Experiments in Cowboy Color

My West: The Art of Larry Pirnie

By Allen M. Jones, 1-22-06

There's probably a support group somewhere. A circle of folding metal chairs, cheap coffee, cigarettes smoldering in those tall ashtrays. “Hello, My uh, name is, yeah, my name’s Allen, and I’m uh, well, yeah I like representational art."

For the last century or so, coherent American art has had a rough go. At least according to a handful of Manhattan gallery owners (who, alas, still write most of the rules) if a painting is understandable, accessible, it is somehow less legitimate. Here in the West, if you're trying to create something new and original even while making a living at it, you’ve got to occasionally tell New York to stick it, write your own damn rules, make a go off the reservation. There are a scattering of artists who have, through the strength and clarity of their vision, done it better than about anyone. Here in Montana, there’s Russell Chatham and his earthtones. Clyde Aspevig and his wall-sized, impressionist landscapes. Charles Fritz and his historical scenarios. And Larry Pirnie. Or “Pirnie," as he signs his paintings (in bold, quarter inch brush strokes).

If you’ve spent any time at all in Montana, you probably already know Pirnie’s work. Billboards, t-shirts, menus. It’s Will James meets Jackson Pollock meets Roy Lichtenstein, with maybe a dab of Walt Disney pureéd into the mix for good measure. Pirnie’s new coffee table book, My West (aptly named, given that it was written by Pirnie, illustrated and designed by Pirnie, published by Pirnie), is a 132 page survey of one of the most dynamic careers this side of the Mississippi. As he writes in his first sentence, “This book is full of fantasy, hardship, great joy, and endless effort to live my dream of painting the West."

Like most any coffee table portfolios, the narrative is bare, sparse, just enough to provide an armature for the images. Artists, after all, speak through the visual. Why waste time with words? And indeed, the images included herein are bright enough, expressive enough, emotive enough, to provide their own narrative hook. Like a good mystery novel, you keep flipping pages, anxious to see what happens next.

The first thirty or so pages of My West (childhood biography, his early experiments with more traditional styles, a paean to his wife, Irene) act as prologue. The action shifts when, accompanying a two page photo spread of his squeeze bottles of paint (lime green, purple, red, yellow), he writes: “There was a lot of art I appreciated for a variety of reasons but when I asked myself what art really excited me I narrowed the list considerably. Of course my childhood favorites of Charles M. Russell and Fred Harman’s comic book art were on the list. Additionally there were many of the works of Matisse, Bonnard, Warhol, Calder, Picasso, Lichtenstein, Appel, Scholder, and Tom Thomson."

After listing these artists, he then tries to find commonalities between them. What is it about these painters that resonated with him across the board? He comes up with the words BOLD and COLORFUL. “When I realized that it was a lack of color energy that made me feel a lack of energy toward my work I dove into a wide range of material experimentation. The entire purpose in my tasks was to feel the joy of making pictures and when lots of bright colors were used the kid in me was happy."

After this seed of revelation, the rest of the book grows up wild, blooming out the kind of bright, neon energy that’s come to be Pirnie’s trademark. A series of cartoon-esque cowboy portraits and faux cereal advertisements, each with its balloon of dialogue (“I’ve taken enough of your lip, Mister!" and “This is the end of the trail, Ringo!"). A few slices of cowboy life (a lot of turned backs and tilted hats, hipcocked jeans and barstools, vintage red trucks). And for my money, his strongest work, the dynamic action scenes, the galloping horses and bucking broncs in splattered yellows and oranges, the dripping lines that manage to convey a sense of motion beyond even blurred photography. It’s a departure from reality to arrive at another, more accurate reality.

Spending time with these paintings, you have to finally admire Pirnie’s courage, his ability to take the advice of his muse, roll the dice in the interests of art. As Cowboy poet Paul Zarzyski, a collaborator and friend of Pirnie’s, writes in his poem, “The Crayola Kid" (reproduced on page 88), “Larry Pirnie – unbridled, boyhood joyous, / and boldly going where / no cowpoke painter has galloped such cosmic color before." In a book so bright it looks like it should char a shadow into the wood face of your coffee table, you turn the last page feeling mostly expectant, curious about the next big colorful thing. What’s this guy going to teach us to see next?

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