On a gray fall day, nearly ten years ago, I was in the woods. It was around nine in the morning and it was cool. I was dressed to work with leather gloves, boots, and a tough canvas jacket. A thermos of hot coffee was waiting for me near an idling tractor. My breath materialized around me in pale, ephemeral streams.
I was looking at a felled tree — a tall elm that had died — with a chainsaw in my hands.
While I should have been cutting rounds from that tree, I wasn’t. I was just standing there, staring.
I had run into a problem.
Wild rose plants, Greenbrier, and brambles lay in front of me, thick and twisted, with thorny shoots rising this way and that, braided like layered nets. They stood as a tiered wall separating me from the fallen elm. It was almost laughable. Exaggerated and eccentric-looking, they were like something out of a Tim Burton film, with thorns of every gauge and every description splayed haphazardly in all directions. It was as if I was gazing upon an overgrown hedge maze made exclusively out of spines, prickles, and hooks. I was sure that if I stuck a bare finger into the mess I’d come away bleeding.
And there was simply no way around it.
Brambles surrounded the prostrate tree as though they had been planted to guard it. Greenbrier carpeted the woodland floor, bursting out of the soil at every angle of approach. And rose vines wove through it all.
It was clear, if I wanted to get to the tree, I’d have to go through them.
So I tried.
I began by unraveling single shoots and pushing them to the side. But each time I moved one, several more would appear. They whipped out at me, grating at the canvas of my coat and latching to my pants. They snagged my boots. They twisted around my ankles. They resisted my progress by grasping my midriff. Before long I was trapped. The vines and shoots had hold of me. Any which way I moved they tightened their grip. It was as if my body was held by a giant bamboo finger trap — but one with thousands of sharp teeth. I was stuck, and I couldn’t move without risking bloodshed.
The elm remained out of reach.
Later — long after I had extricated myself and my wounds had healed — I reflected upon the experience. It dawned on me that my struggle in the woods bore a striking resemblance to an age-old allegory, that of the unified reeds or bundled rods. It was as though I had played out an odd version of that story in real life.
The story of the bundled rods is a common parable told in numerous cultures, and it typically revolves around some wise man or king imparting a lesson on a young audience by bundling fragile twigs, reeds, or arrow shafts together and asking the youngsters to break it. (For one example, open Aesop’s Fables and read the story of The Old Man and his Sons.) The moral of the exercise is that an undivided assemblage is hard — even impossible — to break, while a single unit is easily snapped.
The power of this lesson is one we remember to this day, with allusions to it displayed within some of our modern institutions. For instance, at the bottom of the stain glass seal in the United States Senate building you can find a pair of crossed fasces, or bundled rods (shown in the seal with axes wrapped in their centers), a symbol directly adopted from the ancient Roman Republic. It is meant to signify strength through unity, a fitting device for a deliberative body elected to represent the interests of the collective.
In attempting to reach that fallen elm, I had — inadvertently — been reminded of the power of unity. A single thorny shoot was nothing more than an inconvenience to me. I could easily push it aside or trample it into the dirt. But when I was faced with a unified vegetative front, it was enough to stop me in my tracks. It was a painful lesson.
And it’s one that is applicable in many domains.
Steve Knox is someone working to create solidarity in the regional art scene, for example. And he is an advocate whose drive to create cooperative opportunities for artists is, simply put, an inspiration.
Steve is an artist, an educator, a taxidermist, an outdoorsman, husband and father — and he isn’t someone who needs to be taught the power of unity. He already knows it. He understands the value in it. And he’s been helping the arts community in and around Cheyenne by utilizing the same lessons we find in that age-old allegory of the bundled rods.
“I hope to help create as many art opportunities for artists and all people in our communities,” he told me. “I want people to know that the arts are alive and well in Wyoming.”
Steve Knox knew he wanted to be an art educator since he was in the 7th grade.
After his art teacher, Mr. Hart, saw one of Steve’s watercolor paintings he suggested that Steve continue to follow the path to become an artist. Mr. Hart noticed something special in Steve’s work, was impressed, and wanted to make sure that talent didn’t go to waste. Steve took his teacher’s suggestion to heart, and from that moment on he decided to dedicate his life to art and art education. “I can remember very well [that] day,” Steve told me. “It was truly an inspirational moment for me.”
After graduating high school, Steve headed to Laramie County Community College in Cheyenne to study art and education. He finished his training through the University of Wyoming in Laramie where he focused on printmaking under the tutelage of Mark Richie, and graduated with a degree in K-12 art education. “I came out of art school with the thought that I would be a printmaker,” he said. But today, after 15 years of experience as an artist and educator in Cheyenne and Laramie, his direction has evolved. “Over the last 5 years my art has taken a turn and become much more experiential,” he told me. “I have returned to painting.”
While he still dabbles in printmaking, he now draws a considerable amount of the time, and produces paintings utilizing thick, painterly brush strokes that help bring life to his work. These paintings are a direct response to the natural environment he has spent his life admiring. “My work reflects my time outdoors — hunting, fishing, hiking, camping and seeing,” he said. “The paintings I make are an attempt at playing [with] and manipulating paint and canvas to create an emotional version of the wild things and creatures I see in the 307.”
Bison. Longhorns. Herds of bighorn. Leaping foxes. Ravens who perch gazing back over their shoulders to observe the observer in mild, disinterested ways. Steve’s work is certainly a celebration of the outdoors — and the creatures who reside within the boundaries of the regional west. They are inherently empathetic, devised with vibrant color palettes that exude positivity and awe, acting as a sort of doorway into Steve’s own mind. It is clear the painter harbors deep respect for his subject, and it seems to burst out of him, reformulating on the canvas.
“This is a long way separated from my printmaking beginnings,” Steve said. “Although my paintings have a loose feeling, my techniques still stem from those detailed thoughts that one would find in a printmaker’s mind.”
But this directional shift wasn’t the only discovery Steve made in recent years. Now he’s found another passion outside the classroom and art studio: arts advocacy.
In addition to being on the board of directors of Arts Cheyenne, Steve has become an active leader in his arts community by creating opportunities for other regional artists.
“I am passionate about helping other artists,” he told me. “I want my legacy to be focused on the advocacy I am working on.”
I first met Steve on a warm August day in Cheyenne. I had driven from Lander with a vehicle full of artwork, and we had arranged to meet to hang it for a show he had organized. The four hour trip had been uncomfortable. Bright, unadulterated sunlight beat down through the windshield as I drove, and the A/C unit — sputtering at first — had eventually died. Even with the windows down, I felt trapped in a hot box. Upon arrival I was tacky, rumpled, and utterly unprepared to make a good first impression.
But Steve was gracious enough not to notice.
Instead, he spoke enthusiastically about the unique series of exhibitions he had spearheaded — one of which I was there to contribute work to.
Fill the Space Art Galleries was a project Steve headed in the summer of 2019 as a way to help artists and serve his wider community. With the support of Downtown Cheyenne/DDA Main Street, Steve sought empty businesses that he could transform, temporarily, into art galleries. Once a month, the space would be opened to the public, exhibiting an ever-changing display of work by regional artists. Show dates coincided with Cheyenne Artwalk, and Fill the Space Art Galleries was marked on the Artwalk map as an equal participant. It was a rare blend of downtown revitalization effort, outreach opportunity, and good ol’ fashioned fun — and Steve was the driving force behind it.
As we hung my work, I voiced my appreciation for the work Steve was doing. In the extremely competitive world of art, it can be difficult to find opportunities where good-faith collaboration is the rule. Artists — by the nature of the economics of art — can easily fall prey to a mindset that revolves around scarcity, which leads, inevitably, to feelings of envy, anger, self-doubt, and grievance. This, more often than not, exacerbates competition in the worst way, driving a wedge between members of an already vulnerable community. With Fill the Space Art Galleries, Steve was looking to help resolve that issue. He was leading from the front, showing others that generosity of spirit and a cooperative nature was beneficial to all.
“A rising tide raises all ships,” I said to him.
He agreed, earnestly.
The benefits of cooperative effort are well understood, but surprisingly, they are also easily forgotten. We see this in the rising trend towards hyper-individualization that has taken hold of the country and the wider world. Nowadays, the interests of the individual take precedence, with resistance to outside influence serving as a mark of virtue. Cooperation has become something of a sign of weakness, and those who are regarded as strong are those who stand firm — even if (or in some twisted cases, especially if) the end result causes untold grief and harm to others. Achievement of one’s personal goals at any cost is seen as the proper way to live. And this trend is reflected, not only in our communities and in our current workforce, but in those we are preparing to join us in the coming years. Indeed, according to a 2017 survey of 1000 children between the ages of 6 and 17, over 75% of the respondents wanted a career as some sort of influencer, either in the social media realm as something like a YouTuber, or in a profession that would provide them a similar spotlight, such as a career as a model, a pop star or movie star. The children also stated that fame and the freedom for self-expression were among the primary reasons they felt attracted to these careers. In short, they want prestige for themselves. Professions that serve the community or require collaboration, compromise, and quiet effort have, apparently, lost their luster.
A similar trend has flourished in the arts community as well. But it’s one with a long history.
During the early Renaissance a career artist was considered a craftsman like any other. Most labored alongside others in a workshop and rarely signed their name to what they had done. Works of art were largely collaborative efforts, with many hands having been involved in the process. But with the emergence of certain eminent individuals (think Leonardo da Vinci) the story of artists began to change. Slowly it began to evolve into an endeavor of isolation, where the singular talents of an individual became the driving force behind the work. Out of this came the narrative we’ve all become familiar with, that of the lone genius working in solitude to bring forth extraordinary pieces that transcend the boundaries of time.
This narrative is one that has persisted to this day despite the fact it can be debunked simply by reviewing the record. While a lone artist of incredible talent may very well make great work, history has demonstrated to us that the efforts of most will go unnoticed without a community of proponents acting in support. Leonardo would have likely lived a life of poverty and obscurity if it hadn’t been for his father, who worked to get him several important commissions which built the foundation for his notoriety. But for the research of Théophile Thoré-Bürger, the work of Vermeer would have gone ignored, forgotten, and been lost to history. And without the effort of his wife, Lee Krasner, the paintings of Jackson Pollock would hardly be worth the millions they are today. The point is that the dissemination of art has never been a solitary effort. It requires, by necessity, an ability to communicate the value of the work in order that it might have impact and reach. And this requires collaborative effort. If one were take the individualistic approach to art (as many do), it would be akin to having a conversation that is one-sided. Imagine someone covering their ears and screaming their point of view in your face, refusing even to let you speak — is that an effective way to share a message? Are you more or less likely to support that person, or to help them achieve their goals?
Less, I think.
Art is a form of communication, and the sharing of it is a kind of conversation. So if an artist is going to contribute to a lasting dialog, it requires the same give and take one would expect in constructive discussion. That means one must listen and respond in kind while sharing one’s own point of view. It also means that in order to reach consensus that is beneficial to all, one must be willing to concede certain points. In the immortal words of the poet John Donne, “no man is an island.” We’re all in this together. It’s a cooperative effort.
So the individualistic approach we’re all familiar with is a misleading one. To get ahead one must necessarily learn to cooperate with others in order to find advocates who will help advance one’s own career. If we were to rephrase the famous words of John F. Kennedy to suit our topic, we would be left with something like this: “Don’t ask what I can do to help you. Instead, ask what we can do together to help one another.” In other words, what unique abilities do you bring to the table and how can they be utilized alongside the unique abilities of others to the benefit of all involved? (It doesn’t sound so outlandish when phrased that way — and it shouldn’t. We have a name for that same kind of endeavor when it is organized as a legal entity… it’s called a company.)
The monolithic virtuoso of the arts, alone atop the peak of success, is a myth. Steve Knox knows this. He understands that a community of artists working together will always be stronger than a community of hyper-competitive individuals continuously looking over their shoulders. He understands, too, where his own strengths lie, and knows how they can be used to the benefit of his own community. Perhaps that ingrained desire is related to the same reasons that led him to become an educator — a passion for helping others grow. Perhaps his own reward comes from seeing those around him succeed. In any case, he has absorbed the lessons of unity and turned them into a kind of mantra.
This couldn’t be more clear after hearing about his most recent venture.
The Cheyenne Fine Art Exchange is a project that emerged after Steve’s experience coordinating Fill the Space Art Galleries.
“My work was being exhibited during the [Wyoming Arts Council] Summit at Chronicles Distilling,” he told me. “After the show was over the owners of the building mentioned they were interested in one of my paintings, but due to being a new business [they] didn’t have enough cash on hand. So the idea of making a trade for their product came up.” The two parties ended up agreeing to a trade of equal monetary value, and Steve handed over his painting for some of his favorite booze.
That trade sparked something in his mind.
He began a conversation with his wife, “about how cool it would be if all those people who may not be able to pay cash but have great skills, products, or services could still get their hands on good art.” And from there the idea developed. “I couldn’t get it off my mind,” he said.
Now, with the assistance of a group of fellow artists called WY/Art Coalition, Steve’s brainchild has come into its own as the Cheyenne Fine Art Exchange, a juried art exhibition that will open May 1 in historic downtown Cheyenne. The two day event will feature artworks for direct barter or sale with a silent auction option that will allow potential buyers to make barter proposals. “There is a desire by many people to acquire quality original art but may be hesitant to spend often large amounts of money on the art they love,” Steve told me. “[The Exchange] provides an opportunity for those people to get their hands on art that would otherwise be out of reach.”
The world of art has long been seen as an elitist institution with a cost of entry far exceeding the budget of most families. The Exchange is an event that turns that notion on its head, leveling the playing field, and giving everyone with an appreciation for art the opportunity to get what they want. All one needs is an open mind and the willingness to bring their own unique offerings to the table. “We want to work with those people who have a side gig,” Steve told me. “[Those with] great skills like electricians, mechanics, etc — or [those who] can trade products.” And by using a silent-auction-style bidding process, “the artist will get to choose from those who bid their goods, skills, or service, for the art.”
What this does is free the process of exchange from the restrictions of the money system. Artists will be able to barter their art for the services and products they need, and collectors will be able to take home the art they desire without having to worry about cash on hand. It’s a collaborative effort — a mutual recognition of the other’s particular contribution and an agreement that transforms a price tag into a relationship, something that will only strengthen the bonds of the wider community.
I’m not at all surprised to learn this idea originated in Steve’s mind. It seems, rather, to be a natural extension of his advocacy that he would bring those same ideas of cooperative effort to the public by way of an art exhibition. “I would help anyone with finding the right path for their art,” he told me. “I truly want the arts to be a part of our communities.”
And he is working to do just that.
The lesson of the bundled rods is not lost on him.
Steve’s work can be found in several galleries in and around Cheyenne, online on Facebook and Instagram, and on fineartbysteveknox.com.
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Nick Thornburg is a multidisciplinary artist and writer. Follow Nick and share the work on social media. Subscribe to his mailing list to keep up-to-date with upcoming features and other news.
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