Scott Scheidly
by Matt Duke
Best known for his popularly infamous series, The Pinks, Scott
Scheidly was the cause of a lot of discussion in last month’s issue.
His Ass Clown depiction of president-elect, Donald Trump, graced
our cover in November—providing a backdrop for the politically
charged month.
Originally born in Ohio, Scheidly began his artistic career at a very
young age, joking his first art project was “devouring a ten-pack of
crayons, thus turning my diaper into a Jackson Pollock.”
By the early ‘90s, he found himself enrolled in, and subsequently
graduated from, the Art Institute of Pittsburgh, which was as much
to a surprise to himself. “I accidentally enrolled in art school. I went
with a friend and his mother to the Art Institute of Pittsburgh so
that he could enroll, and as I was sitting there, I was asked if I was
there to enroll as well. I was as surprised as my friend and his mother when, five seconds later, I answered, ‘Yes.’”
When asked about inspiration, Scheidly replied, “Hallucinogens.”
Perhaps we could take a moment to let me explore what it would
be like to sit down with him for an inspiration session:
ing pine needles while Scheidly builds a fire. “How do
you work?” I manage to ask. He replies, “Not well on
Adderall.” I chuckle and lose track of the conversation.
An hour or so later, I regain my composure. Scheidly
and I begin to discuss art. He suggests I scroll through
the Instagram feed of his favorite artist, Christian Rex
van Minnen. My fingers fumble while my mind expands. I’m trying desperately to sound interesting, but
my vocabulary is reduced to “cool,” “amazing,” and, “I
get that,” as well as a few other humdrum responses.
Scheidly is accepting of this.
I ask him who in history he would like to meet. While
poking the fire, he narrows his choice to someone art-related and says, “Salvador Dali.” My mind went began
strolling through Impressions de la haute Mongolie, the
two of us wearing Dali’s Aphrodisiac Dinner Jacket.
As the adventure winds down, I realize I haven’t been
able to get in his head or grasp his inspiration, but that’s
ok. I had fun. I was in awe. The same kind of fun and
awe I feel when I browse Scheidly’s catalog. I thank him
for the trip and sit silently in my Uber until I arrive home.
We are in Scheidly’s clean, mid century modern home
in the College Park neighborhood of Orlando. The psilocybin has crept into the wrinkles of my brain and I am
lying on the floor with my eyes tightly shut. I’m drifting
through total blackness, with the exception of a pink
bubble on the horizon. I slowly float toward it, tuning
out his compassionate reassurances that I’ll be ok in a
few minutes. Does it show that I’m having trouble adjusting? The bubble is right up on me. I enter. The idea
dawns that this is life my now. Nothing exists outside
this pink bubble.
Scheidly’s work doesn’t end with The Pinks. He has a feel for the
imaginative, and his lowbrow style reinforces that. I hate to bring it
up, but he is one of the few “white guy Orlando artists” who paints
multiculturalism. Have you ever browsed an artist’s portfolio and
only seen white people? It’s boring. The world is made up of many
colors. Scheidly and his colorful palette of acrylic and oils reflects
this.
I open my eyes and find that Scheidly has kept his cool
and is sitting comfortably in a modern, white bucket
chair across the room. There are a few shrunken head
paintings resting against the wall in the corner. He suggests we move outside.
“Art stirs emotion, it promotes and it destroys. Art makes a pair of
toenail clippers easier to hold, and a trash can more pleasant to look
at. There is nothing without art and we would all still be cavemen
without it,” says Scheidly in response to a question of art’s place in
society.
Outside, there are various hues of orange cascading
down large pine trees. Each crevice of the thick bark
is oozing orange. So orange, I vomit. I’m ok, though. I
find a comfortable place on the ground and begin braid-
Out of the cave we come.
33
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