Outside In: The art of Eric and Joe Legge
By Gary Carden
Smoky Mountain News
February 11, 2004

A visitor’s first impression after entering the garage that serves as Eric Legge’s “studio” in Dillard is likely to be awe. The sheer diversity of Legge’s art is astonishing, both in terms of medium and subject matter. Plywood, canvas, cardboard, sheet tin, wooden doors, glass, carved oak panels, barn siding and “assemblage” pieces composed of bottle caps, garden hose and pieces of machinery are everywhere. The number of pieces that either hang on the walls, lean against one another in corners or are stacked on the floor is staggering. Benign, oval-faced angels smile from lofty heights flanked by bearded Christ figures, solitary birds, potted flowers, happy dogs, musicians and scrap-metal effigies.

Certainly, the setting is not that of a conventional studio. Eric’s good-natured dogs amble about the room, and music — a blend of jazz, country and rock — issues from a variety of sources, including ancient 78 rpm turntables and CD players. Eric, a genial, soft-spoken young man (with a funky hat) of about 32 has a pleasant north-Georgia twang. Acting as guide and interpreter, he responds easily to questions as he wanders through the clutter of his art.

What is all of this about, Eric? He responds with quiet, characteristic vagueness.

“Freedom and joy,” he shrugs and smiles. “Maybe wonder.”

Do you consider yourself an outsider artist?

“Well, that’s one of them labels, you know. I’m not real interested in categories or titles. I don’t ever put a title on a painting because a title seems to limit it somehow. Sometimes, when people look at a painting, they see something that I didn’t even know was there. I like that. If I put a label on it, they might not see their version.”

Eric tells me that he often makes a pot of coffee and paints all night. When the ideas come easily, he feels compelled to do so. I asked him about his inspiration. “Well, it starts in the heart,” he says. “The mind perceives it and the hand gives it shape. I think of it as a trinity, you know – Heart, Mind and Hand.”

I ask if there was a particular experience in his life that had made him decide to become an artist.

“Well, I paid my way through college at Valdosta State University by working in a Developmental Center for the mentally handicapped. I worked each day with people who were classified as profoundly and severely handicapped. I guess that experience gave me an awareness of how fortunate I am. Being able to think, see and comprehend the world around you — that is a wonderful gift. I guess I decided that painting and creating art is the best way to use that gift.”

But, you do want to sell your paintings, don’t you?

“Oh, yes! But I look at it in reverse, I guess. I don’t paint to sell. I sell so that I can paint .”

Adjoining Eric’s studio, a second garage functions as both home and working space for Joe Legge, Eric’s father. After Eric’s creative disarray, Joe’s exhibit space appears organized and purposeful. It also reflects a significantly different form of art. Carved bearded seers and serene nudes stand on pedestals amid totem-like figures that resemble ancient effigies of pagan divinities. Many of the figures have movable appendages and others regard visitors from settings that resemble altars.

Like Eric, Joe speaks softly but with conviction. Bearded and slim, he has the casual charm of a man accustomed to speaking about his work.

Are these creatures gods, Joe?

“Oh, yes. For me, they are what is called ‘numinous,’ which means that they contain a presence. Native Americans had a word for it, too. It is a kind of energy that emanates from things.”

Where do they exist?

“Everywhere! The forests, mountaintops, old, buried temples and our own dreams. They are all around us and within us.”

Even for visitors who are grounded in conventional, mainstream art, it is obvious that something is going on here. For a viewer who thinks that artistic technique is perfected by training and a rigid adherence to “specific schools,” people like Eric and Joe Legge are an enigma. The Legges are self-taught and are motivated by an inner compulsion to create. They use whatever tools or methods that appeal to them — that may be magic markers, sharpies, house paint and knives to color and shape cardboard, plywood, leather and cinderblock. Yet, despite their disregard for conventional artistic mediums such as oils, tempra, canvas or marble, their creations are moving artistic evocations. Even if a viewer has a conditioned resistance, he may be moved and inspired by the Legges’ work.

Outsider art gains importance For the past 20 years, self-taught artists have been slowly acquiring status throughout the world. In Europe, the term “art brut” has become descriptive of artistic works that are raw or primitive, yet are unquestionably inspiring. The term “outsider art” is widely used to describe creative efforts that ignore the rules. Suddenly, poorly educated people with little or no technical training, such as Jimmy Lee Suddeth, Mary Proctor and R. V. Bostic, have acquired a following. An astonishing number of interpreters have appeared and bookstores display a growing number of coffee table books on self-taught, visionary and folk art. Exhibits of artists such as Bill Traylor, Minnie Evans and Howard Finster are appearing in prestigious galleries throughout the world. Although Joe and Eric Legge have done very little in terms of self-promotion, they are definitely acquiring an audience.

Last year, the father and son traveled to New York for an exhibit at Studio 54 in the Soho Gallery.“We sold practically everything we took,” said Joe.

Since then, they have been contacted by an impressive number of private collectors. Both have works in galleries throughout the world and a cursory computer search indicates that they are listed on everything from the Main Street Gallery in Clayton, Ga., to House of the Blues Folk Art Collection in Los Angeles and the Outsider Art Gallery in Litchfield, Conn. Yet, the Legges seem uninterested in self-promotion.

“People will find us,” says the 56-year old Joe. “Something is always happening.”

Then, he showed me a copy of the Atlanta magazine with a photograph of Eric, surrounded by his art, on the cover. A PBS-TV representative recently called about coming by in a couple of weeks. “

There was another fellow showed up making a documentary of folk art when we were invited to New York.”

Then, he showed me a copy of “Who Ha Da Da” which, in addition to the Legges, contains footage of folks like Roger Lee “AB” (Flagman) Ivens, who is also an accomplished folk musician; the late Rev. Howard Finister; and Mary Proctor. One segment showed Joe being honored at a high school in Valdosta because he had carved a gigantic statue of a Viking warrior from a 2,000 year-old oak which had fallen during a devastating storm. The statue has become a cherished icon in Valdosta.

I told him that I noticed the license plate on a car outside: “Vietnam vet – Purple Heart,” and asked if that was him. “Yes, did that, too.” He produced a photograph album filled with smiling farmers and rice paddies. I asked if the war affected his art. “Yes, in ways I can’t even explain.”

Have you always been an artist, Joe? “Always. I’ve done a lot of other things, too. Used to be a hair dresser.” Indeed, he had! In fact, I learned that he had been a celebrated professional with a bundle of awards from national competitions. He told me about living in Valdosta where Eric attended college.   

“I thought he would end up as a doctor or lawyer. He got two degrees: one in philosophy and one in anthropology, but no, painting is what he wanted to do more than anything else. During the Atlanta Olympics, he was one of an honored few Georgia folk artists that were approved to sell their paintings on the street. He began attracting attention then. He has been asked to submit works to some major folk art competitions and has some impressive awards. He doesn’t talk about that.”

Long after my visit with Eric and Joe Legge, one image stayed with me. Joe had told me about living for 10 years in a barn and showed me photographs and paintings of the place. At one point, he showed me a picture of a 6-year-old Eric working on a huge painting. It is a marvelous image of a child sitting in the middle of a painting and surrounded by vivid swirls of color. The boy is totally absorbed in what he is doing — unaware of the world outside of his own creation. It seems to define the world of both father and son.

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