By Chuck Prophet

Open house with Travis.

Travis has a studio out at the old Hunter Point Naval base. (Toxic as hell out there. Keeps out the yuppies I guess). He was born Travis Somerville, in 1963 in Atlanta, Georgia to an Episcopal minister and a school teacher.

I paid him a visit. We socialized and talked shop and listened to the Clash's Sandanista. Travis offered me a bottled water from his little fridge. Travis is one of-- if not the most- humble, down to earth artists I've even known. A seriously light hearted dude. He's the preacher's kid for god sakes! As for the mediums, he mixes it up good; he's part litho, part collage, part oil paints, and part found photographs.

When the Katherine Klark gallery had the good taste to pick up Travis back in 1995 or so, I was there. Since then, the rest of the world-- as the rest of the world will-- has slowly caught on. He's picked up some queer collectors along the way. Whoopi Goldberg among them. Could Ted Danson be next?

Hell, what do I know about Art? But check this shit out: MLK portraits replete with Nike logo's? One of my favorite pieces is not pictured (The Raft of the Grand Wizard). Dig that title! Travis's work forces us to look how far we've come. And sometimes how far we HAVEN'T come baby. Unlike say David Mamet, in Travis's work, there's people talking over people and narratives overlapping over other narratives. And until I really got the chance to stand in front of em, I was dare I say, more than a little confused. I couldn't help thinking: would John Murry and Travis hit it off?

He's no art poseur, Travis knows who he is and where he comes from. He may not know where he's going, but hopefully, he'll let us in on it when he gets there. Until then, this is the studio where it all goes down.