bound by family and profession, lived a resentment-

filled life marred by fault finding and

jealousy. Certainly the myth of the saturnine

painter, prickly and critical, self-centered

and obsessed has lived on. And this

received myth made me wonder whether

artists who had promised “to have and to

hold” can, in fact, live happily ever after.

The artist couples whose work

appears in this Morlan Gallery exhibition

represent a splendid spectrum of personalities

and ways of working. This group of

Kentuckians includes Peter Bodnar III and

Lida Gordon from Louisville; Gary and

Elizabeth Mesa-Gaido from Morehead; and

Kate Sprengnether and Kurt Gohde, Diane

Kahlo and Steve Armstrong, and Sara and

Brian Turner from Lexington. Together, they

refute myths about artists married to artists.

All, as couples, seem to thrive in states of

domestic and artistic symbiosis. Living

together and often working side by side,

they critique each other’s work; discuss

ideas and images; share household chores

and studio spaces; and respect one another’s ways of working. No

two artists, however, claim, or wish to claim, joint ownership of a

single piece.

Four of the couples have studios with shared or adjoining

spaces—Kurt Gohde who often works large makes art in a university-

furnished studio on Transylvania’s campus; Kurt has built a studio

for Kate, who works small, at home. Sara and Brian, the graphic

artists who jointly own and operate Cricket Press [and designed

the exhibit poster, available for $10], simply work “all over the

house”—even “in the two bedrooms and garage.” Diane, a painter

who has a studio at Galerie Soleil in Lexington, finds herself “working

more and more” at home in what was once a bedroom; Steve’s

studio in which he makes animated carved sculpture spreads out

nearby in a two-story attached garage. Lida, a fiber artist and photographer,

and Peter, a painter and printmaker, have built a generous,

two-story studio on their farm; each has a large square space

connected by an open entry hall, a loft above houses materials and

equipment. Similarly, the Mesa-Gaidos work in a space designed

as a studio: Elizabeth, a sculptor and installation artist, works on

the main floor; Gary, once a painter and now engaged in digital

photography, occupies the loft. Like the Bodnar/Gordon studio, the

whole is open so that they can confer. As with the others, talking

becomes a critical element in making art.

All of the artists are comfortable as they discuss their own

and each other’s work. They often answer for the other and finish

each other’s sentences; they delight in their differences as they

comfortably talk about their “stuff.”

For every pair of artists, talk ranges from

working methods to final products. Steve—on

his work space—declared, “I like to have my

studio organized…I hate losing things.”

Diane responded, “I’m the worst”—she has a

more casual approach to order. She added,

“We need a wife.”

Are there tensions? Of course. Work

goes badly. Dispositions wobble. In their partnership

at Cricket Press, Brian is often seen

as the artist and Sara as the office help. This

vexes them both. Gary and Elizabeth concur

that criticism from the other means more time

at the drawing board. And there is never

enough time. “Art is time,” Sara said. “The

most significant thing is time.”

In the end, could any of the pairs actually

design a piece together? As a case in point,

Andrea Fisher, director of the gallery, asked

each artist to design a tattoo for the show.

Gary and Elizabeth decided to work on a single

design. They argued—Gary wanted color,

Elizabeth said no. Kurt had briefly forgotten

about the tattoo. “Kate,” he said, “might be best to draw the thing;

our lines wouldn’t work together. We might have to do two, one for

your right arm and one for your left.”

—Nancy Coleman Wolsk

Professor of Art History at Transylvania University

1Carlo Malvasia, Felsina Pittrice…” quoted in Rudolf and

Margot Wittkower, Born Under Saturn (New York: Norton, 1963) 245.