By Nicole Rupersburg

My exposure to the Detroit arts and music scene began during my time as a student at the University of Detroit Mercy. Prior to that I had no idea what a culturally rich universe existed right here in the city of Detroit—a city that, prior to my first-hand exposure of it, was always spoken of with fear and disdain, as a cultural and creative wasteland, a place where passion went to die. This new world of artists and musicians who played teeny-tiny bars and coffee houses in WWII-era structures next to empty lots and abandoned buildings and self-published books of poetry and DIY arts magazines and hosted art shows in empty industrial warehouses and created sprawling displays in the city streets seemed so mysterious and romantic to me; I wanted desperately to understand it and be a part of it.

It’s been almost a decade since those feelings first began to emerge within me, and I still feel a lot of that same sense of mysteriousness and romanticism. The artists and musicians in this city are fascinating people with fascinating lives who never once consider anything about themselves remotely fascinating. They don’t make art or music for some narcissistic self-serving delusions of grandeur or crave for fame or out of an over-inflated sense of self-importance; they do it because they wouldn’t want to be doing anything else, because they don’t know what they would do otherwise.

Recently I had the opportunity to chat with two such artists: Tracee Mae Miller and Greg Siemasz, who are co-presenting an art exhibit which opens this Thursday, November 6th at the Majestic Café. In speaking to both Tracee and Greg, two people who are heavily steeped in the Detroit arts and music scene, I found two people who are absolutely humble in their art and who don’t consider anything about themselves or their work remarkable.

Greg Siemasz paints dangerous pictures of animals. He teaches art to DPS grade school students. He also used to co-host radio program Radio Fever on 97.1 FM. He attributes his painting to punk music and drafting class. Tracee Mae Miller paints pictures of animals, too, but hers are pretty and obsessive and nostalgic. She also plays bass in a alt-goth-country-rockabilly band called Blanche and worked as a fashion model after attending art school for a year and hating it. Her passion for art began as a child. Greg claims to have no passion for art but only the “utmost okayness”—which I think might be a lie, but it’s hard to tell with him.

As artists, they’re similar yet drastically different. The theme of their shared show is there is no theme, though one could perhaps make a case for “twisted and fantastical fairytales you’ve never heard of.” Or, as Greg described it, “When two geniuses get together magic shit just happens.” Well said, friend.

Greg and Tracee allowed me to pry into their personal lives, their passions (sorry—“utmost okayness”es), and their past, and didn’t put up too much of a fight when I did it. Ultimately I found their stories intriguing and yet completely normal (as they presented themselves as such). The following are merely pieces of the people put together in an attempt to paint a picture of the artists. But hey—I’m not the painter here, so bear with me.

Portrait of the artist as a young man (and why he paints animals)

Greg Siemasz: I learned how to draw just like everybody else—I had art in elementary school. I just happened to master the compositional elements by age 5. By the time I got to junior high, my main focus turned to skulls and cool punk shit that you could draw on clothing and shoes. My sister was dating a punk and he had the best shirts with skulls on them—but we were in Northville, so he wore a cardigan with every skull t-shirt and junior high was called middle school.

In high school, I started off as a jock but then started hanging out with the auto shop rats which I parlayed into taking a drafting class—which had something to do with vocation or technical trade skill. Then in drafting class I met some artsy people—which was basically this one kid who looked like he was in Echo & the Bunnymen and a girl that was into Ayn Rand and liked making scabs on her arms by erasing her skin with her pencil eraser. Anyway, then I got back into art but mostly because the art kids listened to the good music. I was talented at art but was mostly involved because, as we all know, art class is a major blow-off.

So when I went to college, I did the same thing—took art classes. Some would argue that I have had formal art training due to my time in college, but had you seen Eastern Michigan University’s Art Department in the mid-1990’s, you would think otherwise. To get in the program you had to draw a turtle and a pirate. I managed to pass a life drawing class by letting my instructor borrow my VHS copy of Valley Girl. He loved it, and in turn loved me. It was the first time this poor crippled kid ever felt wanted.

Back then I was learning how to paint and used acrylics. It must have been like 1992-ish. I think acrylic paints should be outlawed. I didn’t have that opinion at first but then I tried some oil paints and it opened up a whole new awesome world to me. Sure, I probably have suffered some nerve damage from all the solvents involved, or perhaps I might just get cancer from my inappropriate handling of cadmiums, both red and yellow—but the luxuriousness of those things is nuts. Anyway, back when I was into acrylics, I was all into the Pogues and country music, so my paintings were about drunk people and hillbillies. I eventually grew tired of doing people. So I tried doing a painting of cat falling out of a tree and everything just clicked. “Animals is what I’m going to do,” I said. Critics will argue that it’s a cop-out to just paint animals, and they would be right to a degree. Doing humans is hard. I have complete veneration for people who can paint people well. We are all humans, so we’re familiar with correct anatomy and proportion. There’s a little wiggle room with animals—especially if they’re exotic. Like which animal has the twisted antlers—is it a Gazelle or is it an East African Oryx? More importantly, which one has the characteristic black stripes on its face? You’re not going to know unless you carry a field guide to the art opening. On the other side of the coin, if the lady in your picture has disproportionate hands (or uncharacteristic black markings on the face), then you immediately notice and dismiss the artist as “sucky.” That being said, it’s important to point out that whatever the verdict on painting animals is, it is not anywhere near the cop-out that abstract painting is.

Animal paintings are dangerous. While a deer or a deer mouse might be cute on the surface, there’s an underlying sense of menace to them. Psychologically speaking, what’s scarier? Running into a bear in the woods or coming across a deer? Depends if the deer gets spooked or just stops, fronts-up and stares back at you. Now, of course we’d usually say a bear, but only if it’s on our terms. If you’re lost in the woods, any animal can be terrifying. A crapload of people are frightened to death of mice—mice don’t kill or maim people, but the invasive aspect of our psychocolonialism tells us to not want them in our spaces. Now, while terror is not my bread or butter, it can play into the idea of animals being wild and dangerous. One problem with animals is that they often conjure a sense of cuteness or snuggability™—so viewers are drawn to that aspect of the paintings. It’s like when Masta Killa says “the dumb are mostly intrigued by the drum” in the Wu Tang Clan’s masterful 1997 epic, Triumph. The animals are the drum, but the message, which is the important part, is actually that the track renders helpless and suffers from multiple stab wounds and leaks sounds that are heard. Another aspect of the danger—whether it’s inherent or not, is that artists are afraid to paint animals as the subject of their paintings. Maybe they are afraid that they’ll be pigeonholed as nature or wildlife artists. Or maybe they’re afraid if they look to deep into a cobra’s eyes, they might just recognize themselves. But my point is, check out  J.J. Audubon or Charley Harper—they dignify the animals as something more than worthy to gaze upon and make swift effort for.

Portait of the other artist as a young woman (and what’s with the cats):

Tracee Miller: I was passionate as a child about art. I took it very seriously.  That was all I did. For Christmas, I would ask for art supplies and those funny art drawing books.  I spent hours by myself drawing dogs and horses. No friends, just dog portraits. That is a lie—I did have one very good friend. 

My [art schooling began in high school]. My art teachers were great and I really did learn so much from them. I had the easiest high school career which consisted of having half a day of art classes and I averaged 2 absences a week. Technically I didn’t attend enough to graduate but after much discussion I was pushed out into society with the rest of my graduating class.

I [then] went to Otis Art Institute of Los Angeles which in hindsight I may regret just a little… My art teacher in high school really pushed hard for me to go and looking back on it, I think she was the one who wanted to go to Hollywood. I received a full scholarship, so I went. The school wasn’t a good fit for me.  I finished one full year and that was the end of my art schooling.  This is where my life took a strange turn. I was at a mall in Los Angeles and was approached by scout for Elite [Model Management], I was offered a modeling contract and told how I would be able to continue school later. So off I went for five years. This I might regret just a little bit as well. I truly hated it. I still hate it. Of course when I quit I never went back to school. 

I never thought about [painting] as a career, but I didn’t have any other real interests. I think this is why I wish I would have taken a different path as far as schooling. I would prefer to study art and some science, possibly some business.  When I went to Otis, it seemed as if it was filled with rich students who wanted to buy a career, and that was who the school really catered to.  Not very inspiring or nurturing for a dirt poor Midwestern girl. I guess I should have went to OCC.

[I would say the major subject matter of my work is] obsession. I can’t stop visualizing these figures or landscapes. Mostly women with animals. There is strong symbolism there, but that is for the viewer to discover. They show up everywhere and the more I paint them the better I feel. They are almost like ghosts. I have said in many interviews that I paint to somewhat comfort myself. My paintings give me the same feeling I get when I put up the Christmas lights while listening to Bing Crosby. I want that feeling all the time. Right now I need to paint bruised snowy skies because I am obsessed with the first big snow of the season.  I think nostalgia plays a huge role for me.  Everything has to be pre 1950’s and mostly Victorian. It is such a compulsion. I have a piggy bank my Grandfather gave my father than my father gave me and that thing has inspired so many of my paintings. I think because when I look at it I see his childhood in the late 1800’s then I see my Dad during the Depression and I could go on and on. For all I know this piggy bank was never used and sat in the closet but for me it holds characters, houses, landscape, weather, pets…..it seems to be my Aladdin’s Lamp.

[My usage of sparse colors and empty space is] definitely more style than statement. The composition—whether it is dominated by color, texture or space—is in a way pure design used to set the story. The humor or sadness in my work is often conveyed with just color, space and texture. It sets the mood and cleverly leads you down the path. Trickery; well, sort of!

There is a recurring image in Tracee’s work which I pointedly asked about, a magical-looking feline figure:
The cat figure is actually a woman wearing a cat shaped “hood.” I have done a few straight-up cat paintings and those are indeed just cats. But the predominate catish figure is human. There is something visually beautiful to me about the cat-shaped hood but it really is about anonymity. She is often a caregiver and sometimes an angel of death. She has an important role in the painting she’s in but she remains private, possibly even safe…I feel good about that and I think she does too.

And sometimes life gets in the way of art…(or maybe makes it better)

Greg is known around town for having co-hosted a radio program called Radio Fever on 97.1 FM, which showcased local bands.
GS: The Radio Fever thing happened through my friend Chris Handyside who got the offer through his time at Metro Times being the music editor. He asked me if I wanted to do a local music radio show on WKRK 97.1 FM. So we gave it a shot just to say that we gave it a shot at giving it a shot. We were terrible. We featured local bands but made excuses to interject stuff from our record collections for interest’s sake. Our show was 3 effing hours long a week—I don’t know if you ever tried filling 3 radio hours a week with the 50 local bands—40 of which had played Harpo’s (North America’s #1 concert theater) and/or I-Rock—who actually sent out promos over the course of 2 1/2 years, but it gets a little redundant. Sure, all this machinery was making modern music that could
still be open-hearted—not so coldly charted. It’s really just a question of your honesty. And I think a few bands were like that, but most of them were formed as an excuse to smoke weed in their mom’s basement. Chris quit after a year to concentrate on archery and World of Warcraft. Dave Buick (CEO of Italy Records) filled in for Chris for about a year and a half—he was a perfect comic foil to my comic foil. Then we got sacked. Which sucked because that was my car payment. But my favorite thing about it is that people think we’re still on the air. So I just gotta say, it’s fans like you that keep us going. We’ll see you on the radio.

Greg also teaches K-5 art classes at a DPS Elementary School. While teaching art classes seems to be a natural progression for an artist, I had a feeling Greg would have a much more interesting take on it. He did not disappoint:
When I finished college, I wanted to be one of 3 things: an astronaut, a surgeon, or an art teacher. As per usual, I planned backwards-ly. Since I had taken a few art education classes, I decided to get my certification for teaching. That David Bowie song scared the shit out of me about space (Tom Hank’s From the Earth to the Moon mini-series event restored my space exploration passion) and I’m scared of real blood—so the choice was pretty easy. I always liked the idea of being an art teacher—but exclusively art. I would hate teaching other junk. Other junk bores me.

For Tracee, I was curious “At what point did the painter essentially decide, ‘Eff it, I’m going into modeling instead [of art school]?’”
TM: This is where the girl who is too poor to buy groceries, working nights to pay her rent and can’t afford art supplies says “Eff it". It was that simple.  I was so stressed that I don’t think I could have gone on. Otis at the time was located on 6th Street between Alvarado and Rampart and it was a terrible neighborhood. Rampart was a drug and crime haven. Everyday I was getting more and more depressed. This was my way out and I took it. It worked, it got me out and gave me the freedom to take care of myself and even help my family.  I did hate the work but I am thankful that it changed my direction.

I was also curious—and assumed readers would be as well—how much Tracee was able to continue focusing on painting whilst jet-setting as a fashion model and recording/touring with Blanche.
[My painting] definitely took a back seat to Blanche since we toured and traveled quite a bit. I am not able to start and stop easily when I paint, so I just didn’t. I have realized that painting is first as far as work or extracurricular activities. I am about to have a child so that will be an adjustment to say the least. I have heard from a few friends of mine that after I have the baby, my life is over. I have grown to love the quotes, "Just wait—you’ll see,” “You better do it now,” “You won’t be doing that any longer” and the list goes on. I come from hearty independent stock so I am confident I will still have a career as an artist post-labor. 

On the role of music in (their) art:

GS: Music is incredibly important to my well being. I like to listen to types of music while I’m painting—it’s interesting how well you can listen to music as you work—the canvas’s silence is deafening. What? What I mean is, lyrics and nuance carry more weight when you are concentrating on nothing but making pictures and repetitive motion. A lot of musical dumbness comes from playing records that your friends like—almost entertaining instead of your alone-time where an idiosyncratic appreciation of what you actually relate to emerges and becomes meaningful. That’s how I got into Simon & Garfukel—I used to just know the hits and dismiss them as corny until I listened to them when I was painting and came to appreciate a lot of the lyrics and music that I might otherwise have missed. In turn, I like to create spaces similar to the impression of place informed by a song in my paintings. One painting in this show is a sheep with an abandoned car in middle of a snow drift—that imagery was a direct result of impressions from “America” by Simon & Garfunkel. Something about hitchhiking and Saginaw and a bus—it all seemed so wintery or rainy—the lyrics actually never reference what time of the year this is, but I always imagine it being overcast and cold with dirty snow on the ground…and rusty. Weird artsy shit, right? Anyway, I used to listen to tapes—mostly because you can get some kick-ass tapes for nothing at record shops. I switched over to iPod once I got one. A good shuffle is imperative when it comes to the act of painting. I usually run the spectrum of music but for this particular set of paintings I couldn’t stop listening to TV on the Radio, The Streets, Nick Cave, Felt and David Axelrod.

TM: Dan [Miller, Tracee’s husband] taught me to play bass when I was about 26. His first band Goober & the Peas was dissolving and he wanted someone to work on music with. I was not really doing much at the time so it was a good fit. I didn’t realize what that would eventually lead to. We were just supposed to fool around and never play out but after a couple of months Two Star Tabernacle was formed in our basement. I was definitely the lowest on the totem pole. It was Dan, Jack White and Damian Lang (Detroit Cobra drummer) and me. It was a great time to be in a band, we spent many long gin-soaked nights at the Gold Dollar. Not a bad way to start.

Blanche came together after the demise of Two Star Tabernacle. Jack had a little project he was working on so he was just a little busy. So Dan and I focused on our love for old country music and invited some of our best friends to join. Blanche consists of me, Mr. Miller, Lisa Jannon, David Feeny (Tempermill Studios) and Little Jack Lawrence (Greenhornes, Raconteurs). The only member that has changed is our banjo player. Brian Boyle (Model D) was the founding member and he became busy making a family so we recruited Little Jack. I miss Blanche so much when we don’t play because we really are like family members. We have never had any of the normal horrors of a touring band. No egos, no fights—of course this doesn’t include Mr. Miller and me. We may have had a few sticky moments but nothing terrible. We have been married for 12 years and dated for 4 years so we can coexist nicely. When we first started it was supposed to be just for fun. That is never the story I have learned. We had a show booked within weeks. It was on the job training for me. Blanche has been challenging for me but I truly love it and I love my bandmates. 

Being in Blanche is a strange extension of my work. Everything I do in the band has an artistic quality that someway mimics the art. Whether it’s the sparse arrangements or the on-stage image I put together.  I would love it if I could dress everyday like I do on stage. Sometimes I do but the spectacle is not worth it. There is something to be said for walking under the radar at the grocery store. But if you ever drive by my house on a summer day you might see me mowing the lawn in heels and a frilly dress and, of course, a sun hat.  It wasn’t until Blanche became established that the “fashion” (hearkening back to her modeling days) came into play slightly. We have a strong image that in a way became an equal partner to the music. That is something that we wanted to be careful about. We didn’t want to be labeled by an image but we didn’t want to shy away from our style. 

And now, on with the show…

GS: (I’m pretty sure this is mostly true, except for maybe the parts about birdwatching and paint-eating. Everything else though. Maybe not the mansion, either, but everything else.) Tracee and I have been drinking buddies for, like, ten years. We also like to birdwatch together—she’s moved on to squirrel-watching now, but we still get together to do bird calls every once in a while—she could be a great ornithologist if she would just apply herself. We used to share a studio space in an empty mansion where we would make paintings between lunch reservations. Unfortunately, the evil landlord kicked us out before we could make it into the Salon. So we showed some paintings together at a restaurant or two. Galleries are always so formal—we liked that you could enjoy our art over an order of grilled langoustines and a Vic Damone record. Tracee neglected me for her band for several years following those initial shows. It just happened that she owed me some money from one of those shows, so when I went to collect, we decided that we should work together again. Our paintings are both similar and dissimilar at once. I like to paint animals as the subject of most of my paintings—I will occasionally do a person, but then I have an uncontrollable urge to have the person get eaten by a bear or a giant squid. Tracee likes to put animals into her scenes, but they are usually docile in nature. I like to have minimal backgrounds, while Tracee likes to have more complex minimalism in her work. Both of our stuff has a very graphic quality to it. In art class, they used tell you not to outline stuff. I tried doing that and everything ended up sucking. Outlines rule. Her art is definitely more feminine than mine—it has a grace to it that is diametrically opposed to my ham-fistedness. And she cakes her velvety paint on like it’s frosting. Sometimes when she’s not looking, I like to eat her paintings. 

The show’s theme: there really isn’t one per se. It’s like when two geniuses get together, magic shit just happens. It started out that we were going to do a theme like “fables,” which quickly turned into “fables that you have never heard,” which in turn, became “unknown fables that are so fantastical that they actually became fairy tales,” until we ultimately ditched the themes in favor of us just doing what we do.

TM: Greg and I have been talking about having a show together for a long time and we finally inspired each other to commit. We decided we would both have a minimum of 12 pieces and we wanted them to all be affordable. A strange idea when it comes to art these days. So that was the concept for the show. The Majestic is a great place to show art for many reasons; most importantly they don’t take commission. Perfect for our mission of bringing fine art to the masses. No bourgeoisie bullshit for us.  Simple. 

I have been friends with Greg for a long time and for most of that time I didn’t realize he was an artist and I think the same was true for him. Let’s just say that we were busy honing our inner W.C. Fields. It was shocking to find out that we were such kindred spirits when it comes to painting and that we share such a similar path in our work. It has created a unique partnership. Neither of us strive to be profound or tortured which feels good. I don’t think either of us have preconceived ideas of what we are trying to convey which creates something that provokes without trying. 

And a parting gift:

TM: All of the “wrong” turns I have made in my life have brought me to the place where I am which is a perfect fit. It took awhile for me to understand the choices I’ve made and fighting the urge to have regret.  In the end I can’t have regret because I am as happy as an artist can be and that says a lot.

GS: Let’s not get carried away here, I like to paint, but it’s a stone’s throw from a
passion. Passions the soap opera was a good one. In fact, I’m not very passionate about anything. It’s just degrees of okayness.