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Joe SImms works on a painting |
Joe Simms walked into the New York City art gallery as if he belonged there.
He started talking with others whose work also was on display, and in no time at all he was blending in with the crowd.
What might have been considered small talk for some was no small accomplishment for someone like Joe Simms.
The 63-year-old had spent years in isolation, unable to tell others what he was thinking or feeling. He hadn't been able to learn the basics in school--or even go to school much--because there weren't any programs, in his day, for people with mental disabilities.
So Simms lived with his mother, under her protective care and, for the most part, in his own little world.
Even as recently as a few years ago, he wouldn't have attempted a conversation with someone he didn't know--or gotten through one without stuttering.
But here he was, on this cold winter evening in the Soho district of Manhattan, where contemporary artists gather to show off their stuff. Sure, he fidgeted a lot, and he has a tendency to mumble, but the humble man from the rural countryside of Orange County was being far more outgoing than he ever used to be.
He probably mentioned the vibrant colors he uses and the make-believe animals he favors. He might have explained his style in simple terms, saying: "No, I don't look at no picture when I paint. I just go on and paint."
Art brought Simms to this New York City gallery.
Art gave him an outlet to express himself.
Art changed him.
"He's more open, more verbal, more sociable," said his younger sister, Mary Simms Burton, who lives in Charlottesville and went with him on his first trip out of Virginia. "As he's gotten older, he's gotten so much more independent, and we're so very proud of him."
And grateful that others recognized Simms' raw talent--and offered him a place to work.
'It's gotta come out'Megan Marlatt noticed something special about Joe Simms' work the first time she saw it.
She teaches at the University of Virginia and has a home and studio in the town of Orange. About 10 years ago, a church friend brought her a stack of Simms' work, painted on lined paper, and asked her what she thought.
"What I loved about it immediately was this sense of urgency, that he had to do it, that he was really kind of lost in it," Marlatt said. "That and the wonderful colors and creativity. I just looked at it and said, 'Tell him to come to my studio.'"
Marlatt gave him room to work and some supplies her students had left behind.
Before he met Marlatt, Simms painted with anything he could find, on any medium. He'd used those stinky enamels--the kind, as Marlatt said, that you and your brother probably put on model cars and planes after you built them.
As a teenager, Simms would draw on notebook paper or paper bags, his sister recalled. Over the years, he's come to love working on wood as well, and he's been known to cover old cabinets, doors and windows with acrylic images.
Or pizza boxes and scrap lumber. Doesn't matter to him.
"It's gotta come out, one way or another," Burton said. "If you don't give him supplies, he paints on windows, windshields, anything."
'We can see what he sees'Art always has been considered therapy, especially for artists who use paint, clay or wood to work through their mental issues.
Local artists made space for people with such disabilities when they founded The Arts Center in Orange in 1997. They named the special program the Orange Studio.
Simms and Laura Burrell, also of Orange, are the only two artists currently in the studio. They get a place to work and display their art. When their paintings are sold, the money is split between them and the center.
Simms has become such a part of the studio that he has his own key, said executive director Laura Thompson.
He lets himself in on Saturday mornings and knocks out about 10 paintings a session.
"I don't think he's missed a Saturday since it started," said his sister.
Simms can't drive, and he lives with his nephew about eight miles from town in the same house he shared with his mother, the late Virginia Simms. His older sister, Vera Nixon, who lives in town, oversees his care now.
She has always encouraged him to do for himself, and she has helped him set up accounts to buy himself a new TV or VCR.
Their mother didn't want her baby boy, who was sick a lot when he was younger, getting too far from her, Burton said.
Twenty years ago, when Simms was in his 40s, his sisters had to convince their mother it would be good for him to take some classes at the local vocational school.
When he finished those and had learned how to cook casseroles and do light housekeeping, Simms wanted to learn more.
He signed up for six months at a rehabilitation center in Staunton, and their mother practically had a heart attack, Burton said.
But it's been great to see her brother become more self-sufficient, she said. She was pleasantly surprised on the train trip to New York to see how much he'd come out of his shell.
"His art has really given him an outlet. It's something he can control and do," Burton said. "And, we can see what he sees."
'Beauty all around him'Last year, when a call for entries went out from Hospital Audiences Inc. in Manhattan, folks in Orange thought of Simms.
The gallery was looking for examples of "outsider art," done by those with mental disabilities.
Outsider art is loosely defined as work by self-taught, untrained artists who tend to be outside the mainstream.
The definition fits Simms to a T, Thompson said. Some outsider art tends to be on the dark side, but Thompson doesn't see that in Simms' paintings.
"Joe seems to see beauty all around him," she said.
And bright colors.
The two pieces exhibited in New York are prime examples.
They're among 80 selected from 500 pieces submitted by 200 artists across North America.
Simms misspelled the word "blue" in his "Bule Dog," but there's no doubt about the color or type of animal. The critter is long and lean, with a body shaped like a hot dog and a tongue as bright as a maraschino cherry.
His "Orange Deer" has a long neck, like a llama, and a scruff of hair atop his head.
Some of Simms' faces look more like Aztec images than people on the streets of Orange. And there's definitely a childlike quality in his world of butterflies, big birds and flying machines.
As Thompson looked over a stack of Simms' paintings, she came across a bright-colored goat with wings.
"Goats can't fly, Joe," she told Simms in a teasing tone.
"If I had my way, they'd fly," he responded.
He can't convey what he has in mind what he paints an image, or what he'd like the viewer to get from it. Thompson is really curious about that. She'd love to know what he's thinking.
But that's a part of the process that Simms can't explain--at least at the moment.
When his sister saw a drawing that made her smile, she asked about its origin.
Burton pointed to the picture of a Christmas tree, colorfully decorated and set up outside a simple dwelling with square windowpanes.
"Is that our house, Joe?" she asked, wondering if the family home had inspired him.
"No, just a thought," he said, smiling and mumbling a little. "Just a thought."
To reach CATHY DYSON: 540/374-5425 cdyson@freelancestar.com
