Call Me Abdul

Doing the blog posting on 'Bitch's Brew' reminded me of one of the most breath taking artists of the late 20th century, Abdul Mati Klarwein. He was a trickster, never quite telling the same story twice, never searching out for publicity in the way than Salvador Dali did. Some of his art was seen everywhere, being one of the more prolific album artist around for around ten years, used especially often by Columbia Records. Yet much of his other material is obscure, as was his life. He seemed to like it that way.

The few facts that seem to be solid are that he was born in Germany to Jewish parents who moved to Palestine when he was 2 years old. His art reflect this, a crazy combination of Mediterranean landscape, echoes of Africa, and a Mid Eastern feel. According to his account, he spent six years in the 1950s traveling the world as a gigolo to a wealthy older woman, everywhere from Bali to Cuba. He certainly was a good looking guy, especially when he was young.

There was a movement in the art world, relatively small but important, happening in the 1960s into the early 1970s. It really didn't have a name, but we'll call it 'Psychedelic Realism', a direct reaction to the growing interest and consumption of hallucinating substances. It was more of an underground thing, a reaction to the overwhelming abstract and cold art that dominated the 1950s. Much of it came from the San Francisco area with artist like Gage Taylor, but it happened in small groups all over the world.

Klarwein didn't start out that way, spending most of the 1950s painting still lives and portraits. He must have been doing pretty good financially, judging from the names of the subjects he painted; Guggenheim, Rothschild, that social strata. His technique went against the time, closer to the Brandywine school of Andrew Wyeth than Jasper Johns. Gradually, symbolic items started showing up in his pictures, odd juxtapositioning, all hyper-realistic.

Then sex reared its ugly head, becoming a focus of the symbolic imagery that he was using. This got Klarwein notice, both good and bad. He started doing religious paintings, a big seller and attention getter from Dali, who used it as a way to give two stiff middle fingers to the critical establishment. Mati's paintings weren't nearly as mainstream or referential. In fact, most focused on interracial sex, the one subject in the early 1960s that would really push people's buttons.

Simultaneous to that, despite being of a Jewish origin, he gave himself the first name of Abdul as a sign of solidarity with the Moslem people living in the area he had come from. Watching the origins of the state of Israel, including all the conflict and wars associated, had a deep influence on him. He refused to focus on one religion or one God, moving around the world, from Israel to France, then relocating to New York City for a while.

At the same time, just for the hell of it, Mati did a painting of Yusuf Lateef, a prominent jazz saxophonist, one of the first who was outwardly Muslim. Lateef loved the painting and wanted to use it as an album cover until he realized that Abdul Mati Klarwein was really a German Jew. Nevertheless, Mati started getting regular commissions as well as having his paintings used as album covers. His work was used in the classical, jazz, funk and rock genres, and every one is memorable.

I first saw his famous image used in Santana's blockbuster second album, 'Abraxas'. I was thirteen and the cover stopped me in my tracks. It was the daring sexuality combined with an insane amount of detail that captured my attention. I was completely unprepared for the brazenness of his approach to the female form.

There's no doubt that Klarwein used photographs as references in his paintings; he even admitted so himself. He's manipulating the classic Playboy form, ample women of all races. It's what he does within that context that makes it slightly outrageous. The white dove against the dark body should be there for modesty. Instead, it draws attention to the forbidden zone, making the entire composition more erotic.

The use of taboo subject matters wasn't the only thing Mati could do. With his portraiture background, commissioned album covers were relatively easy. You could spot one of his illustrations from ten feet away. the magic realism made them jump out of the record bin. With the large album cover format, they truly were works of art, sometimes more important than the music inside.

Not much more is known about Klarwein's life. He was married and had two kids, at least one of whom is a well-regarded photographer now, moving back to the Mediterranean. Interviews are useless, if you can find them. He goes out of his way to be mystically confusing, like a Sufi priest. Not much is to be found on line.

Back in art school, I bought one of his books, 'God Jokes'. Powerful stuff; I'd like to say that it influenced me, but the techniques were way too advanced. I still have the glossy oversized paperback, which fetches around $50 on the market today. In fact, looking around, there's not much to buy, even in books, although there were at least four published during his lifetime.

Curious how, since his death in 2002, his profile has evaporated radically. I guess that if your main output is paperback and album covers, fame can wash away like castles made of sand. His art, a curious mixture fo the taboo, mysticism, the erotic, and odd juxtapositioning, always effected me profoundly. I grab every image I can, now that there is a limited number out there.

Some of the most mysteriously powerful images were on his album covers but extracted from installation pieces, such as the Aleph Sanctuary. I'd love to see this one, around a hundred images crammed into one cube. It never seems to leave Europe. Probably too expensive. It must be overwhelming to step inside that box.

Seeing some of the images that I am so familiar with in the setting that he designed them for is slightly crazy. He seemed to work in miniature, encrusting his images with jeweled little details or textures. He shares this magic realism technique with Salvador Dali, who was a friend and mentor. Mati was also pals with Miles Davis and Jimi Hendrix. He even had an album cover planned with Jimi, but Hendrix died first and the collaboration with Gil Evans never happened, It has since been appropriated for other work; it's too good to abandon.

Abdul Mati Klarwein seemed to love to be obscure on purpose, whether it was how he answered questions in interviews, gave out biographic details, or displayed his art. He wasn't going to make it easy for you. Except for the album covers. Like Dali, the psychedelic movement happened at the right time and he became, for a short period of time, a major figure in art and illustration. Mati even did a cover for Time magazine in 1970.

So we're left with around 50 album coves and a hand full of paperbacks to look at. With the resurgence of vinyl, his work should be perfect for the large, more art-friendly format of an album sleeve. He did some magnificent ones, especially innovative in the way he used the gatefold sleeve, such as in a Buddy Miles inside and outside cover. Great stuff, probably better than the music.

For whatever reason, Mati always resonates strongly with me. I have both an emotional, spiritual, and sexual response, and I'm not afraid to admit it. He was trying to provoke a response, and he was good at it. Even his lesser work demonstrates incredible mastery of technique. At his best, he puts the magic in magic realism.

It's hard to believe in a world that recycles every cultural phenomenon that there isn't more interest in an artist as provocative as Abdul Mati Klarwein. His work is well known yet strangely of unknown origin. It looks great as a whole but demand s closer inspection, miniaturized scanning. He hung out with the most interesting people of his age, their equal. Time to reappraise this largely forgotten master.