So well-ensconced is he in the corner of the D-wing, you might think Paul Vincent Bernard has always been there, that he was already resident when the cinder blocks were first stacked around him and the steel girders laid above him to form this warehouse on a dead-end street in the shadow of the South Salt Lake water tower, that he has been toiling away, carving and wiping and pulling his prints, as one business after another has come and gone, that he has been listening to his scratchy vinyl and muttering odd phrases of Italian to drown out, first, the rattle of diesel trains and then the humming blur of electric commuter rail, that he has been nibbling away at his sushi while the building stood empty and ghosts of garment workers fluttered among the rafters and pulleys, all the while waiting for the space’s true purpose to be revealed, for the skylights to puncture the ceilings, the drywall to divide the square footage and for this patchwork of vacuous industrial space to come into its own as Poor Yorick Studios. But you’d be wrong.

Bernard isn’t even one of the earliest residents at one of Utah’s longest-standing and best-known studio complexes. Yes, he’s filled his corner lot with furniture, books, records, plants and a press or two, filled it with so much stuff that there’s only just enough room to walk around it all so that, like a tech titan taking over Maui, he has had to push his way into the neighboring studio to show off his wares during Poor Yorick’s bi-annual open studio event (which happens this Saturday, September 29, 4-10 pm), but Bernard’s a relative newcomer to the likes of Ryan K. Peterson, the phantasmagoric anatomist over in B wing—his studio is down a couple of  turns and past the bathroom so you’d almost miss it, unless you came along the street, where he has his own entrance, through which, when opened, daylight threatens to turn some of his fantastical creatures of the night into dust—and Bernard’s a newcomer compared to that chaser of light and shadow, plein air painter Thomas Aikins over in D wing, as well as over in C wing—the low lying Chunnel that connects these [heterogenous] warehouse spaces, (anyone who has been to the Open Studio only once—and some who have been more than once—will say yes, it has a bit of a rabbit warren feel and once you’re in you’re never quite sure where you’ve been and if you’ve seen it all)—where the honor of OG, goes to the mild mannered master of the uncanny, Grant Fuhst.

Printmaker Paul Vincent Bernard has made himself at home in the D wing of Poor Yorick studios.

If you get lost, don’t worry, Poor Yorick sends out the art patrol to do a final sweep before closing up for the night. If you’re in the narrow confines of the C-wing, Grant Fuhst’s work (pictured here) will lead you toward the Common Area and the D wing. Walk—or run—away from them if you’re headed to B and C wing.

Top honors, of course, go to Brad Slaugh, master creator and original Adam, the wizard of this Oz, blown out of the University of Utah for his stubborn desire to paint things as they appear, or almost appear—more like as they are remembered, slightly askew, but either way part of that Utah school of painting that came up around David Dornan and Paul Davis and which at a certain point in the early aughts became passé at Utah’s top university—who occupies, with his wife Tracy Strauss, a space so palatial—completely enclosed, 16-foot ceilings, an adjoining office, utility room, en suite bathroom and a balcony (it’s good to be the king)—it could be its own wing. And sort of is. It’s the center of it all during any open studio, where thousands come for the chance to peek into these 40-odd studios and see the artists in their natural habitat. When he’s not busy teaching at the community college, or rooting around his easel tray for the perfect piece of pastel, Slaugh is, like a paterfamilias from the seventies, adjusting the thermostats, mediating disputes and posting signs about which bathroom to use (it’s not a gender thing: some are for cleaning your brushes, others for cleaning yourself) and which doors to close.

Those who do their business standing up can appreciate work by Cat Palmer in the A-wing bathroom.

There’s turnover at Poor Yorick, but not much, so it’s hard to get in. There’s a waiting list for those both out and inside the complex. Many will take the first studio to become available, whether it be too big or too small, hoping for that Goldilocks one to be vacated (intimidation tactics to force out a neighbor are verboten, however, and most keep their headphones on and their zoom calls to the wee hours).

Ben Childress works out of a small space in the A wing, where he paints on a daily basis in the company of his Great Dane while he waits patiently for a bigger space. He’s prolific. If you haven’t seen him recently at SLCC, BDAC or that hard-to-find pop-up warehouse show last Gallery Stroll,  you’ll be able to see him at two solo exhibits, at Finch Lane Gallery and at The Gallery at Library Square, in the next six months. He must have a storage space to hold everything he’s been producing. Show up Saturday to snatch up something before he becomes too big, even if his studio remains walk-in-closet size.

Stacy Phillips is just down the hall from Childress and she too has been busy. She just opened a show at Finch Lane Gallery but still has enough work to fill up her corner studio, with its floor-to-ceiling north light, as well as the hallways. She and studio neighbor Shawn Rossiter disagree about who should have dibs on wall space in the halls (Veera Kasicharernvat, also an A-lister, pretends to not understand what they’re saying during these discussions), but Rossiter, as anyone will know, is a kind and generous individual who believes in respecting his elders. He’ll have his own work up in his studio and whatever hallway space Phillips has left him. He’s best known as editor of 15 Bytes, but despite misapprehensions by family and friends alike (his mom is still under the impression he used to paint pretty landscapes but now spends his time as a mountain bike coach or ski instructor, depending on the season), he continues to knock over things in the studio and glue them together and call it art. He’ll also have some items available from 15 Bytes: a few works by the late Francis Zimbeaux available for purchase as well as copies of the 15 Bytes publication, Utah’s 15, and its “Go Art Yourself” t-shirts.

Don’t be confused. This is not our office. Though it once was. Studio A1, with its own entrance, is now occupied by Danielle Waters.

Among the newest arrivals at Poor Yorick is Hunter Bailey, who creates paintings and mixed-media works that use the discarded remnants of American life—crushed cars, abandoned mattresses, scraps of steel and fragments of architecture—as metaphors for social, economic, and cultural decline (see a 15 Bytes review by Geoff Wichert here). He’s in the studio formerly occupied by Matalyn Zundel, in the open space you first access from the main parking lot (Poor Yorick has four public entrances—two from the main parking lot, and one each on the west (D wing) and east (A wing) ends—as well as a few individual studio entrances). It’s a no-man’s land, not really part of C or D wing (though technically C), known in the Poor Yorker parlance as “the common area” and has a tendency to fill up with stuff people are getting rid of—sometimes junk, but sometimes gems. Bernard keeps his plants there, beneath the south-facing windows. 15 Bytes keeps a bookshelf there, from which you can pick up free copies of books by Utah authors. (If a book changes your life, keep it; otherwise, return it when you come to the next open studio.)

The Common Area, not some studio of some artist trying to charm his or hers art into the warm embrace of a collector, is the appropriate place to catch your breath. Steve Duncan, in studio C1, will be well known to the Poor Yorick aficionados. Hunter Bailey, in C2, is opening his doors for the first time.

A lime green door that looks like it’s been here longer than any of the artists opens the way to the B wing, where you’ll find the work of relative newcomer Greggory Wood.

Past the common area fridge and just in the D wing is Nina Aerin Miller, a New York artist who recently came to Utah after her undergraduate studies in Boston. This will be her second open studio. Her paintings are full of gestural energy, vibrant color fields, and layered mark-making that balance chaos with lyrical order. In B wing, Greggory Wood was also a newcomer at the March open studio.  From the “Dog Town” part of Cedar City, Wood (aka rustedsaltphotography) is a self-taught photographer whose current works are layered, textured, and timeworn, echoing both memory and history. They feel like artifacts — suspended between documentation and dream — where perception blurs into abstraction.

These are only a few of the 40 artists who will be on exhibit Saturday, including guest artists like Steve Larson, who will be squatting in B1 with his luminous, layered abstractions that drift between landscape and dreamscape. Google Maps will get you to 126 W. Crystal Avenue, but won’t do much to help the directionally-challenged once inside. Getting lost, however, won’t be a bad thing.

Technically, the Poor Yorick Open Studios Saturday, September 27, 4-10 pm, is a private event (if you know you know). But it’s easy enough to get an invite. Visit pooryorickstudios.com/contact.

Pro-tip: the red door in the shadows here on the east side of the building is one of the four public entrances to Poor Yorick Studios (it leads to the A wing). And if there’s available parking here on the night of the Open Studios, have at it, but not on any other day—these are highly coveted spots reserved for the Artists of the Month.

Shawn Rossiter

The founder of Artists of Utah and editor of its online magazine, 15 Bytes, Shawn Rossiter has undergraduate degrees in English, French and Italian Literature and studied Comparative Literature in graduate school before pursuing a career in art.