by Allyson Lipkin

Get into the head of Steve Brudniak. His interests, as seen in last month's exhibition at Eekabeeka Gallery (2206 E. 7th St., formerly Holy Eight Ball Gallery but still Holy Eight Ball Studio), are flesh and blood. Fresh blood, actually, taken from friends and family that have affected the artist over the years and defined his character in one way or another. In his exhibit "Blood Reliquaries," Steve has borrowed from devout religions such as Catholicism to recreate a holy ideal. To pay homage to his mentors, Steve acted out his own "baptism" by collecting blood samples from his friends and family and enshrining them in layers of glass, brass, and tubes of formaldehyde, giving title to each area of companionship. For example, the title of one of his reliquaries reads, "The blood of a Mentor, In memory and veneration for the cultivation and instillment of courage. AD 1998." He collected seven samples in vacutanors with the help of two doctors and built his "reliquaries," or shrines, to honor them. He also drew his own blood and enshrined it in brass.

These works are Brudniak's contemporary way of celebrating the morbid past. Steve is not a religious man, but his reliquaries imitate man's ancient way of glorifying gore and worshipping the unknown. A saint's bones, skin and teeth pinned up on the wall of an old church. Brudniak's blood splattered on a mirror after gashing his hand on his table saw.

The idea is interesting, but where did it come from? And why would a man so frightened of blood that he faints when he cuts his finger tackle this project to collect and enshrine blood?

"Very few people know what a reliquary is," Brudnick explains. "I had heard the word, and people had referred to my work that way before. I have always been interested in the dogma and the accoutrements of religion. Look at the Catholic church. If you have ever been in one, it is a whacked psychedelic experience. I myself am not Christian or Catholic, but I borrow from religion. But a reliquary, if you know what a relic is, is generally in a religious sense something left over from a Saint. Or a piece of the cross. Or the Sacred Shroud. The bones of a saint. A relic once enshrined becomes a reliquary.

"Reliquaries in the Catholic Church are things they show off relics in. A decorative way of showing something gross. I saw the blood of St. Genarious in a couple of different publications or read a book about faked miracles. They had a glass ball with the blood of a saint. The bishop can say a prayer and the blood will uncoagulate and, miraculously, it will recoagulate into a solid mass. So I started thinking about what I could do sculpturally. The blood idea surfaced. I thought: these people enshrine the blood of saints, why can't I have my own saints? So I picked the people who really affected me and the way I examine life and react to it. I keep the names of the reliquary a secret. That leaves them personal to me. I can expose them to the public, sell them, but it's still mine."

And his real-life fear of blood? "The big test came while I was working on some chamber and I cut my hand really bad on the sander. Just made a nice 45-degree bevel out of my finger. That turned into a bloody mess. I did have to lie down, but it was not quite as bad. I don't think I used blood to cure my fears of it. That was something I was hoping would happen after I came up with the idea. I have taken this subject that can repulse people, I mean to me it did. It's also a scary subject for a ton of people out there.

"Mostly men, I think. Women are used to it. I have human hand bones in a piece, a hand glove of a surgeon, it's not that gross but it deals with glorifying...some central subject. It's being magnified by what surrounds it. A box, jar, frame. You know you can take take just about anything and make it beautiful to a portion of the public out there who wouldn't normally see it that way. Or to yourself. I sort of have a knack for taking the ordinary and giving it an artistic presence. Also, the work I do deals with inner issues. Anxiety, spirituality."

Steve's work may gross one out, but the art speaks about life's issues that most artists don't touch. And if they do address them, it often comes off as an over-exaggerated artistic statement. Steve's pieces are very coherent and finely-crafted.

"Duchamp. I think he was sort of a form following function kind of guy," Brudnick states. "He was sort of a pioneer, and there are people now building on that. He took the object and brought it to his minimal. I think now that the art world is sort of coming out of that diaper stage of, 'Alright, we have deconstructed art, we have got it down to nothing but a concept. It doesn't matter how pretty it is anymore or how much craftsmanship went into it.' I think people now are starting to build it back up to where art can be fun again. Or graspable. Or a bit more aesthetic. Why is it visual? Because it's eye candy. At least it affects your soul through the eyes. If you want to say something, write it down."

You want to glorify someone? Draw their blood like a vampire. But in this act, Steve has dealt with inner issues he has with human blood and he hopes it will transfer to the viewer as a statement of what people deal with every day. Sort of a dramatic display of reality.

"You take something that was once full of life. It has not aged other than the fact it may not be alive anymore. Blood comes straight from the arm, into the chamber; well they were in [my] freezer. But still these pieces, you look at the containers. They are old, beaten, rusted. Kind of a sweeping way of thinking. Thinking about yourself, people around you. They have stresses and fears that they have been holding onto since childhood. They are still fresh. They keep coming back onto you. They haven't aged and faded away and decayed. Your body is getting older. Wrinkles, gray hair. You get old, but the stuff inside you stays fresh. It's sort of what I'm trying to get across when it comes to aging. So there is a practical side to it."

Along with Steve's practical view comes great technical ingenuity. The finishes on the tiles surrounding his pieces are cracked and worn. Yet they are new tiles with faux finish.

"I don't have to be careful about finishing things while making the pieces. If I drop it or stain it or a piece falls off it just adds to it. From a cross between being lazy and conceptual, I come up with an interesting finish. The tiles I torched and dropped into cold water and that shattered the surface. I heated them back up and put furniture polish in it."

The tiles are works in and of themselves. Steve's pieces are tricky. The wonderment exists when looking at the finished work. Is it old or new? How are these assembled so perfectly?

"I work with found objects to incorporate it into a homogenous unit. To make it look like it belongs together. That's what is different about my work."

Not to be missed is an interesting upcoming show of found object art at Gallery Lombardi. Participating artists are: Barbara Irwin, Steve Brudniak, Tony Romano, and John Sager, from July 8 through August 7. Fear Not.