Twice a year for the last several years, sculptor Vernon Willits has made the trip from his home in Davenport, Iowa, to the Judy Saslow Gallery on Superior Street. He drives the 180 miles in a pickup truck loaded with artwork.
Saslow is a fan of Angel’s sculptures, and so are her customers. “People are responding very well to a variety of his works, and I’m delighted,” she says. “He’s been one of our more popular artists.” So popular that Saslow gave Angel his first one-man show in the fall of 1997, a year after she became his exclusive midwest dealer. She regularly displays his work in group exhibits as well as at the annual Outsider Art Fair in New York. Three works by Angel are included in “Outsider and Folk Art From Chicago Collections,” a 154-piece exhibit currently at the Terra Museum of American Art. The show is a slimmed-down version of a 1998 exhibit put together by the Halle Saint Pierre in Paris. Of the 50 artists in the show Angel is the only one listed as “homeless.”
Artists have long had business agents, but in the outsider art field the agent carries an added burden. Many outsider artists live on society’s margins, either by choice or necessity. Many come from rural areas and have experienced poverty. Some are illiterate or mentally ill. The terms “folk” and “outsider” are often used interchangeably. But compared to folk artists, outsiders make intensely personal work that owes less of a debt to tradition. The outsider art market has been a magnet for charges of exploitation, stories of agents and dealers making money off artists at a disadvantage. One well-known story involved Thornton Dial Sr., a black artist and former steelworker from Bessemer, Alabama. In the early 90s his mixed-media paintings commanded up to $90,000.
Saslow, who has received thank-you notes from Angel, thinks his behavior isn’t all that unusual for an outsider artist. “It was crystal clear from the beginning that privacy was required, and it’s important to honor his decision to be private,” she says. “That kind of privacy comes with the territory–it’s part of the deal. If you love the art, you accept the terms of that. I just try to enjoy the finished product and try not to ask any questions. If I ask too many questions, I spoil the relationship. I respect it, not just for business reasons but also because I don’t want to betray any trust or confidence. It wouldn’t be fair.
Clyde Angel is not a blue-chip name in the outsider art market. He isn’t even considered an up-and-comer, at least not yet. His work isn’t widely shown or highly sought after. He’s not in the same league as, say, Dial or Traylor, the former Alabama slave who began to draw at the age of 85 (Traylor died at 93, in 1949). Artists like Dial and Traylor–or Howard Finster, Mose Tolliver, and Martin Ramirez, to name a few others–are recognized masters whose work can sell for tens of thousands of dollars.
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In Chicago, Angel doesn’t rank with homegrown legends Henry Darger, the hospital janitor and epic storyteller; Lee Godie, the bag lady and street sketcher; and Joseph Yoakum, who drew imaginary landscapes at God’s command (Yoakum died in 1972 and had a one-man show at the Art Institute 23 years later). Angel’s name doesn’t come up in discussions of current outsiders, such as Mr. Imagination (Gregory Warmack), Derek Webster, and David Philpot. But Angel’s presence in the city’s private collections has brought him a measure of visibility: his work was not only included in the Halle Saint Pierre show in Paris but in “Outsider Art: An Exploration of Chicago Collections,” a 1996 exhibit at the Chicago Cultural Center.
Enough interest had been generated by 1996 for Angel to be included in the 181-artist encyclopedia Contemporary American Folk Art: A Collector’s Guide, by Chuck and Jan Rosenak. It is perhaps Angel’s biggest claim to fame and represents something of a career-validating coup. He merits a half page of text, right at the head of the midwest section, along with a color photograph of an artwork. His entry consists of a brief bio and “tips” for collectors. Of the artists still alive, he’s the only one without a permanent address. “The assemblages of this artist are slightly reminiscent of the welded ‘junk art’ popular in mainstream art circles during the 1960s and 1970s,” the Rosenaks write. “The sensibility and motivation of this artist, however, is uniquely different.”
