A chair, Peter Shire says, is "more than just where we put our butts."
For the 59-year-old artist, born and still living and working in Echo Park, a chair is also a dialogue between human anatomy and industrial architecture.
A chair, Peter Shire says, is "more than just where we put our butts."
For the 59-year-old artist, born and still living and working in Echo Park, a chair is also a dialogue between human anatomy and industrial architecture.
"It is as individual as a table is communal," he says. "A chair is a symbol of economic stature that goes back to when kings sat on thrones and common folk sat on the ground."
Shire himself is perched on a polished concrete floor in the newly refurbished lower level of his 1937 home, which he describes as "California bungalow gone wrong." Surrounding him, like a swarm of Mondrian-colored Tinkertoy constructions, are the sculptural seats he designed for "Chairs," a new exhibition at the Frank Lloyd Gallery in Santa Monica.
Upstairs, the 1,400-square-foot space where Shire and his wife, Donna, have lived for more than two decades is a similar riot of color and texture. This is what the home of a working -- some would say obsessively prodigious -- artist looks like.
The original stone fireplace with weeping mortar is painted lavender, complemented with a mint mantle set against a crimson wall. Bookcases hold volumes on art and the ceramic teapots that Shire has made since his days at Chouinard, the famed and now-defunct Los Angeles art school. Cats sprawl on the kitchen floor, a crazy quilt of 1950s-flavored green, gray and pink linoleum tile. Shire's hand-built furniture -- Douglas fir cabinets with vibrant teal-painted details from the 1980s, and more recent steel and glass tables -- are layered with paintings and drawings.
"Organized chaos is the artist's inevitability," Shire says.
His spouse puts it another way.
"The house is overrun with art," she says with an indulgent smile. "There are even sketchbooks in the bathroom."
Shire, whose nearby studio is nearly five times the size of his home, just grins.
"Donna says we can't have people over for dinner," he says before taking over his wife's part in the dialogue. "All our friends are designers. What will they think of the way we live?"
"It's a comfortable, lived-in space," says Adrian Saxe, Shire's former classmate and now a professor of art at UCLA. "There are some artists' houses that are so tricked out, God knows where they sit down and enjoy themselves."
Shire's younger brother, who owns the Billy Shire Fine Arts gallery in Culver City and the Soap Plant/Wacko in Silver Lake, says the house is something of a design laboratory.
"Peter has mastered so many materials and industrial processes and used them in his home in a way that feels warm and organic," Billy Shire says. "It strikes a balance between looking crazy and being functional."
Much of Shire's decor is a bit of both. He splattered paint on old medical lamps and dressed a "funked-up sofa that we bought at a garage sale" with a slipcover that resembles Joseph's amazing Technicolor dreamcoat. He devised a bookshelf with steel wheels that rolls away from the wall so that he can access his furnace room. He even cut and welded his own curtain rods, which are powder-coated in fire-engine red.
These creative touches are not immediately evident; it takes time to pick them out in the presence of so many shapes, patterns and colors. Though he is a designer, the artist in residence is clearly more interested in exploring his restless visual curiosity than creating tasteful interior tableaux.
"My wife is Japanese, and I share her cultural belief that there is no separation between art and craft. They are all one, and a daily living experience is worthy of aesthetic consideration," Shire says. "But the reason that certain aspects of my life, such as my house, are not caressed is that I am totally focused on my work."
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IN a career that has spanned five decades, Peter Shire has become well known as a potter, furniture designer and site-specific sculptor whose civic work includes installations in Elysian Park and Union Station.
"His work is very informed by craft, which is problematic for people who want artists to bare their souls and weird everybody out," Saxe says. "And as a designer, he is more influenced by Miro and Calder than Eames."
Fascinated with clay at an early age, Shire started taking ceramic lessons from a bohemian instructor who lived in a downtown Victorian house with Asian bridges, African artifacts and Mexican Day of the Dead figures in the fern garden. After high school, Shire attended Chouinard.
"I can draw well, but I am not a natural draftsman or a painter," he says. "I am a maker of things, a hand-skills guy. So ceramics was my romantic vision. I wanted to be a potter wearing funky sandals and an apron."
He spent much of the 1970s following in the tradition of Gertrud Natzler, making elegant, footed compotes with rich organic glazes. Even then, he was obsessed with bright solid colors. He found that expression in furniture, constructing a group of deck chairs made out of canvas and wooden frames that looked like giant Popsicle sticks.