5
THE PROTECTORS OF RICHARD C. SMITH
Colin Rhodes
There are presences here. Sometimes imploring. Sometimes returning the
viewer’s gaze with steady impassivity. Faces pile on faces, in mass gatherings
of souls that gently throb as one, on crowded picture surfaces. The art of
Richard C. Smith is of the Earth. It connects intimately with primal, creative
forces that most of us can only dream of and wonder at. It seems more than
mere representation; somehow taking its place in the order of organic, living
things. In a characteristically amiable, understated way, he remarks, “I’ve al-
ways been interested in nature, for as long as I can remember.” I would go
further and argue that he is in touch with the very forces of nature. His sculp-
tures and his drawings are eloquent testament to this.
Smith belongs to a creative tradition, though not one that is connected by
style, artistic influence, or association with a group, but rather by feeling. It is
a tradition that is global in its spread, but in the northern European context of
which Smith is a part, he shares with the likes of William Blake, Samuel
Palmer, Emil Nolde, Paul Klee, Asger Jorn, and Ted Hughes, to name just a
few. In all of them the feeling for place and humanity is profound, singular,
pantheistic and visionary, even. All in their way deal in myth and mystery. In
their practice they commune ecstatically with the chaos of experience, ex-
tracting the unknown from the everyday and rendering it tangible in their art
and writing.

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