Transformative Portal: The Paintings of William Allen

By F. Josephine Arrowood
Sun contributor
Leelanau County artist William Allen has been known both locally and nationally as a metal sculptor, with works included in permanent collections as diverse as the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore, the University of Florida, the Detroit Zoo, Crystal Mountain’s Art Park and the collection of Jeopardy’s Alex Trebek. Yet in recent years, Bill has pursued a quite different and colorful medium, which initially “shocked the hell out of” his wife of 17 years, and which is creating a sensation among artists and art lovers who have heard the rumors and come to see for themselves. Over 400 abstract paintings of all sizes stack against the walls of his studio near the northern end of the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, and 25 of these have been chosen to appear in Glen Arbor’s Center Gallery at Lake Street Studios from July 7 to 13.

The self-taught artist’s reputation as a sculptor of metal animals — flawlessly executed, realistic in detail, and often life-sized — was honed in northern Michigan for over 20 years. But even as commissions, awards and patron demand for these works grew, he began to experience the dissatisfaction that can spiral an artist down into a creative void.
“I was desperate to try something different,” than the animals, he explains, which despite being a major source of income, had begun to feel like a burden. With his wife Nancy Krcek Allen, a well-known chef, educator and writer (who pens a recipe series for the Glen Arbor Sun), Bill decamped for New York in 1996, seeking the creative fire that would reignite his artistic passion.
“In New York, I began moving away from replicating animals to more abstract, stylized sculptural forms,” he says, gesturing toward an array of primeval figures, which radiate a raw vitality and fierceness that the earlier works, though beautiful, don’t possess. He credits the reawakening of his artistic spirit during this period to several factors.
“Living in New York was very stressful in some ways,” he comments. But one positive influence was the Outsider Art movement, which Bill embraces for its “fearless energy.” He found this personified in his art studio partner, Bryant, who “was very much an outsider artist and musician. He had so much creative energy — all that mattered was to be able to express it,” Bill says admiringly. He also immersed himself in works created by other, so-called primitive cultures. “I used to go to the Met [Metropolitan Museum of Art] a lot. My favorite places were the Oceanic and African art sections.” Another major artistic influence was 20th century modern art, especially that of Picasso.
After four years in the metropolis, the Allens were more than ready to return to a quieter life in Leelanau. However, Bill had been home less than a week when he learned that his mother, a retired university professor, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. For the next year, he did little with art, choosing instead to spend as much time as he could with his mother in Indiana during her final illness.
This descent into the underworld affected Bill profoundly as an artist. He found that he needed a more urgent expression than metal, for the complex feelings and images engendered by his mother’s death, and turned to quick-drying acrylic paint on wood as a medium. These first works were primarily in monochromatic shades of gray, white and sooty blacks, which he achieved by using his acetylene-welding torch like an airbrush. Many pieces depict human figures, some wraithlike, others more skeletal, in poignant, moody interaction within spare, haunting landscapes. One very early, large piece, of tall dark figures with upraised arms against a swirling, light-filled tunnel, clearly shows the confluence of the earlier New York sculptures with the newer, more immediate mode of artistic communication.
Over time, the dusky, shadowy tones of his work began to carry small, hopeful glimmers of greens and reds, as late winter landscapes must finally surrender to the first tentative signs of spring. Inevitably, these too have given way to the joyous demands of life in all its chaos and vitality, taking on lush forms that the viewer perceives as thrusting plants, flying bats, swirling leaves, and yes, even the suggestive forms of the animals Bills once loved to create from metal.
Current paintings are jazz-like, kinetic bolts of yellows, blues, oranges and reds punctured with black exclamations. Sharp gouges pierce the paint to score the wood underlay, and many works incorporate peat moss or sand that Bill collected in Utah several years ago to provide texture and visual depth. He frequently uses his hands to manipulate the olio of materials, with results that often please, surprise and encourage his artistic exploration. He rarely reworks a finished piece, but lets it stand as a lively testament to whatever moment he was in at the time of its creation.
Unlike many artists, Bill is not overly attached to one fixed interpretation of a piece. In fact, his openness to a dialogue between himself and the viewer extends even to an artwork’s orientation on the wall. Holding a painting, he rotates it several ways before deciding that maybe it could hang a certain way.
“I like people to take their own story; it gets wheels turning, gets people communicating,” he says. He then shows a large painting in which one person — a minister — had seen Noah’s Ark, as well as an ethereal dove figure and a gun. Indeed, once pointed out by the artist, these forms become visible. “Others see what they want, which I like!” he exclaims.
However, this extraordinary receptivity to his audience doesn’t impede his own impulses.
”It’s very important for people to see and respond — that’s the second half of the whole process,” of creating art. ”Of course, you want to be accepted and liked by others, but that can’t be the motivation for what I do,” he continues. His is the deeply felt need to create, to play — not simply with the ungoverned impulses of a child, but with a strong awareness of adult complexities and issues that life inevitably brings, including not only death as loss, but birth, metaphor and ultimately, transformation.
Bill’s studio is a quick commute from the home he and Nancy built, and he considers it a necessary refuge from the distractions of daily routines. “I have to have a really simple life, otherwise I couldn’t do this,” he comments. “When I’m in play mode, I have to be able to go into it,” for long periods of time. He finds that winter’s slower pace is more conducive to getting work done. “Summers are always busier, but even if I’m not seriously pursuing a painting, I’ll still put in a couple of hours to keep it going.”
His wife Nancy is “completely supportive of my work. She knows what creativity is, and understands how important that is to me.” The couple share a deeply creative spirit, and allow each other the space to craft their separate disciplines, though both work primarily at home. Later, Nancy concludes, “I always knew what his work meant to him, and I’ve always respected and loved him for that. He’s a great role model for me. He’s so dedicated to working as an artist. He’s never wavered from that purpose.”
William Allen’s sculptural work is represented in northern Michigan by Main Street Gallery, Leland, 231/256-7787. Bill’s website, which features many of his paintings through 2004, is www.wmallensculpture.com. Bill’s opening reception at Center Gallery at Lake Street Studios in Glen Arbor is Friday, July 7, from 6-9pm.