At first look, “The Tabooist” seems like an easy chuckle. The everyone-gets-it reference to Norman Rockwell, famous for his realistic vignettes of iconic American experiences is translated into today’s parlance: a tattoo artist inking the names of a girlfriend on a bearded man’s bicep.
That is pun enough. But when you look closer, you recognize the tattooist as Rockwell himself from behind, as painted in his famous “Triple Self-portrait,” and the bearded man as Brigham Young, head of the Church of Latter-day Saints. The tattoo is not a single name but a list of Young’s wives, a legacy of the now-taboo doctrine of polygamy. Another tattoo portraying LDS church founder Joesph Smith is on Young’s lower arm.
So it’s not just an easy laugh. The painting is a commentary on hypocrisy and the evolution of morals—what was once accepted is now unacceptable—but it’s hard to get rid of unacceptable, immoral customs.
Artist at work
Steele was born in Washington and moved to St. George, Utah, when he was in high school. He attended Dixie when it was still a two year college and his interests vacillated between golf and art.
“I thought I wanted to be a golf pro. My Dad has an art degree but never worked as an artist. That’s what I thought I wanted to do.”
But he changed his mind and became an art student at University of Utah.
“By signing up for independent study courses, I managed to take seven courses from John Erickson—he became my teacher and mentor. He encouraged me to come to Helper. Paul Davis and Dave Dorrnan moved to Helper and made this coal mining and RR town an art community.”
Ink is permanent. Ways of thinking are sometimes impossible to change. But Steele veers away from making a condemnation of this slightly harsh comment—the painting style, at its most popular during America’s idealistic period, makes the comment almost loving.
“I like conceptual art,” says Steele. “But often, I don’t need to see it. Other pieces are well-painted but not that meaningful. I like to blend those two worlds—concept and vision.” In “The Tabooist,” Steele juxtaposes idealized Americana with historical Americana. Steele seeks out this kind of resonance—doing paintings of Crayons, for example, creating a Mona Lisa coloring page or putting Rembrandt’s self portrait on a Pez container.
The paintings are technically lovely but strikingly modern in their mashup of cultural icons. The result is art you love to look at, but also makes you think. bensteeleart.com; modernwest.com
See all of our arts coverage here.
IF YOU GO
Jerry and Kestrel Liedtke with then-partner Robin Kilpatrick opened their funky little restaurant on the southwest side of Pioneer Park not long after I started writing for this magazine. It’s remained a favorite, won many awards including a slew of our own Salt Lake Magazine Dining Awards and has consistently been one of the best restaurants in the city.
Tin Angel was not like any other restaurant. It was funky and laid back, less like a dinner out and more like a dinner in the home your favorite punky, bohemian friends. Robin left the nest some years ago. But Jerry and Kestrel, while raising two kids with a conscience, created a unique space on the frontier of Salt Lake’s ragged edge. The location was a bold choice at the time it opened and its presence brought and maintained a civilizing influence to a still troubled part of our city.
Shake Shack Sandy is housed in part of the old Valley high school—the original brick walls are still visible and the indentations that used to hold chalkboards now hold menu boards listing burgers, hotdogs and—recently introduced!—chicken nuggets. As well as flavors of shakes and concretes. The day we visited, the special shake of the day was black sesame seed. (See? It really is a restaurant rooted in Brooklyn.)
The burgers are good—made from three specified cuts of beef and sourced as locally as possible according to spec. No antibiotics, no hormones, etc. Fries are crinkle-cut—I personally prefer skin-on hand-cut skinny fries, but these are good and switching to hand-cut ones was “one of the worst mistakes we made,” said the manager. The Shack returned to crinkle-cut. The dog is called Chicago-style; I have a quibble about the measly amount of neon-green relish and would say more is required to earn the moniker “Chicago.” But that’s a critic’s quibble and frankly (see what I did?) Shake Shack has no need of a critic.
