Comments on the work of John Runnels by David Rigsby

 

I came upon the work of John Runnels quite by accident in the spring of 1995. I had stumbled into the Mother Dog Studios in the bowels of downtown Houston, looking for studio space myself. Over a period of six years, I had the opportunity to learn more about the extent and scope of this artist's journey. Being said that I have a relatively extensive background in art, I feel his work to be the most important work I have come across in my lifetime. That is a leap, to make such a statement, because his work is not widely known, but has the depth and breadth not often seen in contemporary art.

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Like the work of Bonnard and Balthus before him, this artist has courageously delved into the most complex and intimate perplexities of life as a human. He has sought out the most beautiful and difficult subjects available, going where others would not risk, he has probed the depths of our joy, ecstasy, fear, torture. He has allowed us to look more honestly than any other at ourselves. Because he uses photography as the basis for his work, he even delves into the nature of our own image. Many issues go all the way back to ancient, indigenous thought about the power of the image and our right to look.

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The artist functions as a mirror for the psyche, showing the very nature of its origin. Mr. Runnels has taken us to those very private, most precious and preserved parts of ourselves, to rethink our own relationship to experience of body. He tweaks the nature of memory, sensory interpretation, cultural brainwashing and primal response. To take this artist lightly or confuse or dismiss his work as some sort of salacious expose is to miss the very power and nature of his imagination and investigations. His very poetic interpretation of our mating rituals, our ritualized thought on creation and birth and our complex psychological view of our own bodies is both remarkable, tender and profound. Like Leonardo da Vinci, creating an anatomical drawing of coitus, Mr. Runnels takes us inside the private, personal world of relationship.

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He has tenaciously sought models who were friends and trusted allies, who would allow him to document those most powerful moments of everyday life that cement us all in a deeper reverence for life. It would be a crime to rob us of the opportunity to see depicted those deep, monumental moments of daily life, as bathing, nurturing and loving, especially through the eyes of an honest, poetic, poignant artist. The joy of our children's small miraculous bodies, as they freely move from bath to bed. The joy of honesty and freedom allowed within a healthy home. Even the opportunity to see the sadness of a dysfunctional home of shame and distortion where interaction around natural functions of pairing, mating and discovery, are tinged with unspoken fear and secrecy, where the very sickness of our culture finally manifests itself. The way we snuggle and love in the privacy of our own homes. The way we were meant to be, before a financial system kidnapped and systematically dictated our image and memory of life in a human body. It is the artist who has saved our image and our soul for us. The artist gives us the only true and beautiful look at our physical life in this world. He allows us to retrieve some moments of holiness from a surface, superficiality that we have been trained to accept as our experience.

In a culture where children, in order to adapt and live are shamed about their own very nature, their sexuality and their sensuality, from almost infancy on, along comes an artist who shines the light of truth and beauty on us. To be suspect about the nature of his work, is only project this said state of mind upon his beautiful images. In a culture where every aspect of life, the most basic and valuable, are distorted and manipulated for the sake of commercial gain, we can use images of young girls scantily covered to sell anything. We are legally and morally sanctioned if we go to the public beach covering the smallest part of the body, only accentuating the exploitation of our bodies. We have created a culture of artificiality, where we are not worthy without artificial augmentation. We are daily bombarded with images that convince us we are not worthy. No where is there an image that says the body is beautiful in its natural state with the flaws and scars and imperfections that carve the tale of our own courageous sagas as human beings.

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Then, if you are fortunate enough, you will come across the one in a million artist such as John Runnels and for a brief minute you will glimpse your own true magnificence, your miracle of miracles your life in a human body. Your life will be transformed as you see, all you have been taught or indoctrinated to believe was the most detrimental view you could know about why and how you happen to be here. To mistake his work for anything else is a real tragedy. I hope the world will come to know the depth and breath of his life's work. He can liberate one from this tyranny if we open our eyes and our hearts to his message. If there is hope for the future it is in the acceptance of the beauty of a whole life where all humans know and respect this journey in its completeness, without censorship and fear. In this such a world there will be no market for exploitation and pornography because there will no longer be a need for it.​​

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A Sacred Place

by Sara Katherine Runnels, 2005

 

There are certain places we encounter that possess a powerful comfort and maintain a sacred value in our life. I have held many of these places close to my heart, but one that signifies who I am today is my fatherʼs art studio. In this extraordinary place, I discovered my own creativity, developed a sense of character and tasted my first bite of culture. The massive warehouse where I spent endless childhood days became a playground, library, gallery and a dwelling for my imagination. The atmosphere instilled in me an open mind, a rare appreciation of the art world and everlasting memories; the essence of my childhood can literally be found on the walls of the studio.

 

My father has been immersed in the art world for his entire life. He has studied, taught and created art, and his passion has effortlessly fallen upon me. Though I do not frequently express my creative desires, I still have an enthusiastic respect for anyone who does. My father has been fulfilling his dreams in downtown Houston for almost twenty years at “Mother Dog Studios.” The two-story warehouse is almost enchanting. It is equipped with eccentric sculptures out in front and aluminum siding that wraps the exterior, which makes quite the urban setting. My favorite place was the “Lizard Room,” appropriately named for its reptile inhabitants, where my dad and I would sit for hours with the large garage door open and eat lunch or watch the rain. We attempted to catch little creatures that crossed our path and played all sorts of entertaining games. On clear nights, weʼd take the little secret door that exited onto the roof and lay on our backs all night looking at the stars. My Dad would teach me all the names and locations of the constellations, but I regret not paying more attention to his knowledgeable lectures.

 

My earliest memories in the studio reflect the 22,000 square foot warehouse as the ultimate sports arena. The various wide halls, ramps and good places to hide gave me the freedom to run around without caution. I would ride in and out of studio spaces and pedal furiously through the hallways on my purple bike, complete with training wheels. The same course was traveled in roller skates, speeding down the ramps in classic four-wheelers. Flying through the air on the rope swing was the most exhilarating activity. My friends and I took turns pushing each other on the thick rope that hung from a sturdy ceiling beam. The studio could fulfill any childʼs wildest dream!

 

In the studio, I was able to freely create and design with plentiful resources at my disposal. From picture books to poetry and dollhouses, my dad taught me the concept of placing my thoughts and feelings into visual representations. Without a doubt, I drew, painted and sculpted more than any child I ever knew. I spent hours glued to my little wooden chair creating masterpieces at my own personal desk. My fatherʼs creative flexibility gave me exclusive access to every artistic tool imaginable: paintbrushes, markers, pencils, stamps and an endless supply of paper were at my very fingertips.

 

I also had the opportunity to interact with interesting people I might not have come in contact with otherwise. I was excited to talk to reporters who came to interview my dad for upcoming shows and events. I always added in a cute quote, making me feel just as important. In a picture adjacent to one of the articles, we are seated together in the studio, and I am appropriately sporting an oversized Mother Dog tee shirt and my favorite roller skates. Openings were another highlight of the studio experience. My Mother and I looked forward to getting all dressed up and taking pride in knowing the famous artist John Runnels. During the shows, I was inspired to sell some of my own work to those who found my attempt quite adorable. Sometimes I think my dad felt more joy in showing off his daughter rather than his work.

 

The most sacred part of my dadʼs studio space was the wall above my desk where he displayed all my artwork. It was my own personal gallery, and at all the openings he made sure the guests saw that I was also artistically inclined. He even kept drafts of work that I had crumpled up and tossed aside. I was not the best artist, but I learned that art embraced expression rather than accuracy. My work still hangs on that wall today. Though it has not been added to in many years, it remains a constant reminder of my childhood.

 

Music and literature were also an important part of my Mother Dog experience. My father had shelves stuffed with thousands of books and records that he had collected throughout his lifetime. We would sit upstairs in the music room and listen to the Beatles, Elvis or Disney soundtracks, and even turn up the volume so we could be inspired while we made our artwork. My dadʼs personal library contained a diverse assortment and I believe my passion for writing and reading undoubtedly developed out of his collection of books. Though many titles were art centered, I always found something that triggered my interest.

 

As I grew older, my days at the studio became numbered. I grew increasingly fixated on fitting-in rather than cherishing and nurturing the unique upbringing my father provided me with. I completely denied that the studio had any real importance in my life. I was embarrassed that my father was not part of corporate America, and I knew my friends were not capable of appreciating Art, so I participated in the rejection of the extraordinary. It was not until the end of high school that I completely realized my beliefs, words and actions were reflective of all the memories at Mother Dog. Though I grew up in a home that was very accepting and open minded, the studio furthered my liberal ideology. I enjoy attending my fatherʼs openings more than ever and now he takes even more pride in introducing his daughter.

 

Mother Dog Studios is more than just a place to me. It is a key ingredient in my attitude and an important foundation of my childhood. Because of its influence, I believe I am well rounded, cultured and able to see things from others' perspectives. Through the years at the studio, I formed an incredible relationship with my dad that has continued to flourish. The studio has taken on an entirely new meaning, and I have learned that itʼs okay to do what you love, even if that means not living in luxury. I have a sincere appreciation for art and I could not have asked for a more stimulating childhood.