Philadelphia Weekly
April 25, 2007

By Roberta Fallon


Black has never been the anchor color in Jim Houser’s mostly pastel installations, but it’s all over his new two-floor piece at the Painted Bride. From boulder-headed characters called lurkers to small candles, shells and rocks on the memorial-like shelves that dot the walls, the preponderance of black changes the tenor of Houser’s universe from eggs over easy in the Cozy up Diner to burnt toast and black coffee in the Atomic Cafe. Houser’s art has sidled into a new zone where anger is the new guy in town, and he’s bigger and badder than everyone else around.

It’s not that all Houser’s previous works were set in Candy Land. He’s always made art with an edge. Among the octopuses, cats, sweet-faced talkers and 10-gallon hats, there have always been lurkers and weird bits of language evoking the darker side of life. (“Gaper delay,” “amok” and “germs” written in a typeface made of bones isn’t particularly upbeat.)

But the ratio of darkness to light in previous installations was different. In this new installation—the most ambitious I’ve seen and way edgier than his previous five solo shows at Spector Gallery—Houser lets the downbeat dominate. And it gives the whole installation a jolt of guts and grit.

A new motif adds to the angry feel. Little 3-D toy arrows impale the walls as if flung by an unseen enemy, and the wall bleeds green paint where the arrow hits its mark; the big black lurker has an arrow in his heart. The world is under siege. Houser’s under siege. Everyone’s throwing arrows everywhere.

Houser is a self-taught artist who distills life into explosions of words, images and objects which he then flings onto walls. Reading the text in this installation clarifies what’s on his mind: “Toxins in the blood”; “It gets worse”; “A perfect fit”; “Like a noose”; “Like a fist, filled with pills”; “Blood loss.” The artist once told me he listens to NPR constantly.

The show was almost entirely sold out before the opening. Houser had a waiting list of collectors who came, saw and snapped it up. His work is now in the collections of the PMA and PAFA—as they should be. That he doesn’t have a Pew Fellowship is incomprehensible.

Houser is a Philly phenom. There are many who now copy his style, but he’s the original. The 2005 book about the artist, Babel, is the closest thing to a Houser retrospective we have.

Looking at that book and this installation, it’s clear Houser has made a leap forward. He’s let the dark emerge without losing the wit and playfulness. It wasn’t the safe thing to do, but it was the right thing.


Philadelphia Inquirer
April 13, 2007

By Edith Newhall


Having seen at least two of Jim Houser's one-person shows at Spector Gallery (which has since closed and morphed into Spector Projects), I was curious to see what he would do with the Painted Bride Art Center's gallery, which he was invited to transform with a site-specific installation. I anticipated lots and lots of work mounted chock-a-block throughout the austere two-story space, all of it executed in Houser's usual charming, self-effacing, free-associative style. The place could use some cheering up.

There are countless paintings and small sculptures in "THIS BEATING HEART ACTS AS A TIMER," Houser's installation, but their arrangement is finessed to a noticeable degree. In fact, the installation seems to be consciously referencing its title, moving a viewer's eye rhythmically from piece to piece.

It's not a "fun" show in the way that most of Houser's previous shows have been. Houser's imagery is still sweet and good-natured, but his birds, octopi, elephants and humans occupy a more meditative, reflective, solemn world or narrative. Houser even touches on religion.

The painting Target depicts a modern-day St. Anthony, a shirtless male figure whose torso is peppered with arrows; Arise shows a male figure with his arms outstretched like a country preacher. The recurring image of a plant in a pot, both in paintings and as painted sculptures, seems to suggest spring and resurrection.

The most unexpected part, though, is in not realizing what Houser has accomplished until midway through his installation. That nagging feeling of being in a familiar space or place suddenly makes sense. The gallery's architecture is just like an old country church's, minus its altar and pews. And Houser has created his own kind of free-floating memorial service within it.