B.C. Nowlin's art invokes imagination through Hispanic culture and Puebloan mysticism

Editor’s note: The Journal continues the once-a-month series “From the Studio” with Assistant Arts Editor Kathaleen Roberts, as she takes an up-close look at an artist.

Asmall, framed drawing hanging on a wall at Weems Gallery reveals an overturned school bus on fire on a deserted mesa.

Set in the middle of a new series of paintings by the Corrales artist B.C. Nowlin, it dates to 1967, when the artist was 12 years old.

“That was the piece that got me kicked out of school,” Nowlin said.

It proved a turning point for the self-taught artist, who now boasts clients ranging from Sofia Loren to Robert Plant.

Helming his first solo show in Albuquerque in six years, Nowlin reminisced about hanging out with such groundbreaking artists as Fritz Scholder, T.C. Cannon and R.C. Gorman, breaking the rules and committing to his own path.

Dressed in black accented by silver jewelry, a white ponytail dangling from his Western hat, the artist was surrounded by his latest work, dazzling with broad strokes of crimson, rust and orange, many with Native figures on horseback moving toward an ever-present, beckoning light.

“I can’t do a typical landscape or a typical anything,” he said. “When I was told to paint a bowl of fruit, I’d paint angels coming out of it. I’ve been painting journeys almost my whole life.”

Nowlin grew up in the North Valley, near the El Pinto Restaurant. His family’s land formed the southern boundary of Sandia Pueblo. He came of age steeped in experiences of vibrant Hispanic culture and Native Puebloan mysticism. He learned ceremonial hunting from the children. He painted his first seascape at 12.

“I received no encouragement,” he said.

His mother told him, “You’re going to be a bum.”

He spent his scuffling years driving trucks and buses and performing construction work. He lived in trailer courts for years.

“I know blue collar life,” he said. “I painted at night.”

His figures are faceless, painted from behind.

“People ask me why can’t you see the faces? We don’t know if they’re male or female, if they’re young or old.

“I don’t like specificity; I think it kills realist painters,” he explained.

“Art has to communicate with regular people,” he continued. “It’s not a high bar to climb over to understand. It’s about everybody’s lives. People see themselves and their stories in my painting.”

Commercial success percolated in 1981 when Gorman offered him his own studio in Albuquerque’s Old Town. The gesture exposed him to stereotype-shattering artists such as Scholder and Cannon.

“I showed with them and partied with them, laughed and cried with them,” he said.

His career crystallized in 1984 when a wealthy woman bought his entire Denver show of 15 paintings.

“She said, ‘Why aren’t you more famous?’ ” he said. “She said, ‘I’ll advertise for you if you give me a split.’”

The woman placed an ad in Southwest Art magazine and the doors swung open.

“Galleries called from all over the country,” Nowlin said. “My prices tripled. I was showing in Chicago, New York, Miami and Scottsdale. And it was never the same.”

He’s created series of people cycling across the country. He rides his motorcycle to his studio in the Ozarks, clocking more than 800 miles a day, gleaning ideas from the rhythms of the road.

“It’s different from here,” he said. “It’s green.”

The Led Zeppelin frontman Plant discovered Nowlin’s work in a Santa Fe gallery.

“He puts them in his music room where he composes,” Nowlin said. “He says they remind him of Morocco.”

Over the years, he says his work has grown more expressionist, with more fluid brushstrokes. He never sketches out his ideas beforehand, preferring to put brush directly to canvas.

“I don’t want to connect all the dots,” he said. “That gives the viewer the right to use their imagination.”

He’s working on a series of towers he hasn’t shown anyone yet. He’s also in the planning stages for an installation at Presbyterian Hospital.

“It’s 25 feet long,” he said of the series of 10 pieces. “It’s going to feel local — like Albuquerque-specific. It’ll read like a single piece.

“Albuquerque is not Omaha, it’s not Kansas City,” Nowlin said. “It’s a world city. It’s an exciting place for a creative person. This area just breeds artists.”