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Destiny, dharma, kismet, calling—whatever you might want to call it—Phil Hellsten’s determination to complete his magnum opus on the roof of 524 Hartz Avenue was realized shortly before his passing on June 23. Though not necessarily contextually coherent, it is a compositionally cohesive collage, a labor of love that took nearly two years to finish.
I first met Phil at the “salons” hosted by Danville resident Fred Turner in the old DACA gallery shortly after that group’s diaspora. At the time, Phil was talking about creating a large rooftop representation, in blue, of part of the human anatomy. When he finally got around to doing a roof rendering, it was of St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes—the rationale being that the existence of the Pioneer Gallery, on top of which the image would sit, would be ephemeral. (The first floor of that building, 524 Hartz, now houses Rakestraw Books, although art studios remain directly below Phil’s work.)
When Phil broached the idea, it sounded like fun, so played neighborhood kid to his Tom Sawyer. We got five gallons of primer/sealer and started the project, first laying down a 16′ x 20′ white rectangle on the roof to serve as the painting’s “canvas.”
Phil then singlehandedly ruled that rectangle into 1280 six-inch squares and marked every one with a number from 1 to 12, with each number representing black, white, and 10 gradated shades of gray. Phil’s specialty was grayscale portraits (“paint by numbers” as he self-deprecatingly called it).
Several others and I pitched in nominally, but Phil completed the portrait essentially by himself—he credited all who helped, however, and our initials sit next to his on the roof. Over time, the portrait metamorphosed from St. Jude to Jesus, although some observers noted that it bore a passing resemblance to local landscape painter Stephen Sanfilippo, a good friend to Phil.
Then the rains came. And the paint started to blister. Undeterred, Phil cut, glued, repainted, and otherwise repaired the image and put a coat of sealant on it. During the rainy season, he would ascend and sweep the accumulated water off the roof in the morning. (During the next season, he collected it in empty wine bottles—of which there were many lying around from artists’ seeking inspiration—and designated it “holy water.”)
“Roof Jesus,” as it came to be known, was only the beginning, however. Phil then went on to paint corporate logos, Bible verses, tongue-in-cheek entreaties for money, kudos to “Sully,” a portrait of Obama (whom some equate with the Savior), a large peace symbol cum American flag, an alphabetized litany of five-letter words, social commentary and other text until he had covered virtually the entire roof.
Frick-and-Frack Flag
My second collaboration with Phil was a painting for 2008’s flag show at the Pioneer Gallery, of which we were both members and which probably would not have existed had it not been for Phil’s acquaintanceship with building owner Brad Blake. (It seemed that Phil knew everyone in Danville, and Turner often referred to him as a “man about town.”)
Phil and I signed our joint painting venture “FF,” for “Frick and Frack.” Once again Phil did the design and the majority of the brushwork. I manned the spray cans. He subsequently obliterated the image in a “paint by numbers” demonstration employing white primer. I then hosed off much of the white and incorporated some of the original flag shape into a new painting. The plan was for us to each alternately create a new painting, always incorporating some the previous work. Sadly, that plan never progressed, but I still have the painting.
Renaissance Man
In a “What were they smoking?” moment, the Pioneer gave me a featured-artist show late last year. Responsible for hanging my stuff, I was staring blankly at the empty walls, trying to figure out where to put everything.
Our third collaboration developed in an ad hoc manner. Phil came to my rescue and helped me position the pieces to their best color/compositional advantage. When the show was arrayed, it appeared as if I had planned the entire tableau all along.
Phil wasn’t averse to sometimes playing loose with the truth, such as when he told me on more than one occasion, “You are an artist.”
Applied to Phil, however, that statement is absolutely true.
Not just an artist, Phil was a Renaissance Man and a provocateur. He provoked respect and admiration from many quarters, as the tributes on the Danville Weekly site and elsewhere attest.
John A. Barry writes about the arts scene in the Danville area for the Danville Weekly in his bi-weekly column, Art Space.
John A. Barry writes about the arts scene in the Danville area for the Danville Weekly in his bi-weekly column, Art Space.
Phil was indeed a fun character to collaborate and conspire with… For anyone who would like to see the “Un-Paint by Numbers” video it’s at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7Nx7ZYddQA
Phil represents, at least to this artist, the best of what being an artist is about. At least some of his artworks attained a high degree of relevance to the community he lived and created in. He included as many participants (I became a collaborator from time to time on his “ship of fools”) as he could convince to help in realizing “big media” events– the rooftop painting, for example, would be in posters, videos on the world wide web, newspapers, television, photographed from fire department ladder trucks, and by NASA from earth orbit. The rooftop piece clearly incorporates as much of Phil’s thought process, his passion, his involvement in his community as he could cram onto a 2,000 square foot rooftop. The joke about St Jude notwithstanding, Phil worked relentlessly toward his fortune and 15 minutes of fame.
There is nothing pretty about Phil’s art. It is beautiful.