Today we’d like to introduce you to Robert Coomer.
Hi Robert, so excited to have you on the platform. So, before we get into questions about your work life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today.
I grew up on a farm in Rural Southwest Ohio and spent much of my time alone, entertaining myself. I’ve been an artist most of my life. I think I may have drew my toys more than I played with them. I won many art competitions in school and decided I wanted to go to art school. I attended the University of Cincinnati College of Design, Art, Architecture, and Planning for Graphic Design. It was one of the top design schools at that time. My interest was in illustration, but most of the illustrators I had looked up to seemed to have a graphic design background, so when I was offered a full academic scholarship to UC, their design program was a no-brainer.
Though I liked using a camera, I never really saw it as art or more importantly, as my art. In the age of film, there was a disconnect there, between taking the image, sending off the film, then getting back a print that may or may not have matched what you wanted. I felt like there was no or very little control of that process. I always believed that art was in the print; it was what you showed/displayed. Doing traditional art, I worked in the present and saw my work take shape under my fingers. In design school, photography classes were part of my training, and I was introduced to the traditional dark room, and it changed my view of photography. I now could see the images take life under my fingertips to directly edit and print the images I captured. So, photography sort of “clicked” with me then. At that time, I had been working towards photo realism working with an airbrush, so the jump to photography sort of made sense.
After Design school, I lost access to the darkroom and stopped taking photos on my own, though I still shot for the design firm that I worked for. We worked with computers and created digital layouts when that was still a new thing. I introduced them to the idea of scanning and editing our own photos instead of having a lab do it. Since I had worked with photorealism, jumping to editing photos wasn’t a huge step. Eventually, I purchased a digital camera, and the design firm rented it from me for projects, allowing me to upgrade and buy better equipment as it developed.
I purchased an early photo printer, which gave me my darkroom back, and with a digital camera, I had complete control from capture to print. At this time, I was volunteering as a board member and Editor for the Greater Cincinnati Grotto, a local Chapter of the National Speleological Society. As the editor of their newsletter, I was interested in conservation and started doing cave photography and won quite a few photography print, and design awards on the national and international level. This was the first time I had shown my work, other than commercial design and illustration, since college, and it became the foundation of my fine art career. This led me to photographing more traditional nature, landscapes, and wildlife.
I started talking to galleries and visiting regional art shows and saw there was an opportunity there for me. I started showing and selling digital prints of my landscapes and nature photography. Over the years, my side career replaced my design career, and I became a full-time fine artist who did design work on the side.
With my photography, I always tried to build a sense of place and time with my imagery. It wasn’t usually just an image of a rural barn or a person in a cave; it was an image of my subject in its environment. I always wanted to tell a bigger story of the how my subject and its background worked together. I have always seen myself as a visual storyteller. I searched out beauty from unexpected places and captured images of a fading Americana. To some extent, I was capturing images of the rural life I grew up with, which was quickly disappearing.
As a photographer, I was never big on talking about gear and equipment, though I could hold up my end of any conversation I got into, and was on the leading edge of technology for quite a while. I was more likely to hang out with painters, illustrator, potters, and other artists. We would talk about subjects, light, form, and stories. The image was key, not the equipment. And in this environment, I started to feel the pull of my traditional artistic roots to find a new way to tell my story.
I started looking for a way to go beyond the pretty surface of my work, to seek out a way to better tell the story and connect my photo with the surface I was printing on. Through a lot of experimentation and thought, I came up with the idea of working with textured, hand-distressed metals. The metal itself connected with rural/industrial subjects and added to their story. I started creating “believable artifacts” that looked they may have one time been a part of my subject, such as a piece of tin off an old barn or house. I was also marrying the precession of digital technology with the uncontrollable variability of nature through a natural aging/rusting process to distress my metal. Each piece of art, not including taking the photo, takes 2 to 3 months to complete and required days/months of aging in nature, followed by hours of hand work to make them usable for printing. And thus, my series “Art in Decay” was born and has become the focus of my fine art career.
We all face challenges, but looking back would you describe it as a relatively smooth road?
Working as an independent artist is always difficult and challenging. You have to push yourself to be creative, to innovate, to promote, and to sell your work if you want to survive, and that is no easy task. Because I was coming from the commercial design world, I was used to those requirements and found myself slowly but steadily finding success and making a living. However, I was thrown a series of curveballs starting 5 years ago. In August of 2017, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer and subsequently went through a series of treatments and surgeries. This threw a lot of stress on our family and my business as I worried if I could make enough to cover expenses and to survive if my wife was unable to work. Thankfully she came through her surgeries and has done well on her treatment and has been able to continue to help me with shows while working her own full time job.
In early September of 2018, just as things were starting to calm down, my trailer was broken into at an art show, and over a thousand dollars worth of tools and display equipment was stolen, making the next few shows very difficult. It wasn’t so much the cost of what was stolen, it was the little stuff that troubled me the most, the pins that held my display together, the tools I use to stretch canvas and cut mats, the corner brackets from my tent, the bungees that hold the awnings on, and any number of small, inexpensive items, that were all so necessary to put together an art fair exhibit. 4 years later, and I’m still looking for things that were probably taken at that time.
Then late that same September, I was getting ready for an art show the following day and had to go get my trailer from where store it. As I drove down the highway, a car approached an intersection on the divided highway ahead of me. It did not stop at the stop sign and proceeded to cross the other side of the highway, heading towards the center between the lanes. I saw the car, and realized it was not going to yield or stop. In the fraction of a second, I heard a voice clearly whisper in my head, “You can’t hit her, let her hit you.” At the time, my Suburban was loaded with probably 500 to 600 pounds of unsecured wood and steel artwork. If I had hit my brakes, I would have hit her broadside, and all the art would have flown forward on impact at 60mph, probably killing me. Instead, I stayed on the accelerator, pushed as far off to the side of my lane as I could, praying she would hit her brakes and I could squeeze by her. She hit me in the driver side, rear passenger door. My suburban immediately turned and rolled sideways 3 times, expelling artwork and other contents out the side windows as it tumbled hundreds of feet through the grass.
I don’t remember the actual wreck. I came to, upside down in the my seat, hanging from my seatbelt. I could not see out, it was dark inside the vehicle because the windshield / cab was crushed into the ground, but a voice in my head starting checking things off… I don’t feel pain. I can move my head. I can move my arms. I can move my body. I do not smell gas or smoke. I do not see flames. I can take my time and get out. It took three tries to release my seatbelt, and drop to the ceiling, now floor of the Suburban. I rolled to my knees, but still was puzzled why I couldn’t see out. I heard a voice from behind me, and was able to see out the back and see someone running towards the vehicle. They got a door open, and I crawled out, then promptly crawled back in to find my phone, and one of my boots. I was incredibly blessed to be alive and able to walk away from the wreck.
I reluctantly canceled that weekends show from my hospital bed, as they tried to figure out what was going on, checking my neck, elbow, and a scratch on my head. I thought I could still make it to the show if I tried hard enough. But then they started doing more CT scans, and found I had a concussion with a subarachnoid brain hemorrhage across my frontal lobes. I was sent to a trauma hospital for overnight CT scans and observation. They sent me home the following morning, suggesting I schedule an appointment with a neurologist. I canceled my show the following weekend from another ER for severe headaches echoing down my spine.
In the aftermath of my wreck, I dealt with many physical issues, too many to remember. I had constant headaches and constant ringing in my ears. My eyes were “knocked” out of alignment, and I had to wear special prism glasses for reading distances to correct for the alignment and aid in correcting them. I had a slight tear in my right rotator cuff, and an impinged nerve in left arm. My neck muscles had been strained and were making my headaches and the ringing worse. I had photo phobia and could not deal with bright light and was equally stressed by loud or variable noises. Most of these were constant issues and took at least the first year to see any relief from them. Many of these problems eased up by the end of the second year, though some still continue today, based on my Post-Concussion Syndrome and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
By far, the worst part of the wreck was the mental difficulties. I looked OK, I walked OK, I talked OK, so I must be OK right? My concussion / hemorrhage affected the frontal lobe of my brain, the area of Executive Function. You know that part that helps you function and run a business? I had memory loss, problems focusing, remembering, completing tasks, depression, and extreme ADHD. I couldn’t function creatively. I struggled to use my camera. I struggled to use a gas pump at times, how do I deal with a camera or computer? I would try to edit an image, and something that should take minutes, would take hours, and I would mess it up several times. It was like working in my sleep. I would unknowingly drag “brush” marks across my images as I moved my mouse across the screen and wouldn’t see them until I had finished working on some other part of the image and would have to start over again. I couldn’t remember past projects, or how I had accomplished certain looks. I had to relearn to like and produce my own artistic style. I would lose words while talking and struggle to remember what I was doing, or where I put something, or why. Not the “normal” way everyone does, I was constantly looking for something. I also lost all concept of time; hours would pass like minutes.
I felt I was being chased by a dark cloud of depression that would envelope me. I had very little emotional control. I could cry watching cartoons. I would get so angry over dealing with insurance adjusters, or drivers on the road, and then realize that voice of anger was not “me”, then immediate I would sink into a soul crushing thought that “I” had died in the wreck, and what remained was no longer “me.” It was over two years before my wife said she truly saw “me” again.
I have probably dealt with undiagnosed ADHD most of my life, but I had developed ways to harness and deal with it. My solution was creative drawing and sketching. My notes from school, college, and even design meetings were covered with cartoons and sketches as I worked through ideas and solutions or just burnt off the excess energy that filled me, so I could concentrate. At the end of the first year, I realized I hadn’t sketched or doodled a single image since my wreck. That creative energy/outlet was stolen from me. Four years later, I still seldom doodle or sketch.
I dealt with voices in my head that would tell me I could no longer survive as an artist; I was no longer a creative. I lost all confidence in myself and what I could do. Art coaches talk about Imposter Syndrome, and for the first time in my life, I truly doubted myself and felt I no longer deserve to be where I was in my career. How do you continue forwards from there?
I struggled to do outdoor art shows for the first year because I couldn’t deal with the noise of everyone setting up their tents/displays, the sound of the crowds, crying children, and barking dogs. I would have to hide and let my wife step in to meet and talk with clients. It made me feel isolated.
The following year was the pandemic. That year allowed me to rest physically and finally cleared most of my physical issues, but the isolation, and lack of interactions with my clients, my fans, those that buy my work, just made me feel so much worse. I had no one to counter that voice in my head to tell me my work was still good enough. I found social media to be too complicated for me to use effectively to reach my fan base. It just took too much planning.
It has been a struggle to get myself back in the game. I have had to develop systems to complete tasks or to deal with my lack of memory or forethought. At times it felt like I had to relearn my camera every time I picked it up. My solution was to have three preprogrammed scenarios that cover most of what I shoot. I would pick one and try to capture the story in front of me. From there I would modify my settings based of what I see on my LCD, dialing in the details and what I want to do. I’ve embraced technology to keep me moving forward. My computer, my phone, and my watch all work together to keep me in the loop as to what is going on, where I need to be, or what I need to work on. I have alarms, timers, and pop-up reminders all over!
From the start, I decided it was best to be open about what I was dealing it. To be transparent in my struggles and allow others to see and understand however best they can. This is an invisible injury. You don’t know what is going on if I don’t tell you. I was somewhat lucky to have had the visible “hemorrhage” that I can point to, that others can see and understand, including the medical community, and not just the amorphous diagnosis of a “concussion” that many don’t take seriously. Along the way, it was pointed out that this was probably my second concussion and why this one was so difficult. My other was probably from another car wreck, where I had severe double whiplash and was treated for “headaches” by exercising my neck. A concussion was never discussed, but that makes so much sense now.
Today I still struggle and feel like I am only functioning at about 30% capacity. I’m re-engaging with social media. My website is still a mess, but slowly I’m working on it. I’m back to doing my normal art events, outdoor fairs, and expanding. I’m out traveling more, exploring new areas. I’m building a 4×4 camper van to allow me to get out and stay out longer. I have good days and bad, but I keep putting one foot in front of the other, “fake it until I make it.” My clients have all been excellent in appreciating my struggle and allowing me the time and energy to complete custom pieces and do commissions.
Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I started with nature, wildlife, and landscape photography. I have helped teach destination photo workshops and spend quite a bit of time traveling and exploring, especially areas around where I live in rural Ohio and Kentucky, but also other destinations like the Outer Banks, Great Smoky Mountains, Badlands, and Yellowstone.
Over the years I have started shooting images of urban and rural decay and fading Americana. Part of the fading Americana theme has pushed me into chasing WWII Aircraft and visiting airshows all over the eastern US.
Many of my images are printed in B+W on hand-distressed steel or aluminum and is a process that is very unique to me. Art in Decay. My goal is to build believable artifacts that connect my photograph with the strata it’s printed on; through the use of authentic-time and aging, the metal appears to be part of the subject. I want it to look like I stole a piece of it to display as an artifact.
A few image stories:
Sonata in Pink (Photo of Pink Piano)
Does art Imitate life? What are the odds of walking into an abandoned building and finding a pink piano? I was exploring in Gary Indiana, and found a “beautiful” but broken pink piano among the decay, just four weeks after my wife had a double mastectomy for breast cancer. . .
Omen (Skull Grafitti)
Or does life imitate art? This photo of graffiti in the old Packard car plant in Detroit was shot a number of years ago, and I have shown it many times. Occasionally someone would point out the word OMEN on the brow of the skull and ask if the “bad omen” worried me. I would laugh and answer no… Jump forward a few years, and while driving my Suburban, I was struck by another vehicle, and pushed sideways off the road, and rolled it three times, suffering a Subarachnoid Brain Hemorrhage in the frontal lobe. . . right where it says “OMEN.”
Life is a Fight to the Death (Old House with tree and grafitti on Steel plate)
I found this prophetic graffiti while photographing this abandoned house. Which at the time seemed appropriate as this home was being renovated and brought back to life. But in light of my accident, my brain injury, my fight to find myself again, life truly is a fight to the death, or rather the inherent need to survive. If you look closely at the top of this steel plate, you can see a dent. This dent was caused in the accident where I received my brain injury. Rather than try to pound it out, and make it “perfect” again, I chose to leave it “broken” but perfect in its own way.
Ferrous Wheel (on steel plate)
Oh, wheel of steel that lifts us high and then brings us low, that once moved us through life’s ebb and flow. Broken here, it moves no more, frozen from rust, fear, and decay. . .
Tanka Truck (steel triptych)
This 40’s Chevy dump truck lies discarded like a broken Tonka Truck, unloved and forgotten, just outside the abandoned town of Owanka, SD. A town that began as a Native American settlement in the 1800s (a Good Camping Place), that became a thriving railroad town, but is now a ghost town because of bad luck, bad decisions, and murder. . .
Angel of Death Victorious. (Steel plate)
This Weeping Angel is a monument for the Haserot Family plot at the Lake View Cemetery on the east side of Cleveland.
The Angel of Death Victorious is the proper name of the sculpture. Let that sink in for a moment. . .
She holds the torch of life firmly in her hands but has inverted it and triumphantly slammed it into the ground, making sure that it has not only been snuffed out but also that it cannot be reignited. It’s a frightening statement of finality.
As one who feels their “Torch of Life” has come but a cat’s breath of being snuffed out, I feel the impact and haunting beauty of this tombstone. As a monument to the end of life, it’s easy to see life as a fragile flame, one waiting to be blown out and extinguished by just a slight breeze. But I think that is wrong. I also see her as a reminder that though she tried, she was unable to extinguish my torch. A reminder to live life brightly.
Maybe mine was like one of those trick candles you often see on birthday cakes that sparks back to life after being blown out. But I prefer to believe it was burning so vigorously, with the abundance and blessings of life, that it was impossible to blow out before its time. A life of art, exploration, curiosity, and ideas. One of love, compassion, family, and friends.
So, with those thoughts in mind, I see her as a reminder to live, love, and burn brightly my friends. . .
Godspeed Nine-O-Nine (Steel Triptych)
The World War II Bomber B-17 Flying Fortress Nine-O-Nine sits on the tarmac ready for flight. Unfortunately, she was lost to us on Dec. 2nd, 2019, along with 7 of the 13 passengers and crew on board.
F4 Corsair at Lunken Field (Steel Triptych)
A Vought F4U Corsair, a Navy warbird, sits in front of the historic Lunken Field terminal in Cincinnati.
Alright, so before we go can you talk to us a bit about how people can work with you, collaborate with you or support you?
The best way to support me is to consider purchasing my work for your home or office. You can like and share my pieces on social media to help others find and enjoy my art. Besides my website and social media pages, I have a large inventory of images that have never seen the light of day. So, if you are looking for something contact me and let’s talk about the possibilities. I also helped families pay homage to their past with historic or meaningful family images that I have restored and printed on steel plates.
Pricing:
- Canvas print prices range from $350 to $900
- Matted Print prices range from $50 to $95
- Single steel prints range from $400 to $1600
- Steel Triptychs range from $1900 to $2400
- Extra large steel triptychs covering 7′ of wall space are $4500
Contact Info:
- Website: artindecay.com
- Instagram: @robert.coomer @robertcoomerphotography
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/artindecay/ https://www.facebook.com/Robert.Coomer.Photography/
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/robertcoomer/
- Other: robertcoomer.com
Image Credits
©Robert Coomer
