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Women hold hands on the edge

What's an avant-garde artist to do around here to stay relatively sane? Find a few kindred spirits and talk art, think art.

By LETITIA STEIN
Published September 2, 2005

VALRICO - Candace Knapp grimaces on the living room couch. A sculptor wit h displays in Tampa and St. Petersburg, she sounds embarrassed talking about her new assignment.

"I worry about being classed as a middle-aged housewife," Knapp tells her support group. "It's going to be hard for me to make paper dolls not trivial."

"That's the challenge," replies Kim Radatz, a Valrico neighbor and mixed-media artist. "Do paper dolls made out of candy wrappers."

The artists are turning a girly toy into a creative outlet. The assignment means reaching outside comfort zones for the half-dozen member of BRAVA, a group of female artists living in Brandon and Valrico. But that's why they meet.

"There should be nothing that we are afraid to do," Knapp says.

A painting of an eye peers out of a window in front of a pink house on Brooker Road. Knapp and her husband, Bjorn Andren, like to watch passing drivers at night slow down and stare.

The 57-year-old petite artist has short brown hair framing curious eyes. A sculptor works deliberately, from time to time taking risks. Knapp lives the same way.

"Like my sculptures, I grind away for years," she says. "After a while, I take a big jump."

Her house was a leap, because she worried about affording it. The couple designed this house to suit artistic sensibilities. The only window with curtains is in the bedroom.

They settled here after touring all of Florida looking for a place to call home. The Tampa area felt right. They turned away well-known neighborhoods for artists, like Tampa's Channel District.

They couldn't live there if they wanted a private pool. Ybor City? Too close to neighbors to use wood saws late at night.

"We make noise and dust, so we can't be too close to everything," says Knapp, who enjoys the trees around her home in Brandon. She uses Chinaberry trees from her yard in sculptures.

Inside, wood statues are poised to leap to life. Piano keys crescendo in the air. Violins arch with unsung harmony. In the great room, Bruce sits with a sinewy long torso topped with antlers.

To Knapp, each sculpture embodies a state or psychological force. Many have human names. She shows off photographs from when she took a favorite sculpture on a beach outing.

Sculpting came naturally to Knapp, the daughter of a toy designer. Her sculptures are alive in a room. In contrast, painting offers a window into another world.

Some sculptures are larger than life. A statue of St. Peter is taking form in Knapp's garage. Sculpting saints for local churches is her base, financially.

But sculpting for art's sake is her passion.

Knapp places Dorothy on the coffee table.

Five female sets of eyes study the sand-colored animal with a long neck. Fine, dark lines hint at fur. A friendly tail curls upward.

Knapp is struggling to figure out what would complete her sculpture.

"This week, Dorothy has been bright red, turquoise, green." Knapp sighs. "All mix of colors."

BRAVA is meeting at abstract painter Martha Marshall's house across from Bloomingdale High School.

"I would vote for every one at the same time," says Margaret Conte, who currently is working on colorful, folksy sculptures created out of table legs and small boxes.

"She was," Knapp replies. "And it was just awful."

Four years ago, there were no formal meetings for avant-garde female artists in Brandon. Watercolor painters dominated the community's arts scene. Knapp felt isolated working in a home studio.

BRAVA began as women chatting about art over breakfast.

First it was Knapp and Marshall.

Marshall asked Conte to join them.

Knapp invited Radatz, another mixed media artist.

Then, they created a name and a structure for their conversations. Knapp's husband, Andren, selected the name: BRAVA. It stands for Brandon and Valrico.

Andren, a photographer and painter, says he would like to join. But the female artists are firm: No men allowed.

"We think of the group as a whole," Radatz explains. "Men don't do that. They think about themselves."

As the group has evolved, each member has crafted a niche.

Knapp is the voice of calm.

Marshall, 61, a former marketer, handles publicity.

Conte, 75, speaks her mind.

Radatz, 48, sets up shows and schmoozes at openings.

They restrict monthly critiques to professionals, by invitation only. Two artists from south and north Tampa now drive to Brandon to attend. At the sessions, each artist talks about her latest work.

As Knapp describes Dorothy, comments crackle across the room.

Too much color would detract from Dorothy's shape.

The neutral hue is too predictable.

"If I do another dog, I'll make it more abstracted," Knapp says, "so you're not sure if it's a dog or if it's just a shape."

She lifts Dorothy off the coffee table, making room for the next artist.

The art world produces art for selling and art for showing. BRAVA members straddle both sides of the divide.

After showing her latest abstract paintings, Marshall brings out a series of shimmering sunsets. Orange light melts into puffy clouds.

"I don't get excited about them," says Marshall, who prefers to paint emotional splashes of color.

"But they'll sell," Radatz notes approvingly.

Marshall wants to support herself and her husband in their retirement with her art.

BRAVA's women sometimes exhibit work together at professional shows. But their career goals are as different as their styles.

Radatz strives to rattle. She mixes houses shaped like tombstones with childhood photos. Eggs, plastic tubes shaped like tourniquets, blacked-out human eyes appear in her work.

"I don't care if I ever sell a piece," she says.

These days, Knapp is leaning toward Radatz's view. Her finger-pointing Litigation sculpture is at the Hillsborough County courthouse. The Enchanted Mangrove Forest sits on Central Avenue in St. Petersburg.

She wants to play with symbolic meaning in her sculptures. She no longer fears so much how to make a living. There is always the church work. Now she wants to experiment in style.

"Older women can be avant-garde," says Knapp, noting that many women find fresh energy after menopause. "I've seen a lot of women who suddenly feel very free to go out in the world and do things."

Cows are a topic of discussion at BRAVA meetings this year. A purple surreal cow, a realist cow with earrings, a cow painted in flat colors standing before a dark, boxy house.

This is BRAVA's first assignment in an occasional series to push themselves outside comfort zones. Each woman painted a cow on a 12-by-12-inch canvas. None of the cows looks alike.

"It'd be awful if we looked the same," Knapp says. "It shows that we are different people."

Her husband thinks the assignments are a waste of time. But Knapp and BRAVA members see potential for creative exploration. Next, each member will tackle paper dolls.

After that, the group is turning its attention to women's brassieres.

BRAVA artists will showcase works as a group in December at Arts on the Park, 115 Kentucky Ave. N, Lakeland. The opening reception will be from 6 to 9 p.m. Nov. 29.

[Last modified September 2, 2005, 02:15:35]