JOHN MERRITT
On August 14, 1971, John Merritt was born in Cheonan-city, South Korea. The majority of his first decade was without his biological parents. Both his mother and father were deceased by 1979, leaving behind five children, John being the youngest at eight years old. John and his brother James were sent to St. Vincent’s Catholic Orphanage in Inchon City, which is near Seoul, Korea.
In 1981, both John and James would be adopted by William (Bill) and Rita Merritt from Riceville, Iowa. Bill was a major in the US Army and was stationed in Seoul during the period. He, his wife, and their three children would give generously of themselves to adopt and raise the two Korean kids and guide them to be their loving sons and brothers.
John studied at Pratt Institute from 1990 to 1995, with concentrations in Fine Arts and Industrial Design, graduating with a BFA in Industrial Design. Both disciplines would influence his creativity throughout his career.
John's work reflects his personal and intellectual journey. Often as a child, he would meander along the rivers and through the woods of Korea by himself, seeking refuge and wonderment in nature. This experience would have profound influence on his philosophy and art. What's apparent in many of the works is fluidity—an exploration of the motions of water or wind, which so often whisks objects away. His pieces are metaphysical and symbolic. Even in stillness, one senses emotional movement, as with the 'Moon Fish' floating on the water. Here, fish scales are replaced with leaves. The apparent stark division of land and water is thrust into question as is the appropriate place of the Moon Fish. The artist and designer is searching for elements unseen, untold, and undiscovered, seeking to unveil the invisible to his senses. Rediscovering a common object as a sandal and breathing life into it. Subjects are fantastical, abstract, and real. The poetry of emotions and a sense of inquisitiveness are displayed throughout his work, a search for tangibility of the subject's or viewer’s existence. They are inner and outer celestial discoveries.
Rippletoe was created, at first, as a book title. Now it represents creative endeavors for both Art and Design. For John, it is about diversifying and merging creativity to find new answers to the timeless questions without being limited to specific conventions, mediums, expectations, or rules.
REVIEW
In the magical classic silent film The Dragon Painter, an unconventional genius spends his days in the wilderness, painting nothing but the image of his love, a princess he believes to have been incarnated as a dragon. Brooding, powerful paintings result, in none of which a dragon is apparent, though the dragon is the painting’s expressed subject. The dragon is behind the painting, is implied by the painting, suggested. Its spirit looms above the painting, infusing its colors and forms, filling the brushstrokes with dragon blood, the whole pulsing with life and love and longing—for that which is not seen, but desired; for that which is just out of reach. His painting has its soul in what is felt but not obviously articulated by brush or pen.
The work of Brooklyn-based artist John Merritt, in three dimension and two, might honestly and profitably be compared to the fictional portrait of the wild, mad painter of the movie. In John’s art, melancholy and enigma are the order of the day, and each piece derives its unique potency by means of suggestion more so than by what is explicit.
In one work, a lone sandal falls from the sky, plummeting toward a lonely lake or sea in which a child’s bobbin floats, bereft of its fisherman, disconnected from line or pole. Beside the bobbin, a dragonfly that has lost the power of flight slowly sinks, returning to … where? A place where childhood still reins, rich in possibility and steeped in sadness.
Surveying the work as a whole, a personal mythology emerges in which paper airplanes may and do become animate; human more than paper plane, they fly with joy and crash in despair. Indeed, the suggestion of despair floats through it all, fading, changing shape, disappearing then returning; and yet, despair is not the end of the story—just as salt or lemon is only part of a proper meal. Playfulness and irony balance what would otherwise be overwrought and excessively serious. Hopelessness is followed by hope and fun and laughter. Looking upon dragonflies or flying fish or trees that shed not leaves but feathers, one cannot help but smile with joy.
As a fan of John’s work, I’m tempted to ascribe some final meaning to it that is ultimately affirming or positive in its implication, but this would not be honest or correct. It is so much more than words can fully convey, and not something to be boiled down. His paintings and drawings and designs must be seen and felt, not intellectualized, to be known. Take a look. I’ve no doubt you’ll be glad you did.