"There is no irony in my work." : Stephen Lack talks about his paintings - Interview by Noah Becker

Stephen Lack, Leaving the Cenotaph, 30”x24” oil canvas 2005

By NOAH BECKER April 5, 2025

Most people know that in addition to publishing this magazine, I also make paintings, (and play great jazz alto saxophone) — it’s mentioned in the short bio below this article. So why bring it up here? It’s not about seeking attention, or trying to promote myself. Rather, I think it gives some context. When you’re actively engaged in making art, your perspective shifts — especially when it comes to choosing who you talk to or feature in an art magazine like Whitehot. My choices become more personal, more particular. Some might even call them snobby.

Right now, I’m deep in the studio, working on pieces for an upcoming show at Gallery Merrick in Victoria, B.C. I've also proofed and edited 80 chapters of the forthcoming 200 page hardcover "20 Years of Whitehot Magazine" book. That creative headspace got me thinking about artists whose work resonates with me — not just visually, but in terms of history, attitude, and sensibility. Stephen Lack came to mind. I’ve admired his work for a long time. He’s had a fascinating creative journey that includes acting (you can Google that side of his life), but what draws me in is his painting — the energy, the subject matter, the way his work feels lived-in and immediate.

So, I reached out. We had a conversation about his art, his background in downtown NYC, and how he sees things. What follows is that interview — a peek into his world, and maybe a reflection of where my own head is at, too.
 

Noah Becker: Your artistic journey began with a love for automobiles, particularly with the Corvette sculpture at the 1964 NY World’s Fair. How did that moment shape your visual language and artistic philosophy?

Stephen Lack: 1964 was a pivotal year. We boomers, born in ’46 were just turning 18, and the independence that came with it was co-opted by the car culture and the car porn that informed that freedom. Every autumn, as teenagers, we were inundated with sneak previews of the coming models from Detroit. Cars with drapes over them, hinting at their shapes, trim details, headlight groupings , all reflecting Art Deco and Futurism and the brutalism of military applications; warplane aspects incorporated into their design…. What was there not to love for a young man coming of age! 

    The GM Exhibit at the NY World’s fair featured this abstract sculpture of a futuristic corvette that echoed the minimalism and lyricism of Arp coupled with Brancusi’s hints of motion in “Bird in Space”. That combination of elegance and power captivated me and has permeated so much of my work since.
 

“Inquisition of the Rose” 12”x16” oil on panel 2025
 

NB: As a key figure in the East Village Art Scene in NYC of the 80’s, how did that era’s raw energy and ‘no rules’ attitude influence your work; and, do you see echoes of that spirit in today’s art world?

SL: The raw spirit of the NYC East Village Scene was like a homecoming to me! After working in film in Canada, Indie features like The Rubber Gun, we had taken the media to levels  beyond the barriers of commercial considerations. Then, I got trapped. The restrictions of above ground projects like Cronenberg’s “Scanners” brought public scrutiny, and an ‘uptightness’ that I wanted to get away from. 

    In the East Village there was a community of outsiders, intelligent and talented people who had, at least when I arrived in the early 80’s, a looseness and flexibility that had survived the distractions of drugs that infected the Seventies. Suddenly everything was possible, fueled by the energy of a generation that hadn’t been swept up by the music industry but had the heart of real Rock and Roll. Simon and Garfunkel hinted at it in ‘Sounds of Silence’ “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls!”. Well, NYC was all subways and a lot of walls!!

      I met Jean-Michel Basquiat within 8 days of moving back to the city in ’81. Thru my close friend, Sur Rodney Sur, I met Gracie Mansion. She ‘got’ the work and gave me a show in her ‘Loo Division’ gallery, which was the bathroom of her railroad apartment on 9th St. The opening, in summer, broke all the rules. There was a line up down three flights of stairs, into the street and around the block. All to see a loo made over into a gallery. I had cut out bathroom style tailboard to serve as windows to present the drawings. The central one, “Nude in Burning Trailer Park” sold! Next, the Drawing Center included me in a group show of 6 artists and the ball started to roll. Art Stars like Julian Schnabel; Clemente; Ross Bleckner and others were being minted in upscale Soho; but the East Village made all that look like a Sunday morning church meet. Compared to the ‘free for all’ hedonism and multi vectored rage, sex and love fueled art that was going on every day in the EV galleries and street walls, Soho could not hold up!

Stephen Lack and his young family in a 1984 photo intended for Life Magazine that never ran. Photo: Joe McNally
 

    I came to the city with hopes to work on a series of drawings and paintings that I wanted to look like drawings made by children. The horrors of current events. Needless to say, after getting to know Jean-Michel, I abandoned the ‘child’s line’ to him. I went wild applying my drawing skills to working as fast as possible so that I would not impose any external restrictions or considerations on my output. Paintings like ‘Little Lulu Party Slut” “Your Parents Get the News You Are Dead” “Couple Embrace After Losing Everything”, big canvases that expressed very personal things. To my surprise, they were accepted and exhibited. Revealing  these difficult thoughts to an audience that shared my emotions and disconnect with the power structure, confirmed my thinking that I was in the right place!!

    I don’t want to be an old man bitching about the young. When I go to galleries now I see a conflagration of images referencing previous work from the lexicon of great art. Today it seems a bit different. Maybe it was always this way… but I find today’s appropriations and mash ups to be pastiche compositions opportunistically echoing the established successes that preceded them, rather than an exuberant reveal and counterpoint to the establishment of Wojnarowics or Martin Wong. So much of the work today looks like it was peeled off an agenda sheet of political correctness. Much of the content should be covered.. with a sheet. Yale grads manifesting irreverence is like a frat party binge. Did I say that? OK, there is the old man in me that I was trying to avoid. How about: “The spirit of the EV does permeate the works on gallery walls today as the institutionalization of transgressivity” … there, that’s better.

NB: Your work often explores themes of power, authority, and violence, yet you also capture the elegance and optimism of American culture. How do you balance these seemingly opposing forces your paintings?

SL: Power is a noun, for this time period, drenched in impermanency, America is in power. 

     Nothing we see gets done without some form of power and authority guiding it …. And underneath it all is the implied threat of violence. You may love looking at a swooping cement overpass as you drive along the highway, but that structure came about with snakes lobbying for the rights and money to build, funneled to possible mafia affiliated construction companies, that may or may nor treat their workers with dignity, or provide materials with integrity. And that is just about the sidewalk you walk on. Somehow, by virtue of you being alive in the center of all these conflagrations of malfeasance, there is an elegance, a beauty! This must be celebrated as much as the darkness must be revealed. And the impermanence must be frozen so we can savor the moment before the flame of ejaculation. These are the roots to some of the opposing elements in the work. United by affection this rage and indignation. Soothed by color and composition, these thought of despair and unwanted change.

Film still, Stephen Lack in "Head On" 1980

NB: You describe yourself as a ‘21st Century Landscape Artist’ rather than a ‘political artist’ Can you elaborate how you define landscape in your work, both interior and exterior?

SL: I love this planet, and I try everyday to reflect that affection. There is no irony in my work. I read somewhere that the cave paintings of animals were meditations intended to bring the ideal of the animal to guide the hunter. To show it respect as well as to eventually kill it and eat it.  Today, with our understanding of the macro implications of our actions, everything we do can be put into a political context. When I paint a car in the landscape it is because I find the car beautiful and I love the way it completes the formalism of the suburban landscape. It implies optimism. Politically it can be analyzed as a statement that underlines the automobile as an object of desire, its phallic outline sublimating the innate homosexuality in the male, and a nasty replacement of human and horse by machine,  a worship of the mechanized products of industry at the expense and destruction of the ‘natural’ environment….. all this is valid, … but only in retrospect.

     I am a twenty first century artist, drenched in media, spending at least 4 hrs a day in front of a tv or telephone screen. Fortunately I have a ‘pre media’ history, a skill set of drawing that allows me to internalize events and reproduce them after ‘filtration’, to document the experience in a translatable form for human to human consumption. It is  both for the immediate and for the future  to absorb, understand,  and triangulate from where we came. Prof. Phillip Pocock said of my work: “Stephen, you are painting a movie, not to be measured in time but in inches…one frame at a time!”

   I think most paintings are landscapes. With all the visual chatter of media, you can see the contemporary landscape in the color and image fragmentation on view in galleries now.

 I think I work a bit differently. I love it when I am given a series of rooms where the plethora of images take on the filmic narrative that Phillip suggests in his precis. Usually galleries opt out for the more decorative elements for commercial purposes, not realizing the client often has a larger capacity that may transcend the ‘pretty’. Of course to my eye, it’s all pretty. Luckily I have known some visionary gallerists. It is their skill that contextualizes the work frequently.

Film still, Stephen Lack in David Cronenberg's "Scanners", 1981

Signed Scanners poster

NB: Your involvement in underground film, and collaborations with David Cronenberg (“Scanners”; “Dead Ringers”) have left a lasting impact. How has your experience in film influenced you approach to painting, and vice versa?

SL: I like working with people and I like to please people. That latter part may be a flaw. Working in film is always collaborative and is public at both ends. The editing room is the private zone. Painting is all ‘editing room’. In both fields I like to keep things fresh, interesting, not a manipulation of tricks but a real interaction with the moment. That is not always possible with bigger budget features. I have learned however, that spontanaety can come from a pre-prep situ. The same can be applied to painting.

I try to take risks with every load of the brush. In film, they are looking at you, with painting, they are looking at what you see. Your mark! It is always a goal to surprise yourself. You must understand, that painting is intrinsically a faster process than a film. The idea or experience of a film has such a gap from inception to the having a product that can be shared. Compare that to an artist going into the studio and interacting with a canvas and his/her mind. The resulting marks echo in the minds and eyes of the beholders. An almost immediate interval, …no crew, no labs to process the materials, no editors or distributors to alter the product, no advertising planned to release the event, just a personal interaction shared by a few in direct analogue live context. When I paint, I like to think that the tableau suggests activity that preceded it and what might follow the implications within the frame.

NB: Your film “The Rubber Gun”is being re released in 2025. Looking back what does the film mean to you now and how do you think it resonates with audiences today?

SL: The screenings of The Rubber Gun at the Roxy Cinema NY and in L.A. were amazing! The restored version of the film is better than the original. The depth and clarity of the print exceeds the original. Both Allan (Moyle, Director, “Pump Up the Volume” “Empire Records”) and I were  surprised by it. The audience reaction only confirmed its validity for a contemporary crowd!

 As artists, you are most concerned with the difficulties in producing the work. When, years later, you see the film holding up and communicating to a contemporary audience …. their enthusiasms… well it was very gratifying! 

     The film is about the spiraling out of control of a family of downtown hipsters in Montreal as drugs and commerce challenge the very elements of their multi vectored lifestyle. There is an energy in the film, it is unique. …in its language and sexuality, in its portrayal of a family dynamic, that is intense and immediate and frequently transgressive. All that was greeted and embraced by the audience, validating our efforts of the Seventies. It originally premiered in NYC at MoMA NY’s New Director’s series in 1977. Recently, heroes like Quentin Tarantino and Roger Avary complimented the film on their blogs. Very exciting to get their critical endorsements! The responses have been a huge comfort after years of cringing at the thought of its rawness being exposed again.

NB: Your paintings have been collected by institutions like The Brooklyn Museum and The Rubell Museum. How does institutional recognition compare to the raw immediacy of the underground art scene where you started?

SL: You have to be grateful for the museums. They are the end of the chain of production in the art world. The rawness of the production, the intent, the energy, all that combines and wants to be seen, and like any life form, it wants to survive. While you never know if the work will surface on the museum’s walls, there is a happiness in the illusion that they are protected in their storage. Time eats us all, but we treasure the delaying tactics. In my case, a lot of my work is a message, a clue, a story that I am leaving to mark the trail of my life to inform subsequent travelers. Museums and institutions compliment and reflect that desire and drive. We are, as a community, divided into specialists. I really treasure the curation that institutions offer. They parse the work and frequently discover relationships and qualities that even the artist may have overlooked in the rush to ‘express.’ 

NB: Muscle Cars appear in your work as symbols of power, aggression, and American Identity. Do you see the automobile as a metaphor for something larger, especially in today’s cultural climate.

SL: Cars may well be a thing of the past in the future. Cities are being designed to eliminate the need for them, videos and other forms of overwhelming entertainment are reducing the impetus for an ‘off the sofa’ experience. The automobile, like the individual, may well be phased out. Muscle cars fascinate me because of the intent of their design and what they represent. Their macho profiles are undeniable. Is there a metaphorical significance in the subject? Only as far as they represent power, optimism, beauty of form, and sensuality. I used to think of them as Degas’ dancers. A subject that took him away from other concerns, life, death, violence, etc. Then I learned the backstory of the girls who were his models. Well, I guess the backstory of the cars can be equally outlined with a dark brush.

Stephen Lack, oil on canvas

    The automobile is our armor, it is from a selection catalogue issued to us by corporations. They define how we present ourselves to ourselves and to our neighbors. We don’t even having to roll down the window to say hello anymore. The car is the vehicle of our isolation and separateness. It is a seductive  lie. It also, in that period of the Muscle Car, represents the portion of the world’s resources that America had cornered for its people after World War 2. They represent the uncontrolled giddiness of the victor after the grayness of the bomb smoke  dispersed from the rear view mirror of memory.

NB: Having worked across different disciplines-painting, film, and underground art- what do you see as the biggest challenge and rewards of being an ‘Indie painter’s a world that often seeks to categorize artists?

SL: One thing I have learned being an artist is that many of the moneyed class resent the imagined freedom of the artist, and work in their way to disempower them.

     The big reward in being an ‘Indie Painter’ is the satisfaction of doing the work. I never have to look at a painting and say it is no good because I did it for the wrong reason, to please someone for a decorative agenda. Of course this can be difficult. The financial rewards are often slow in coming. All fields in the arts are challenged now. As a culture, as a species, we are going through great transitions. Filmmakers are looking for budgets, their products are no longer guaranteed a larger than life projection on the ‘Big Screen’, television is a glut of product, the galleries are at present filled with works looking for walls, while that industry transitions further into investment value, the digital, and money laundering; away from its original decorative, narrative and documentary intent. The desire for ‘slow art’ and analogue is diminishing. 

    Categorization, although limiting in most cases, is a typical attempt to streamline understanding under a heading. 

NB: Looking ahead, what themes or ideas are currently driving your work, and what can we expect to see from you in the near future?

SL: Recently, in the past few years, I have been painting children, and people in refugee situations. Slums, playing alone…sometimes perched in denuded trees. It is an obsessive vision that embraces the tragedies of today’s displacement as well as incoming climate threats. These are not invocations but examples of survival and hope. The wise Rebbe said: “If you want to see G-d, look in the face of the children”. I feel more than ever we are heading into very ‘uncertain’ times. We must discern what is good and nurture it for the present and the future.  I am thinking of working on some books coming up; one, a ‘Children’s Book’ of questionable one page story lessons, and another completely different, of some of the more reprehensible media style drawings and watercolors that have been accumulating in the studio, secretly. As I work for the upcoming gallery shows (TBA) I post weekly on social media as a sort of magazine, one page at a time. Of course, tomorrow I may veer off into a completely different zone, the perks of being an ‘Indie Painter’. I worry that policies of control and ‘reductivism’ may well eliminate the many platforms we have become accustomed to. Our connectivity could be severed. There is so much I haven’t shown yet, and I keep working, the hive is overwhelming and incomplete. Still, there is honey. WM