Top: In the 1970s, matador paintings were popular with American tourists, who were looking for a souvenir that “felt like Mexico.” (Photo by Scott Squire from Black Velvet Art) Above: A tiger burns bright in a 1970s velvet by Pogetto. Something about it just grabs people by the short hairs.” 13, 2013, nearly four years after the original location in Portland closed. “The light out of the darkness is really what it is,” he muses. They have an air of mystery, agrees Baldwin, who’s also her partner at the Velveteria museum, which will reopen in Los Angeles as the Velveteria Epicenter of Art Fighting Cultural Deprivation on Dec. Either way, you’re in this dark place, and then things pop out at you.” “It could also be described as if someone is walking toward you from a dark corridor.
Staring at a black velvet painting makes you feel “like you’re coming out of the womb,” says Anderson, who co-wrote the 2007 book Black Velvet Masterpieces with Baldwin. “Most velvet paintings are things that somebody wanted to pay money for, but sometimes you think, ‘Gosh, what is it?’” But when velvet collectors Caren Anderson and Carl Baldwin look at these pieces, they see something else. You could point to any number of cheap, poorly done images of Elvis, scary clowns, matadors, “Playboy” nudes, and strange unicorns sold to American tourists by Mexican painters starting in the ’50s.
Without a doubt, black-velvet painting lives up to its reputation as the pinnacle of tackiness.
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