Wayne White is an American artist, art director, illustrator, puppeteer, and much, much more. Born and raised in Chattanooga, Tennessee, Wayne has used his memories of the South to create inspired works for film and television. He has a very long list of creative endeavors, including being an illustrator for East Village Eye, the New York Times, RAW, and the Village Voice. He was the set and puppet designer for Pee-wee’s Playhouse (for which he won three Emmys and, oh, he even did a few of the voices); and he was also the art director for Peter Gabriel’s “Big Time” music video.
Most recently, Wayne has had great success as a fine artist, creating paintings and public works that have been shown all over the world. Found landscapes from the 1970s painstakingly combined with hilariously strange text in which Wayne points a finger at vanity, ego, and his memories of the South. Amazingly, there are many, many more things on his list of creative accomplishments, all of which you can see in the 2012 documentary film about his life, Beauty Is Embarrassing. Yes, it’s an inspiration overload.
JC—Are you formally trained or self-taught?
WW—I was a painting major at Middle Tennessee State University. It was all about abstract expressionism. Later, after I graduated, I taught myself cartooning and realist painting.
JC—You have worn so many creative hats—film, design, fine art—do you have a favorite?
WW—Drawing and painting are my favorites. They are the default position from which all ideas flow, especially drawing. I always say if you can draw it, then you can make it into any other reality you want.
JC—Where do you find all of the amazing found objects you work with?
WW—I find most cool stuff at thrift stores and garage sales. The greatest thing I ever found at a thrift store was a collection of fan photos of Jerry Lee Lewis from the early ’60s . . . and I didn’t buy it! I’m still kicking myself.
JC—Aside from thrift stores, etc., where do you look for inspiration?
WW—The woods of Tennessee are my church.
JC—How do you come up with the phrases for your paintings?
WW—Like a writer, I keep a journal. I write down observations, overheard conversations, and quotes from movies, songs, books, etc. I then edit them down to their essence, usually one or two sentences. Sometimes they need no change at all. I consider myself a writer, as this process is the same for all writers. But, of course, I treat the words as concrete forms, and not just symbols on a page.
JC—Which artist are you most jealous of, and why?
WW—Neil Young. He has a whole ranch to roam and a barn full of electric trains.
JC—What’s your first memory of feeling like an artist?
WW—My first-grade teacher, Mrs. Stoddard, got me up in front of the whole class after seeing my crayon drawing of a school lunch, and told everyone I was going to be an artist one day. It was the first day of school. Something about being proclaimed like that in front of a room full of strangers made it seem very real. I was seven.
JC—Do you have a technique that you use if you’re having trouble with a piece?
WW—Not really. Sometimes I’ll destroy part of it and see what happens, or I’ll sit and let the piece talk back to me for a while. You have to believe your creations have a mind of their own and can talk to you.
JC—Would you throw a piece away if it’s not working, or would you just keep going until you’re happy with it?
WW—I rarely throw anything away. It will work eventually if you just step away and let it simmer.
JC—You seem to constantly be making things—are you drained or fueled by that?
WW—Oh, it drains me. Every day. If it doesn’t, I’m not working hard enough.
JC—Do you ever equate your self-worth with your artistic successes? How do you get past that?
WW—My self-worth is definitely tied up with artistic success in many ways. But I also have a family I’m very proud of and that balances it out.
JC—How does criticism affect you?
WW—I brood and get my feelings hurt, and then I try to forget it.
JC—And your inner critic—do you ever hear him?
WW—My inner critic never shuts up. Ever. I don’t know why. I just shove him back in his box, and sit on the lid.
JC—Do you ever experience creative blocks?
WW—I don’t believe in blocks. You just make yourself work.
JC—And finally, why did you want to make your documentary, Beauty Is Embarrassing?
WW—I didn’t want to make a movie about myself. It was the director Neil Berkeley’s idea. He talked me into it. I honestly thought it wasn’t such a great idea, and I’m still not so sure. It distorts your reality in ways I’m still trying to get over. It’s hard to explain. I do know I have a newfound sympathy for public figures. It’s pure anxiety sometimes, being held up as an example. It also can go to your head, no matter how humble you think you are. That said, I’m very grateful for the art sales it has brought me. I also get very lovely fan mail from people who feel inspired and motivated after watching it.
I always say if you can draw it, then you can make it into any other reality you want.
