Narrative
580 2nd St
Oakland
Many eyes twinkled at me, refracting their rich gemmed hues onto the wall beneath. They looked heavy together, but light individually, their frames a lustrous gold — but are they metal? I guessed not, but the simple description on the tag— “acrylic and mixed media/ wall relief” — offered few clues. I searched high and low, looking more than odd to the staff I’m sure, for the promised signature, but came up empty. A quick Google confirmed that the signature is, in fact, on the wall facing back of the hanging.
The piece, Untitled, made in 2006 by artist James D Horstman, hangs at the edge of a packed wall of art, itself one of many, many inside Narrative in Jack London, a pristinely curated vintage home goods galleria, newly expanded.
Narrative itself is more art-filled than many galleries. If you have the ability to look past approximately four thousand other items in close proximity — all beautiful, of course — you can choose your own adventure, in shopping or artistic inspection. In their new space, huge open rooms with stories-high ceilings, the quantity of items is staggering. More MCM furniture, funky original vintage (often Bay Area) fine art and craft, coffee table books, and handmade ceramics than you could take in in a week, artfully crammed together in still lives, asking to be touched, lingered upon.
As you may have guessed, I’m into craft and the beauty of everyday items, and think there need be no line between form and function. Why can’t we have both?
After a sweeping glance around the building, with brief pit stops at some compelling faces, I landed on Untitled, wanting to give this one object the entirety of my attention.
Peering closely and taking more cell phone photos than was perhaps polite, I crouched and bent and considered. The acrylic-filled panes — were they scales? Eyes? Feathers? Shingles? Something else entirely? Resinous bulbs, plastic crystals, beaded the half-mooned top, trickling into the tigers eye, opalized, mother-of-pearl lenses. A few deep sea creatures, or tide-pool urchins, peered back. Further down, clear algal green forms nestled with citrine and gold, green chartreuse and more iridescent abalone look-alikes. A few winked at me, crinkled cellophane in a shallow bath.
With the crusting of “gems” atop dripping on to rounded petals and those bleeding into a droopier, more tear-shaped form at the base, a slight drooping, Dali effect oozed out. The bottom petals less energized, wilting, made the rounder bits stand at attention, perky, expectant. From below, I spied the back end of a scarab, insectile and jewel-toned.
Those gold framings, covered in drips of clear thick glue, popped out in odd places, coming apart. I have to wonder if they began that way or if it is a result of age and handling, but as a deeply imperfect recovering perfectionist, I always enjoy small, repeated marks of human error or signs of wear. In search of background on the artist and piece I found several listings for the hanging, but none on the maker. In place there are a number of links about a younger, more emo James D(aniel) Horstman, who began making art in and of Appalachia in 2017. Not our man. But the broken frames are featured in all auction photos, so they didn’t happen en route to its current home, we know that much.
I left with many more questions than I’d expected. What were the fastenings? Were those pulled edges intentional? Was it resin? What was it dyed with? Were the panes each cast, cut, molded? What kind of glue is coating it and what does the understructure look like? The $650 price tag may be out my budget, but feels reasonable for the size and intricacy. I mean, how else do you display your love of melted poolside plastic glassware in a tasteful manner or preserve your crushed glass mancala stones?
Narrative is open daily from 11 – 7. The Grand Gallery is open Tuesday-Sunday from 11 – 5.
