John Dirga
STATS: “The Mayor of Carroll St.” (a given nickname he rejects), engaged to prolific artiste; knows his wine; once saved neighborhood from 4 foot flood waters by unclogging sewer drains (ended up covered in lots of gunk, maybe poop too).
I’d never be so presumptuous to speak on behalf of John Dirga’s mental trajectory, but as someone familiar with his art, I DO feel its safe to say that John wouldn’t want it to be called “pretty”.
I figure he’d just as soon throw in the towel, move to the Midwest and spend afternoons listening to “War of the Worlds” on a transistor radio in front of his fruit stand, rather than hear someone label his art with an adjective used to describe floral blouses and dogs named Mitzi.
Often satirical, John’s work is experiential: a commentary, a performance; breathtaking, even. He paints and sculpts, whittles and writes; glues and plays. His work is tough to absorb and even tougher to catalog. However, one constant exists: it ain’t sissy-face pretty.
Beth Malone/Dashboard: Do you have a favorite piece that you’ve created?
John Dirga: My most successful piece so far was collaboration with my dog. I made a hole in the fence for her to terrorize people, while simultaneously making them laugh at their fear. During the installation period, my house was referred to as “that place with the dog”, as if she was the artist.
I think someone poisoned her.
I also really dig “The Triple Suck”. It was an interactive installation with multiple video feeds: the audience and I watched TV together, but while they were simply watching, I was playing music with synchronized footage of me as the rest of the band… plus my other dog. You know, they like to be included.
Dash: They sound smart. As an artist, do you ever feel disadvantaged for not having studied art in the conventional sense?
JD: School taught me how to teach myself. I otherwise found it to be a distasteful experiment in cow herding. To find what really interested me, I’ve always had to explore and invent.
I majored in Psych, because ideas, emotions, and choices are what interest me. I never felt a need to study tools or master techniques of art. It’s a form of meditation and communication. Though I imagine art school is a great way to meet other weird people who make things; that doesn’t appeal to my inner hermit.
Dash: Self-taught is almost misleading, as I’m sure many things have influenced the way you create your work – can you tell me about some of them?
JD: My family always made stuff.
Mom took us to the public library every weekend. It was an incredible building full of discovery, like a Fortress of Awesome. However, if you ventured outside to read a book down by the lake, you were mobbed by sock-biting geese. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere. After a while, I began to prefer these little illustrated books that my sister created, and we just continued to write stories - mostly for each other.
Our step-dad made all of our Christmas presents out of wood for a few years. Maybe times were tough, but we didn’t notice. We’d see him in the garage with his tools, but never stayed long enough to figure out what he was working on. It smelled like beer in there, which was mysterious and grotesque, but out of it came these unique puppets and dollhouses and cars and dinosaurs that none of our friends could buy at the store.
Eventually, I was designing my own dungeons, writing text-based computer games, hammering out strange songs on the Casio, and building lizard cages with Legos. At college, we made a lot of our own furniture (I consider our keg-o-rator to be an early masterpiece). I’m not sure when exactly I started to my things, but I’ve never stopped.
Dash: If you do so, when did you first start referring to yourself as an artist?
JD: I decided to refer to myself as an artist when I realized the social implications - it might help get me laid. But honestly, I’ve been making things as long as I can remember.
Dash: What kind of sacrifices have you made to continue making your work? Maybe you passed up a cool job or moved or let relationships slip past you.
JD: I don’t consider any decisions concerning art to be a sacrifice. On the contrary, I would have been sacrificing everything if I refused to do it.
Dash: Have you set yourself an ultimate goal as an artist? Maybe you want to show at the Tate Modern or paint a mural on the side of the Staten Island Ferry or whittle away at a Redwood.
JD: I like to have at least one person think any particular piece is awesome, and it’s perfectly okay if that person is me. My goal is to create. If someone wants one of my creations, I want them to have it. I’d like to keep it out of the hands of jerkwads, but other than that, I don’t really care what happens.
Dash: Anything else you wanna yak about?
JD: Yes. I’m extremely bitter that I once correctly answered a trivia question about Mad Max, only to be ridiculed in front of a theater full of people. They gave the prize to someone who said “Pop Goes the Weasel”... I confronted the MC afterwards in the lobby and explained (by singing) that although the songs are similar, since Mel stops before the melodic conclusion, it would have had much more unresolved tonal weight in “Happy Birthday”, not to mention the poignancy with regards to the fact that the deconstructed music box was a gift. That shit wouldn’t fly today, what with smartphones and all.
