Lou Beach, a longtime friend of DART, has left the illustration business for an illustrious career as a collage artist. The recent recipient of a Krasner-Pollack Foundation Grant, Beach has graciously agreed to respond to the Q&A. If you disagree with what he says, you may tell him to his face on April 16^th, at the opening of his forthcoming show at Craig Krull Gallery, in Santa Monica.

Q: Originally from [where?] what are some of your favorite things about living and working in Los Angeles?

A: I was born in 1947 in Florida where my parents were circus performers. I was reading at 18 months and mastered the high-wire and fire-eating while in grade school; knew all about monkeys. Having grown up in Rochester, New York and living in Boston for several years, I am particularly fond of California’s lack of snow storms and icy roads. LA is a big, often ugly, sprawling place, but after being here for over 40 years, I’m beginning to know my way around. I have friends here, a large back yard that is a sanctuary, a quiet place of birds and blossoms, cacti and succulents. The mountains, desert and ocean are all nearby as well, if you like that sort of thing. My studio sits atop an ancient power place and the emanations rise up from below the surface, then through the concrete floor and into my pink, yet manly feet.

Q: Do you keep a sketchbook? What is the balance between the art you create on paper versus in the computer?

A: Nope, it’s been years since I kept a sketchbook. The computer is mainly an illustration tool and I hardly get assignments anymore. I still use if for some gag art I put up on your social media. I’ve been back at hand crafted collages for several years now, showing in galleries and selling to collectors. It’s a joy and challenge and keeps me engaged, flooding the market with delirious yet deeply meaningful eyecandy.

Q: What is the most important item in your studio?

A: My brain—kept in an old bell jar and dragged out when necessary, it glows in the dark and whines like a baby. Other than that—what you’d expect from a collage artist—my blades and scissors, glues, tapes and cutting mat and mountains of scrap material. I am particularly fond of my worktable, which I designed and had built by an old craftsman from Mexico City. We spent weeks together while he also constructed the built-in cabinets and shelving, communicating in broken Spanish (mine) and rudimentary English (also mine). The table is 40” x 80”, covered in galvanized steel. It has drawers and is high enough for me to stand at and work comfortably, creating masterpieces beloved the world over.

Q: What do you like best about your workspace?

A: It's part of the house, so I don’t have to leave to go to work. I’ve had storefront studios and there is something to be said for that, but I like being able to come into the studio at any time and look at what’s on the table. I can take a break and walk the dog or sit on the patio and just look at the trees and sky and rejuvenate. It is a few steps from our bedroom, through a doorway, so I can work in my pajamas, or naked, depending on the season and the tolerance of visitors.

Do you think it needs improvement, if so, what would you change?

A: No, I love it the way it is. All improvements would be internal, within myself.  Courage! Humility! Thrift!

Q: How do you know when the art is finished?

A: When it has exhausted me.

Q: What was your favorite book as a child?

A: Freddy the Pig, Penrod, Call of the Wild, and Remembrance of Things Past.

Q: What is the best book you’ve recently read?

A: Angels by Denis Johnson. It’s one of his older books, but I just got around to it. He’s a favorite author, one among many. A few more: Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Fun With Problems, Paris Trout.

Q: If you had to choose one medium to work in for an entire year, eliminating all others, what medium would you choose?

A: Tar and feathers. Oh wait—I’m thinking of someone who’s running for President. Hey, I’m a collage artist, so you know—collage.

Q: If you could time travel to any era, any place, where would you go?

A: I suppose it might be fun to hang out with the Surrealists, or with Goya, or the Renaissance painters, but not with cave dwellers. Frankly I’m content to live in my own time, watch the tragicomedy unfold. I mean, were I to go back in time would I have to wear clothes of the period, eat the food, speak the language? Would others see me in my Red Sox cap and jeans, freak out and chase me through the village with blazing torches and force me into hiding? Would I meet a beautiful maiden who would secure me in the basement of the church on the hill, then blackmail me into marrying her? Would I leave the 21st century behind and become a cobbler and father a dozen children? Better to be a fly on the wall with a return ticket, perhaps.

Q: What was the worst assignment you have ever taken? What did you take away from the experience?

A: They’ve all been terrible—the humiliation of working for someone else, the revisions, the lurid innuendos, the lack of health care, the constant cocktail parties where art directors demand I bring them a fresh PBR, the fawning doped-up interns, the evil looks, the whispers, the lies. I took away some cash, office supplies and realized that I should have gone to law school. Too late, too late.

Q: What are some of your favorite places/books/blogs/websites for inspiration?

A: This is not the kind of information I give away for free. Please call to discuss (not before 9 a.m ). All reasonable offers considered. 

Q: What was the [Thunderbolt] painting or drawing or film or otherwise that most affected your approach to art? 

A: Watching the Ernie Kovacks Show as a kid and reading about criminals.

Q: What would be your last supper?

A: Apple pie, or pie with other fruit that is in season. I would want my friends to surround me and weep and gnash their teeth about their great loss. Then I’d jump out of bed and say: “Hey! Just kidding!” and servants would bring more pie and drinks and the musicians would play and we would dance and laugh and sing then all die together as the world shudders and crumbles into a flaming pit.

The son of Polish parents displaced by World War II, Beach (born Andrzej Lubicz-Ledóchowski) travelled to California in 1968, began studying the Surrealists, and started making collages from LIFE Magazine. In the mid-'70s, he served as a sexton at Arlington St. Church in Boston and had his first solo exhibition at the Boston Center for the Arts. He then returned to L.A., where he built a long career creating record album covers and illustrating magazine and newspaper editorials. Beach now focuses on his collages, which art critic Peter Frank describes as "sweetly uproarious orgasms of juxtaposition." Terry Gilliam, film director, flatly declares, Beach is "the greatest collage artist on the planet." His witty and provocative work can be compared to the robust oddities of Hannah Höch, the incisive critiques of John Heartfield and the curious fantasies of Joseph Cornell.

Websites: www.loubeachart.com, loubeach.com, and 420characters.net (audio does not play in Chrome, however). On Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. 

Recent recipient of a prestigious Pollock-Krasner grant. A show of new collages opens at Craig Krull Gallery in Santa Monica on April 16. Also a Fall solo exhibit in San Francisco at Jack Fischer Gallery.