Www.douglassimonson.com

Hawaii-based artist Douglas Simonson has been painting male nudes in tropical settings for 30 years. It's been 18 years since he last published a book, 1989's Islanders. He also publishes an annual calendar and his paintings, drawing, watercolors and prints are collected around the world.

Although Simonson paints in a variety of styles, his frequent use of models of indigenous ethic ancestry, brilliant colors and lush tropical or ocean settings is highly reminiscent of the post-impressionist works of Gauguin.

Now Simonson has a new book, brush & camera: the photographic image as inspiration ($45 pap. or a deluxe hardcover limited edition of 200 copies, signed and numbered by the artist for $175). In brush & camera, Simonson juxtaposes finished art works with the original photographs of the models on which the works are based. In some examples, the transformation is nearly literal; in others, the artist modifies the light, the background or the mood for a more dramatic effect.

With 144 full-color, glossy pages, brush & camera will provide ample visual and esthetic rewards, in addition to fully candid looks at the models behind the images. The paperback version is available at amazon.com and both versions of the book can be ordered directly from Simonson's Web site and online gallery, www.douglassimonson.com.


What attracted you to Hawaii?
Well, the weather obviously. I grew up in Nebraska and from the time I was old enough to have a sense of where in the world I was, I knew I didn't belong there. Everything I read or heard about Hawaii made me think, Ah, that's where I belong! It wasn't just the weather — there was some indefinable magic I sensed. Anyway, I was actually making plans to move to Hawaii when I was 8 years old. Didn't get around to actually moving until I was 19, though.

Nebraska is a pretty wide-open place. Do you ever experience claustrophobia or "island fever" living in Hawaii? Do you spend much time away from Hawaii?
There's a thing called "Rock Fever" which often hits mainland transplants after moving to Hawaii. It's a feeling of "I've gotta get off this rock!" What usually happens — and happened to me — is you escape, go back to the mainland, and almost immediately realize what a mistake you made. You go right back to Hawaii and are never bothered by rock fever again. But yes, I do travel a lot and I like getting off the island frequently, but I'm always glad to get back home again.

You paint and draw in many different styles. Do you have a favorite? Do your collectors favor one over the others?
My favorite style is the one I'm using at the moment. Whatever that might be. I never know what's going to come out of me next. You thought I have some control over this? Nope. My job is just to draw, draw, draw so I'm warmed up and have the requisite amount of technical expertise so that when inspiration strikes, I'm ready to let whatever is flowing, flow through me.

As for collectors favoring one style over another, I'm lucky in that I have lots of collectors with varying tastes, and there's always someone who likes whatever I've just produced.

How do you find models?
Occasionally I find models by chance — at a party, at a bar, at the beach — but more often it's an actual search. When I go to Brazil, for instance, I usually have a talent scout working for me, and we often canvass the local beaches and saunas, looking for talent. Then we schedule interviews and see who shows up.

This is important because often guys will be very enthusiastic and swear they're dying to do this. So we set up the appointment, then we never see them again. When a potential model actually does show up, we have at least a chance they'll actually show up for the photo shoot itself.

When I was 17-18, I posed for an openly gay painter who was 35 and a lot of my friends (and my parents) thought there must be something wrong about a guy who wanted to paint and photograph guys so much younger. You and I are older than 35, but your models are still very young. Is there an 'ick' factor in recruiting models? Are they or others suspicious, or does your reputation precede you? Does a model have to be 18 to pose nude?
There are always people whose fears of their own feelings lead them to condemn and judge others. If I worried about people's reactions to what I do and to my work, I would have been stopped in my tracks a long time ago. Those people's opinions have a lot to do with their own fears and prejudices — and pretty much zero to do with me — so I don't pay much attention. Except to wish for them the courage and clarity to let go of their fears.

I don't know the laws/regulations specifically, but for me a model must be 18 to pose nude.

What are the pros & cons of using experienced versus inexperienced models?
With inexperienced models you usually have to provide a lot of direction, and it takes patience and trust-building to get them to relax. But you're often rewarded with a freshness and spontaneity that's more than worth it. More experienced models often require a different kind of patience, meaning you have to get them past their stock poses and into a more relaxed, open, unaffected attitude. Remember that my goal is always to get something real and fresh, rather than just a pretty or graceful pose.

Describe a typical work week for you.
I try to paint or draw in the mornings. Afternoons are for physical things, like surfing, working out, running or some other sport. Some evenings I work, other evenings are for socializing. That's my routine most days, whatever day of the week it is.

The artists you cite as influences — Velázquez, Gauguin, Modigliani — did not have the ability to mass-produce their works. While the economic advantages of mass production are obvious, does it rob an original work of its integrity? Why would a collector/investor want to own a work that hundreds of other people own? Do you ever create a one-of-a-kind original and not sell reproductions?
I can see no way in which producing prints or posters of an original work compromises its integrity or value. Quite the opposite! The value of a work of art has much to do with how widely it is appreciated. The Mona Lisa, for instance, is one of the most widely reproduced art images in history, and it doesn't seem to have diminished its value or its "integrity"!

When I make a print or poster of one of my original works, it means several hundred (or even several thousand) collectors can own the image, instead of just one. And if the collector has been able to acquire an authorized limited-edition reproduction, signed and numbered by the artist, he becomes the owner of the closest available approximation of the original work — close enough that the artist himself is willing to sign off on it. But whether it's an authorized limited edition, or just a poster, every single person who buys a reproduction of that image is saying, in the frankest way possible, "I wish I could own the original work." This is one of the most basic ways a work of art appreciates, by becoming more and more widely appreciated.

In some of your work, you can't recognize who the models are when you have finished painting them. Is there a rule that says your painting must look like its inspiration? How do the models themselves feel about the way they look in your finished works? Are contemporary audiences too conditioned by cameras?
This has to do with the artist's intention. If I were doing a portrait commission (which I used to do), then part of my job is making the finished product look like the person I'm portraying. But I'm not painting portraits, I'm making paintings, each of which has its own intention and context. Sometimes my goal is to make the work of art look like reality — more or less photographic. Other times I want to say something else, and I often do it by distorting the visual reality.

Speaking of cameras, your new book, brush & camera, is almost a visual essay on the concept of abstraction. As an artist, how and when do you decide whether a new work will be realistic or abstract. Are you trying to "say" something different by using different degrees of realism.
Strictly speaking, an abstract work is one with no reference to visual reality. (Picasso, for instance, never painted an abstract work in his life. He was always referring to the visual reality around him, even in his most distorted, unrecognizable cubist works.) My own works that are not very realistic I would refer to as expressionistic, meaning I've distorted reality in order to make a statement about my own point of view or range of feelings in relation to the subject matter.

Often when I have a new model, I'll begin drawing and painting him in fairly literal ways — that is, realistic/photographic — because I enjoy capturing the beauty I see in that way. Once I've done that and satisfied that urge, I feel ready to move into a more personal, less literal way of looking at the model and his surroundings, and that's when the images become less realistic and more expressionistic. At that point it becomes less about the model and more about what I'm feeling.

Interview conducted June 2007