Filed Under: "monsters"

Tempera on paper, mid-1960s. The previously unpublished work was reproduced in our second book, The Curiously Sinister Art of Jim Flora. It’s on our short list to issue as a fine art print.

The full title of this undated (early- to mid-1940s) work is The Rape of the Stationmaster’s Daughter, a tempera on paper, titled in pencil on the reverse. It was reproduced in our second Flora anthology, The Curiously Sinister Art of Jim Flora, and its anatomically absurd actors were adapted by designer Laura Lindgren for the cover. In 2008 we issued a fine art print. A customer purchased a print last month and expressed admiration at…

Celebrities, pen & ink, early 1990s, from sketchbook Update: Issued as an open edition fine art print in 2010.

Unfinished figures in tempera and pencil, photographed on sketchbook page. The undated work is probably from around 1960 because the contours resemble Big Evening, a tempera from that year.

Pen & ink sketch, early 1940s. The title likely derives from the song “I’m a Ding Dong Daddy from Dumas,” penned by Phil Baxter in the late 1920s. Dumas is a town in the northwest Texas Panhandle. The song was recorded by many country and jazz artists, including Louis Armstrong (in 1930), and was later a hit for singer-bandleader Phil Harris. Flora’s take is typically idiosyncratic and perhaps references the titular “ding dong” in the…

Jim Flora Art has released a limited-edition, archival-quality fine art print of a 1960 Flora painting entitled Big Evening. The hyperactive tableau depicts a cavalcade of misshapen, multi-eyed mutants with bonus body parts. People just like you! The work was produced in an edition of 25. Nine were sold in the first two days after release, our most successful new print launch.

Absolute good taste edifies absolutely. Cartoonist/animator Gene Deitch, in a 2003 interview with AllAboutJazz.com, about his then-new book, The Cat on a Hot Thin Groove: AAJ: What is your favorite piece of album cover artwork? Deitch: Any by James Flora. Left: detail, Shorty Rogers Courts the Count (1955, RCA Victor)

Just released: a new Flora fine art print. The Big Bank Robbery (edition of 30) was reproduced from an undated tempera on board that reflects the nuances of Flora’s mid-1960s style. (The title was handwritten on the reverse.) The three-tiered tableau depicts colorful Flora mayhem: inscrutable monsters with misshapen features, Lego architecture, bug-eyed buildings, gumdrop color fills, and—yes—a bank robbery.

If you’re planning to attend the above June 10 exhibit — you’re 66 years too late. However, by historical accounts Flora’s first New York City gallery show, held in 1943, was fabulously successful. A few months earlier, Flora had been named art director at Columbia Records, replacing the man who hired him, Alex Steinweiss (at left with the artist in photo below). The whereabouts of the inscrutable petroglyphs on the wall? All will be revealed…

There are five figures in this undated (late 1960s-early 1970s) Flora tempera, owned by Eric Kohler (who purchased it from the artist in the early 1990s). Two are extracted above. They—and their three unseen compatriots—will not be featured in our forthcoming third Flora anthology. There’s plenty of great unpublished images for volume four (target publication date 2012). Sorry if we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Two characters, five legs. This acrylic on canvas (15-3/4″ x 20″, late 1990s) almost made it into our forthcoming book, but was edged out by a plethora of prominent works. Flora produced some interesting, mystifying paintings in his final decade (after, by his own admission, “painting myself out of boats” in the late 1980s). Above is a low-grade snapshot corrected in Photoshop; the recently discovered work has not yet been professionally documented. A postulant is…

Paris had this unnamed gargantuan invader. In the foreground, a Van Dyke-bearded, top-hatted anatomical spare part flees from impending carnage, his method of self-propulsion unknown. Spot illustration, Columbia Coda, Nov-Dec. 1943, having something to do with composer Frederick Delius—but after reading the booklet’s accompanying text, we’re not certain what.