OUTSIDER ART PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE
Herbert Crowley does not quite fit the mold of an outsider artist. In fact, a compelling argument could be made to the contrary, citing his inclusion in the 1913 Armory Show, where his work was displayed alongside names like Van Gogh, Cézanne, Matisse, Picasso, Duchamp, and Gauguin. This legendary exhibition ushered in an era of modernism that would change the art world forever. It should have been his moment—his introduction to greatness, his passport into history. Instead, within a few short years, he would walk away from it all.
Why? Like Crowley himself, the reasons are complicated.
Herbert Crowley was born in London in 1873 and moved to New York in 1910. His first published artwork was a cartoon strip, The Wigglemuch, printed in the New York Herald. Although the strip ran for only about fifteen weeks, it came at a time when cartooning was being recognized as a legitimate art form, and Crowley was among its vanguard. He would continue to show his work in New York until the early 1920s, notably sharing an exhibition with Leon Baskt in 1914.
In 1924, Crowley married Alice Lewisohn, founder of the Neighborhood Playhouse, where he had worked as a set designer. Together, they mingled with the elite artists and thinkers of their time, collaborating with socialites like Peggy Guggenheim and counting themselves among Carl Jung’s inner circle of friends. In the late 1920s, they relocated to London, where Crowley became increasingly philosophical and began to reconsider his work as an artist.
From London, Crowley traveled extensively, searching for meaning in his life. Like many great minds before him, his soul-searching often led to sadness and depression. His journeys took him through the Middle East and India before he finally settled in Zurich, Switzerland. By this time, Crowley had all but abandoned his art and had even started destroying some of his works. In 1937, a sudden illness led to his unexpected death. At the time, it was his wish that the remainder of his works be destroyed. Fortunately, this final request was not granted. However, over time, his works faded into obscurity, far removed from the public eye.
They might have remained lost forever, if not for Justin Duerr.
Justin Duerr grew up in the Philadelphia underground scene, playing punk rock and creating outsider art. Beyond his own formidable talents, Duerr is a passionate historian of obscure, strange, and mythical artists from the fringes. I first became acquainted with his work through his documentary film, Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles. In the film, Duerr and his crew track down the origin of a mysterious artist known for embedding linoleum tiles into the streets with a bizarre message: after a rapture-like event, the dead could be resurrected on Jupiter. Duerr ultimately solves the mystery of the prolific and elusive artist and, in the process, uncovers a story that is both sad and beautiful.
Duerr’s love of outsider art is no secret. He even named one of his bands after the Vivian Girls, characters from Henry Darger’s epic work. So researching Herbert Crowley and his strange exodus from the art world was a subject well within his wheelhouse. After some investigation, Duerr made an amazing discovery: a house once inhabited by Crowley, now abandoned in the woods of upstate New York. The house had been part of an artist commune sponsored by Peggy Guggenheim in the 1920s. After being abandoned, it had sat undisturbed for over 80 years, quietly disappearing into the underbrush. Duerr explored the dilapidated property, crawling through decades of rat nests, spiders, and decay, to find that the house still contained original works of art by Herbert Crowley, unseen since their creation—one piece even incorporated into a raccoon’s nest! With this trove in hand, Duerr began researching the rest of Crowley’s life, contacting his descendants, and tracking down other missing works of art. He located a large collection in the archives of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, donated by Crowley’s former wife, Alice Lewisohn. Additional works, private writings, and anecdotal stories were retrieved from surviving family members and private collections. With the help of a Kickstarter campaign, Duerr compiled Crowley’s work and story into a book titled The Temple of Silence: Forgotten Worlds of Herbert Crowley.
I won’t be naïve enough to claim that art is this or should be that, nor vain enough to think my opinion on the subject matters. I will say, though, that being an artist isn’t easy, and art is often born from pain, depression, and, sometimes, mental illness, as is frequently the case with outsider artists. I chose the story of Crowley and Duerr to end these essays because there’s an eloquent kind of justice to it—if “justice” is the right word. What was born from an artist’s passion, yet fated to be unappreciated, lost, or discarded, was then redeemed and restored with an equal passion, born of an artist’s understanding.
I suppose you could argue that this redemption does little for an artist a century later, and I would be hard-pressed to argue against that. In fact, I don’t have much advice to offer to the artists out there, suffering in the hinterlands. I can only leave you with this: though it may seem like you are screaming into a void, the void is, in fact, listening
Jason Roberts is a Seattle-based author noted for his acclaimed western horror series The Dead Wind Trilogy as well as other works of cosmic horror infused with historical fiction. His web-based series, Dark Distractions examines paranormal mysteries, unexplained phenomena, and all things strange.
