In many galleries nationwide, "outsider" or "visionary" art has become an exhibition attraction. It is not usually separated, but hangs or stands side by side with the work of conventionally-trained artists. The qualities which make "outsider art" so fascinating--its freshness and originality, its direct use of symbols, its ornate and dense ornamentation, its lack of inhibition, even its strangeness or outrageousness--are thus placed in the same context as those works which may be self-consciously conceptual, stylized or mannered, based upon established traditions. While most outsider artists are not aware of the art establishment (at least not before they are "discovered",) the work of professional artists is made with the knowledge of the heirarchies and methods of art museums, galleries and auction houses. Although a conventionally-trained artist may attempt to reject the influences of these institutions, such a decision is based on an understanding of them.

Many contemporary artists are recognized for their incessant attempts to distinguish themselves from the rest of the pack, and if they are particularly ambitious in terms of market success, constantly search for new tactics that enable them to do something different. Other artists who reject such strategies may be attempting to shield their work from the corruption of the market in order to keep it "pure" of anything but the artistic process, its ideas and forms. The emphasis turns towards protection of the work and its personal expression. Nevertheless, despite the choice of artistic--turning-out or turning in, the art establishment affects the way artists make their work and filters the work's ability to directly communicate the intention of its maker. In particular, it affects the work of outsider artists because they have no understanding of its working mechanisms.

There are many terms which have been used to describe these outsiders, but most, except for "visionary," or "outsider" seem referential and complicated. I will examine a few of these. One such term is "folk" artists, indicating that the artist is part of the "folk" tradition. Such terminology suggests work by common folk, as well as the use of traditional techniques that are handed down from generation to generation. Neither fits, for outsiders are certainly not common, and their techniques are not inherited but their own. Such artists have also been called "naives," but this appellation suggests a comparison with the art of children. Although outsiders and children share a naivete about making art and show little inhibition in the process, children are exempt from the world of adult experience and the expression of their young sensibility is not the same as that of the outsider whose work is often replete with sexual imagery and other adult concepts. This term is further complicated by its associations with the work of artists like Paul Klée, who consciously adopted the imagery of children's art to use in his own.

One term that works is "visionary." Many of the untrained artists I will talk about attribute the creative incentive in their work to visions, some of which are based on deep religious beliefs. One such artist, J.B. Murry, spends hours in a trance-like state writing and making images. He believes that his writings are "tongues" that come directly from God; he uses the color red because he believes it symbolizes God and he uses water to denote clairvoyance. (Nasisse, p. 11) The word "visionary" also correctly describes the self-contained environments in which many of these artists live; their views of the world are radically different and sometimes utopian. This term is sometimes understood to include certain architects or urban planners, especially from the early twentieth century, who designed buildings and cities as models for environmental awareness and social unity. Michael Schuyt's book of photographs entitled Fantastic Architecture includes a chapter where "visionary" is used in this manner. I do not employ the term with any intention of including these types of trained planners. "Outsider" is a name that also describes the artists I discuss here. Most of them are external to mainstream society. As Andy Nasisse wrote:

In any given culture which requires a fairly narrow code of behavior for its members to be considered normal enough to succeed in that culture's established modes, there will be a certain number of individuals who for various reasons, just do not conform to those standards. Some are tolerated with benign ammusement as harmless eccentrics, some end up in hospitals or in jail. And, some respond to the creative drive and produce works which may come to be called art. (Nasisse, p. 9)

One point about the word "outsider" is that it is sometimes used in reference to the art of the insane. Roger Cardinal, in his book Outsider Art, combines case studies of individuals who made artwork while in psychiatric facilities--notably those from Jean Dubuffet's collection of Art Brut--as well as those who live external to society's maxims. Although there are many similarities and some of the outsiders I discuss are on the fringe of psychological stability, not all of them are insane. However, all insane individuals can be considered to be outsiders; exterior to society as we know it. A discussion of the differences between insanity and sanity or normal and abnormal would be too great a tangent for this paper. The distinction may not even be important in a discussion about art, since Dubuffet himself believed that the artistic process was no different in the insane than in the trained artist. (Dubuffet, p. 112)

Because outsider artists are usually isolated and hermetic, they do not share a set of experiences or beliefs that would allow their work to be viewed as a "movement." In most cases, they work alone and are not aware of eachother. Despite the lack of common ground, outsiders do share certain characteristics. One is that many of them do not begin to create until after they retire from a job that provides financial support. David Brown worked in the funeral business but after he retired, he built a house in Boswell, British Columbia made entirely of embalming fluid bottles that he collected during his business trips in Canada. (4,6) Brown exhibits another shared tendency which is that of collecting things. Teressa "Grandma" Prisbrey had a penchant for collecting pencils, and she collected so many of them (over two-thousand) that she had to build a structure to house them. That first building grew into a whole village in Santa Susana, California that included a Doll House, School House, Leaning Tower of Pisa, Cleopatra's Bedroom and a Blue Bottle House. While Grandma Prisbrey was creating her village, she took daily trips to the junkyard to gather materials for her ongoing construction. (6)

The materials and processes used by outsiders are also alike in some instances. Grandma Prisbrey's use of found objects is reiterated in the work of numerous others: Howard Finster's "Paradise Garden" in Summerville, Georgia contains cages full of objects that have been given to him and that he has found. The way in which these artists make their work is often spontaneous; they rarely use drawn plans or sketches but work from a strong mental image that serves as a guide. They tend to work as they go, tackling problems as they arise and allowing one form to generate another. St. EOM, a highly isolated individual who built the "Land of Passaquan" in Buena Vista, Georgia, talked about how he worked: "I was experimentin', feelin', findin', learnin' somethin' I didn't know nothin' about. It was all trial and error, trial and error, trial and error. I made a lotta mistakes. That's how I learned a lotta things here. I'd make mistakes, and I'd do certain things to cover 'em up." (18:208)

Some of them are on the edges of what is referred to as "sanity" but most, without question, are compelled to make things to validate and recreate their own comprehension of the world and their existence. Their quest is highly personal and private, regardless of whether they intend others to see what they make. All of these characteristics provide for an arena of creation that is influenced as little as possible by the qualifiers and evaluative judgements of the art establishment at large but mostly by their individual visions. Outsider artists are most alike not in terms of what they share but in what they lack--a notion that what they make is art. Many have very little education and almost never any formal, artistic training. Because they do not refer to what they make as "art," outsiders are exempt from the cultural associations that the word "art" infers. The notion of "art" engenders many constructs--an established art historical heirarchy (even though the deconstructionists are gaining fast), definitions of "great," "good," and "bad" art, distinctions between the art of the educated and the non-educated, and between "art" and "craft." There are preconceived notions about where art should be seen and formulas with which to look at it--concepts like proportion, unity of composition, energy, harmony. In the last few decades, these structures have been less stable, and other art forms have gained more recognition--among them the crafts, media-based art, performance art, folk and outsider art. Taking notice of these other art forms has often involved assimilating them into the previous structures--either broadening the structures themselves or adapting the vocabulary so that it seems to fit the object in question. This assimilation creates problems especially with the work of outsiders because it is made so externally to the sources of the structures themselves. Attempting to adapt the work to our mechanisms of comprehension slights the recognition of its strongest qualities. As Roger Cardinal noted: "when we are confronted with artistic productions which are so very different from what we know, the danger lies in falling back on the superficial similarities we think we can spot, and in imagining this is all the description we need to characterize the new." (30:49) Because the world as seen by an outsider is so radically different from that of the general population, the objects made by an outsider artist can only be appreciated or evaluated by relying on his sources and not those of the more familiar art establishment. This is not to recommend that a completely new vocabulary should be invented with which to look at outsider art, only to suggest that the existing forms of analysis and appreciation are severely limiting to a full experience of the work.

Take, for example, the idea of originality which has long been a treasured quality in "great art" as art history has recorded it. Often this originality in a work of art has been highly conceptual and based on the surrounding culture or ideas that preceded it. One instance, Manet's "Olympia," toyed with the historical image of the reclining nude (going back to Titian), the image of the courtisane, the placement of the audience as viewers of the painting, as well as public ideas about prostitution--causing an enormous scandal. It also spawned numerous manipulations of the "Olympia" theme, notably by Gauguin, Cezanne and Picasso. Originality, in this case, referred to the artist's method of treating and manipulating well-known constructs in a formal composition. It is originality that can be understood in the context of the history of art and the society in which it was made. This is not the kind of originality that can be attributed to outsider art, for it has to do with individual interpretations and perceptions that are exterior to society and most of its cultural sources. The sources used are not art-historically based but are directly related to the experiences and ideas of the maker. Thus, an outsider artist invents techniques and styles that originate in his own environment, one that is not based solely on the images known by the general population. This isolated originality contributed to Dubuffet's fascination with the art of the insane; he felt that "only what grows naturally and is projected spontaneously from within the psychic depths of the artist can be considered valid as original form: all else remains tainted or distorted by idées reçues." (30:29)

Another relevant notion is the role of the artist in making art. In contemporary art there is an inherent role for the ego in the work; an artist identifies the work with him or herself and the notion that "I made it." Outsider artists rarely consider what they do as making art and sometimes deny that they have a major role in the process itself. Instead, they see themselves as vessels for the communication of imagery that originates in dreams, spiritual visions or messages from God. Rather than constructing the content and style of a work, they make it according to the instructions of this inner (or outer) voice. Juanita Rogers, an outsider artist from Alabama, lived in a small shack off of a dirt road. She made figures from organic materials like spanish moss, clay, teeth, and bones. Many of them were so fragile that they broke when touched. Rogers did not attribute the ideas in her work to herself, but to a man named Stonefish (or Stoneface) for whom she thought she worked. She said:

Stonefish don't want nobody hanging around the mud pieces but me. I am suppose to work on these mud pieces but I had my hands washed in the holy water by the Sister of the mission to handle that mud. This is secret service work...Stonefish, he can tell you more about it than me cause I don't know too much about it. I just makes it. I been making it for quite a long time." (Nasisse, p. 25)

Although Stonefish was an imaginary presence for anyone walking into Rogers' house, he was real to her. The reality of his existence was for her the main motivating factor in her work, which became a record of highly personal imagery. Rogers' act of making the objects had nothing to do with being an artist; her work did not originate in her role as an artist but in her visions and beliefs. Rogers' concept of process differs strongly from the prearranged, formal elements of art as we know it; they are non-existent, or apparent only by mistake.

With outsider art, there is a danger in falsely categorizing its intention, which is also deviant from the norm. Contemporary artists may intend to communicate an idea, to deliver a shock, to demonstrate their skill, to poke fun at societal mores, to make political statements, to record a visual image or they may simply want to "make it." Most of their work is made with the understanding (or hope) that it will be seen and responded to by others. Many outsider artists do not direct their work towards an audience nor do they intend their work to leave the place where it was made. After enough coaxing, though, and promises of money, some outsiders allow their work to travel away from them. These intensely individualistic creations saunter into the world of "high" ideas and images, into rooms of white walls where people with no knowledge of their origins gaze upon them, stroking their chins and gesturing qualitatively. The juxtaposition of these these privately-conceived objects and a context of which their makers were not aware causes some difficulties. Can outsider art be appreciated or even evaluated in such a foreign context, alongside work that springs from a tradition alien to its own? And does the context itself endanger the naive qualities of the work and its maker? Making it in the art world today The question arises whether or not these artists can retain their original intention within a system that can take advantage of their naivete for financial benefit.

If outsider art does not necessarily include an audience, then what happens when it is placed in a context where the audience plays a major role? Outsider art is in all kinds of galleries across the country--those that specialize in folk art and those that do not. It is important that the work be seen because it can be so powerful and direct as opposed to the contrived and decorative work that so consistently rears its head on the contemporary art scene. It can provide a fresh viewpoint or narrative and engage the viewer at a very primitive and basic level, one that endures beyond quick perception. Sometimes, it requires a specifically open-minded audience, one that will put aside categories of evaluation and attempt to experience the work instead. More a spiritual undertaking than the intellectual one that the quiet sterility of museums sometimes suggests. The importance of seeing the work can be dulled by the effect the art establishment has on work as well as the maker.

Howard Finster, the creator of Paradise Garden in Summerville, Georgia, originally intended to carry the message of God in his "sermons in paint." Whereas he wanted others to experience his garden, in which he attempted to put one of each of the inventions of mankind, he did not work on the garden with the expectation that he would be recognized for his efforts nor that he would become famous. Before he was well-known, Finster used to take people on personal tours of the garden, telling them all about the things he made as well as the vegetables and flowers growing there. He said himself: "When all this started, back when I was adoin' my first paintings, I had no idea o'ever becomin' a famous artist. I didn't even have no idea o'sellin' my art. I was just doin' paintings for people to come see in my garden." (5:133) This quote demonstrates the change that Finster experienced via his contact with the art establishment, which began when he was discovered in the mid-1970's.

Whereas at first he was carrying out a mission from God to paint sacred art, he now sees himself as a "famous artist" who sells his work and makes more work with the intention of selling it. Finster has become the equivalent of a cult hero. He designed the cover of an album for the Talking Heads, and his work is in galleries all over the country. His own attitude towards the way he makes his art has changed, and Paradise Garden is falling into disarray because Finster's energies are focused on making work to keep up with the increased demand for it. As Finster gained in notoriety, people in the art establishment took advantage of him, realizing the market potential of his work. One agent, Jeff Camp, put him on a meager salary with the understanding that all of the work Finster made would go to Camp. It turned out that Camp sold the paintings for tremendous sums of money that Finster never saw, and he kept those that he wanted. Meanwhile, Finster remembers not having enough money to live on at the time.

There are also similarities in the formal content of work by outsider artists. One common thread is the use of overwhelming detail; in many cases no surface is left without intricate embellishment. Finster's "Paradise Garden" looks completely cluttered; there are forms within forms--the walkway is a path of mosaic designs which includes Finster's enshrined bicycle repair tools, the walls of the buildings are covered with paintings or collages of junk and memorabilia, even his car is a painted narrative of faces and sermons. Yet within this apparent disorder, there is planned space in which to enjoy the spectacle. There are ponds, animals, flower beds and a vegetable garden. Joseph Ferdinand Cheval's "Palais Idéal" in Hauterives, France is made of reinforced concrete impressed with fossils, shells and stones. The surfaces reflect the crammed structure of the building itself, which is composed of a myriad of turrets, grottoes, vaults, staircases and terraces. The whole palace is decorated with figures, animals and smaller buildings which echo the larger landscape of the Palace itself.

In two-dimensional work by outsider artists, the standard rules of perspective and figurative representation are violated, usually because the maker is ignorant of them. The surface of the work is usually emphasized through ornamentation and patterning so that the imagery appears frontal with little illusion or depth. Body parts appear as caricatures; hands become outlines that are filled in with color rather than presented as forms themselves. with bones, muscles, and skin. Prophet Royal Robertson covered his entire house and yard with lettered signs which, when seen as a whole environment, turns into a chattering vision of colors and forms.often Finster's paintings demonstrate these qualities clearly; in his work the background and foreground share the same plane. Objects, like fences, that might move into the distance are depicted as overlapping with no change in size or color. Figures illustrated from the side retain eyes that are drawn from the frontal view. Finster's paintings also demonstrate another common tendency among outsider artists; a reliance on primary colors. St. EOM's "Land of Passaquan" is a parade of geometric forms and figures in red, orange, green, yellow, blue and black.

Another shared formal characteristic of outsider art is the use of what Nasisse refers to as a "transformational image." This is, in his view, the visionary image, "when the image of a man or an animal, a house or a building or tower...takes on symbolic value and transforms our perception of it from something of personal whimsy into an image with universal resonance and deep psychological power." (Nasisse, p. 18) These visionary images reveal the structure of the individual artist's specific and carefully worked out mythology in which everything created means something. Edward Leedskalnin, the creator of the "Coral Castle" in Homestead, Florida, carved a livable landscape out of coral. Leedskalnin was an immigrant from Latvia (now a part of Russia); he emigrated to America when his sixteen year old fiancée left him on their wedding night. He dedicated the "Coral Castle" to his fiancée and believed that she would join him there after she recognized his devotion to her. Everything in Leedskalnin's built environment is laden with this message; he made a table in the shape of a heart that he called the "Feast of Love" table. He also carved a bedroom out of coral that included a bed as well as a cradle; the "Coral Castle" was his own futuristic dream of the possibilities in his lost love affair.

Much of the imagery used by outsider artists is formed ofbased on their personal belief systems, many of which, in turn, are founded in religion. Finster's "Paradise Garden" is intended to be a lesson in religion. Finster worked as a preacher among other things, and he says that he began building his garden because a vision told him to; he believes that building his garden is his mission. Finster recalled: "So, man, I got on the altar for God, and I've been on it. I been on it by buildin' this garden here and makin' sacred art. I've sacrificed ever'thing else in my life nearly 'bout to do the work I'm supposed to do for God on Earth's planet." (5:107) The garden is full of bible verses and one of Finster's more recent projects was to build the "World's Folk Art Church" in the garden. Prophet Royal Robertson is also someone whose work employs biblical imagery. In his case, much of it , although he combines it with various other symbols which integrate his system of belief Nasisse describes his work as:

a somewhat scandalous barrage of signs and messages layered onto his house and out into the yard. Ranging in subject matter and professionally rendered, the signs warn of the end of the world, exclaim astrological aspects, advertise his amorous intentions and indict his ex-wife for various adulterous crimes...Robertson's overall style of working could be described as a synthesis of Buck Roger's comics with Masonic symbols, West African motifs, astrological signs, Christian symbols and vodun cosmograms. (Nasisse, p. 23)

Another outsider artist, Samuel Perry Dinsmoor, built a "Garden of Eden" in Lucas, Kansas. Dinsmoor's narrative garden begins with Adam and Eve, who join hands to form an arch at the entrance which connects to a grape arbor. Snakes are positioned on the arbor and one of them is giving Eve an apple while Adam is crushing the head of another. Nearby is the Cain and Abel tableau. Abel is slain with a disfigured face; he has blood running down his arm and his grieving wife and dog stand over him while an angel comes to take him to heaven. A large eye and hand are attached to a branch nearby (they represent God) and the hand points at Cain and his wife who are attempting to flee the scene. (footnote?) In his personal interpretation of these biblical stories, Dinsmoor has conceptualized his own understanding of the world and his existence.Outsider artists are also alike in that they do not believe that While they share the compulsion to make things that represent their own private comprehension of the world, their quest is very personal. They rarely work with an audience in mind. The creative arena that outsider artists inhabit is thus exempt from the cultural associations that the word "art" infers and from the evaluative judgements of the art establishment at large. They both make and justify their art through their individual visions.

An analysis of some of the common constructs within the contemporary art establishment shows how they are inappropriate when applied to outsider artists and their art objects. One such construct is the role of the artist in making art. In much contemporary art there is an inherent role for the ego in the work; an artist identifies the work with him or herself and the notion that "I made it." Art is, at least in part, a self-centered, intentional pursuit in that it belongs, and can be referred back, to the person who makes it. Outsider artists, on the other hand, sometimes deny that they have a role in the art-making process. Instead, they see themselves as vessels for the communication of imagery that originates in dreams, spiritual visions or messages from God. Rather than attributing the content of a work to their own hands, they make it according to the instructions of an inner (or outer) voice. Juanita Rogers, an outsider artist from Alabama, lives in a small shack off of a dirt road. She makes figures from organic materials like spanish moss, clay, teeth and bones. Many of them are so fragile that they cannot be transported. Rogers does not attribute the ideas in her work to herself, but to a man named Stonefish (or Stoneface) for whom she thinks she works:

Stonefish don't want nobody hanging around the mud pieces but me. I am suppose to work on these mud pieces but I had my hands washed in the holy water by the Sister of the mission to handle that mud. This is secret service work...Stonefish, he can tell you more about it than me cause I don't know too much about it. I just makes it. I been making it for quite a long time." (Nasisse, p. 25)

Although Stonefish is an imaginary presence for anyone walking into Rogers' house, he is real to her. The reality of his existence is for her the main motivating factor in her work. Whether or not Stonefish is the equivalent of any artist's inspiration is not important; what is important is that Rogers does not take the intentional responsibility for her work. She does not believe that she is accountable for anything but the mechanical processes of making her "mud pieces." Rogers' act of making has nothing to do with calling herself an artist; her work does not originate in her role but in her visions.

The fact that most outsider artists do not consider themselves to be artists parallels the fact that they do not consider what they make to be art. Rogers refers to her work as "mud pieces." Finster refers to his paintings (or he did until they entered galleries and museums) as "sermons in paint." To Dubuffet, the concept of "art" weighs heavily on the work of those who understand it. He writes:

When culture utters the word "art," it is not art that is concerned, it is the notion of art. The mind must strive to become aware of--and not to forget--the enormous difference in nature that exists, in art as in all things, between the thing and the notion of the thing...Culture knows nothing of art, except by way of works of art, which are far different things, which bring the matter into a realm that is no longer that of art...Some claim that if culture is abolished, art will cease to exist. This is a grave error...it is the notion of art that will be gone, and not art, which no longer being named, will resume a healthy existence. At this time, the refraction it undergoes when it appears beneath culture's gaze will cease, as will the mechanism of denaturation. This denaturation was provoked because the production of art could not be prevented from aligning itself with culture's refracting effect...thereby counterfeiting the true spontaneous artistic impulsion at its source. (Dubuffet, p. 64)

Although Dubuffet's argument is a moralistic one which suggests that no true art can be made with the awareness of a cultural definition of art, he also clarifies that there is a difference between the intention and expression in the art of formally-trained artists and that of outsider artists. Many contemporary artists do falter under the weight of the word "art." It brings with it a history of images and a wealth of qualitative judgements that makes the process of intuitive or natural creation nearly impossible. Many artists spurn theoretical and art historical influences because they fear that too much knowledge will distort their ability to be open to their natural abilites. Without such concerns, outsider artists benefit from being able to respond immediately and without fear of categorization to their creative instincts. Dubuffet's fascination with the art of the insane is directed, in part, to this concept of natural creativity and the true originality that results from it. He feels that "only what grows naturally and is projected spontaneously from withing the psychic depths of the artist can be considered valid as original form: all else remains tainted or distorted by idées reçues." (30:29)
The notion of, then, is also different in outsider art as compared to contemporary art.

Outsider art sometimes echoes the formal concepts with which art history is so familiar. One of the responses to it has involved mistakenly attaching labels to the work that are meant for art conceived within and for the tradition of art history and connoisseurship. Any likeness to these formal characteristics is for the most part unintentional on the part of the maker. Simon Rodia, the creator of the Watts Towers outside of Los Angeles, California, built three towers out of metal and concrete. He had no understanding of architectural building techniques, yet his towers withstood a stress-analysis test which saved them from destruction. Rodia's work has often been compared to the towers of Antonio Gaudi's "Sagrada Familia" in Barcelona, Spain but the relationship is unfounded except for a minimal structural similarity. Gaudi was a highly trained architect who worked according to sophisticated plans and drawings while Rodia built his towers as he went. I offer these two examples to demonstrate that not only the intention but the process of working by outsider artists is different in kind from that of more professionally-trained individuals; this should be taken into account when viewing their work.

Most artists today work with the understanding (or hope) that their art will be whoen in galleries and museums and thus seen and responded to by others. Many outsider artists, on the other hand, do not make their work with the primary intention of communicating with someone else; they do not direct their work at an audience but create things that have meaning for them regardless of whether or not it has meaning for others. Although Howard Finster meant for other people to see and learn from the objects that he made, the imagery in his paintings is his own. People have to go to his work to understand it; it was not made to go to them. Finster says "when all this started, back when I was adoin' my first paintings, I had no idea o'ever becomin' a famous artist. I didn't even have no idea o' sellin' my art. I was just doin' paintings for people to come see in my garden..." St. EOM was more hermetic even than Finster, and his "Land of Passaquan" was his sanctuary from the outside world rather than an invitation to others. St. EOM said of his efforts: "I built this place...to have something to identify with. Here I can be in my own world, with my temples and designs and the spirit of God. I can have my own spirits and my own thoughts. I don't have nothin' against other people and their beliefs. I'm not askin' anybody to do my way or be my way...I have created this place so I don't have to think about the outside world, but every crackpot in America has found his way to my door." (18:219)

Since many outsider artists are discovered late in their lives, the results of their individual creative pursuits are often strikingly coherent bodies of work. Regardless of whether outsiders intend to transform their entire environment or not, their work reflects a unified aesthetic which in turn echoes the place and the manner in which they live. Because the work is so inextricably tied to the place where it was made (in that it is essentially a part of it,) removing it so it can be seen by a greater population becomes ideologically problematic. The current art establishment interest in outsider art has resulted in many works by outsiders being assimilated into traditional gallery and museum spaces. The makers of these works, being unaware of the highly sophisticated art market mechanisms, are in a precarious position in which they can be readily taken advantage of. Promises of money for their objects are all too enticing. Finster learned his lesson the hard way. His first agent was Jeff Camp, who agreed to pay Finster a salary in exchange for all of the work he produced. Camp kept many of Finster's paintings himself, sold the others for an enormous profit, and Finster reports having had to take on another job at the time to support himself. Contact with the art environment also creates problems in appreciating outsider art. These intensely individualistic creations saunter into the world of "high" ideas and images, into rooms of white walls where people with no knowledge of their origins gaze upon them qualitatively, stroking their chins and gesturing.

The juxtaposition of these privately-conceived objects and an exhibition context of which their makers are not aware raises a number of questions. Can (or should) outsider art be appreciated or even evaluated in such a foreign context, alongside work that springs from a tradition alien to its own? And does the context itself endanger the naive qualities of the work and its maker? Can these artists retain their "innocence"--their original intention--within a system that can so easily take advantage of their naivete for financial benefit? Of course, these questions are also applicable to artists who are not outsiders, as well. Museums and galleries have the power to legitimate certain art forms in the eyes of the public. Based on their knowledge of the processes of acquisitions and exhibitions, artists sometimes will modify their work, despite their own values, so that it will be included. As Dubuffet puts it:

A change occurs in artists themselves, and not just in the public, because of the enshrinement of publicity brought about by cultural propaganda. They, too, are led to believe that the publicity is more important than the content of a work. Instead of making the publicity depend on the nature of the work, once it is completed, they are driven to think first about the publicity to which a work will give rise, even at the moment they are creating the work itself. (Dubuffet, p. 25)
Much contemporary art evidences the fact that monetary reward is often the prime motivating factor in making the work. One can easily conclude that this sort of commodification of art will only demoralize its power and meaning for the society in which it is made. Outsider artists, then, may be among the only groups who are making objects based on a pure creative drive without being motivated by commercial success.

Unfortunately, the way that outsider art is viewed today in galleries rarely includes enough background to make it comprehensible to the viewer. Although some deconstructionists might argue that objects, regardless of the impulses that generated their existence, have power simply in their object-ness, certain examples demonstrate that this is not the case. That any object has recognizable "absolute qualities" is disputable, especially when they are created in cultures which are dissimilar to the one in which they are viewed. Primitive art is one example that illustrates this problem. Art historians who study primitive work spend a lot of time trying to understand the culture from which it came, which helps to explain some of its formal elements. Evaluating primitive art with western European concepts seems absurd. In the same way, the interpretation of outsider art should not be based on sources of which its maker is not aware.
Outsider art should be seen because it is fresh, powerful and direct; as opposed to the contrived and decorative work that so often rears its head on the contemporary art scene. Outsider art can engage the viewer at a very basic level, one that endures beyond casual appreciation. However, this requires a different kind of directly open-minded audience, one that will put aside the usual categories of evaluation and attempt to directly experience the work instead. This is more a spiritual undertaking than the intellectual one suggested by the impersonal sterility of museums. While solving the problem of how such work shoulc be viewed is difficult, there is no question that outsider art demands a different kind of evaluation than the standard analyses of contemporary art allow. It may be that the best way to look at outsider art is to make a pilgrimage to its source, to consider it in the context in which it is made, with the hope that such attention will not jeopardize its maker's original intention.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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