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The art of mountain life

Gutmann finds his place at Whistler, Part ii
opinion_altastates1

"Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn't really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. That's because they were able to connect experiences they've had and synthesize new things."

– Steve Jobs

It's not easy being an artist in Whistler. The rents are unconscionably high. The culture is unremittingly commercial. And the prevailing gestalt is unapologetically bourgeois. Cute sells. Pretty is popular. As long as the new art doesn't clash with the furniture, of course.

But stray off the safe "decorative" path for a moment, and suddenly you're on your own. Alas, there is no great thirst in this valley for provocative stuff...

Sure, we talk a big art game. But we rarely deliver on it. And no, I'm not exaggerating to make a point. Ask anyone seriously committed to making art (and not just decoration) in this valley. It's a hand-to-mouth existence; a frustrating exercise in surviving between the cracks of the system. Strange, eh? For all our mutual back-patting — for all the eloquence of our fancy Whistler 2020 document — Whistler is still struggling to integrate its artists into community life.

"We don't do it for the money, that's for sure," says photographer-artist Arne Gutmann. A 16-year survivor of the Whistler arts scene, the 46 year old has done a bit of everything to make ends meet over the years. And it would be totally understandable if he waxed cynical about his situation. But that's not Gutmann's style. Hmm... How can I describe his character? Joyfully resilient comes to mind. So does thoroughly and irrepressibly alive. On board. Ready for anything.

In fact, I'm not sure I've ever seen Arne without that cockeyed smile of his happily pasted across his face. Or without a new art-project-cum-party-cum-outlaw-happening to promote. His enthusiasm for art and life knows no bounds. His fun with existence is inspiring.

So why isn't he more successful then? He laughs when I ask him. "Making money as an artist around here is like pulling teeth," he says. "You can put on a wicked art show with great vibes and a super ambiance... but when the evening's over, there's still no sales. So no dough either." More laughter. "But I don't care. For me it's all about the party. I mean, a good art party is just like performance art. Take a live painting show for example — that's such a cool thing for the non-artist to experience..."

Always up, always ready for a new adventure, Gutmann expresses his own creativity in a myriad of ways. Here's how he describes the genesis for his infamous poo-font project. "Well," he recounts, "I was living in Toronto in those days, working at the Elgin Theatre. On my days off I'd often visit the Art Gallery of Ontario." He sighs. "I'm a very tactile guy," he says. "And I was really taken with the gallery's Henry Moore sculptures. So sensual; so smooth. So one day I decided to take some nice pictures of his stuff..."

Later, back at his home, he had a bowel movement. "I poo'ed an 'M'," he tells me with a straight face. "And it kind of reminded me of Moore's sculpting style. That was so weird. So I took a photo of it with my camera." A few weeks later, Gutmann excreted another letter. So he took a photo of that one too.

"And that's how it started," he explains. "I eventually completed the whole alphabet and all the numbers too — no alterations, nothing!" He laughs. "So then I vectored it all with a friend, registered the poo-font domain name and released it two years ago." Silly, right? Still, Gutmann and his natural-born font have been profiled on U-tube and Vancouver's Urban Rush. "It's been a lot of fun," he admits. "And it's resulted in the production of a couple of flip books, a coffee-table book and some wicked hats and toques..."

But enough toilet talk. Where was I? Oh yeah — when we left Arne last week, it was 1996 and he'd just missed a job interview with Bruce Irving and the Whistler Mountain Snowboard School. "I figured I'd totally blown it," he admits. "I was sure they'd never hire a guy who couldn't keep track of time."

He was wrong. Snowboarding was growing so quickly in those years — and young, certified instructors were so rare — that most schools were desperate for new talent. Despite his chronological misstep, Gutmann was hired two weeks later.

And it seemed to work out for both parties. "I really enjoyed the lifestyle," he says. "Enjoyed the teaching too. It also gave me the opportunity to start shooting photos for various ski and snowboard magazines." He stops. Smiles. "And that was really fun."

I've never seen Gutmann teach snowboarding, but I can imagine his style. Entertaining for sure. And probably pretty effective too. Whatever. His employers certainly appreciated his work. In 2001-02, Arne Gutmann was acclaimed instructor of the year for the WB ski and snowboard school. "That was pretty cool," he says.

Meanwhile, the young snowboarder had fallen irretrievably in love with a skiing colleague at the school. "I met Aki in 1999," he says. "We shared locker room space." But they didn't share much else. "She was from Japan," he explains. "And the foreign exchange instructors were all cooped up in a 'team' house. So being in different pads, we didn't socialize much..."

Aki's roommate at the time was a snowboard instructor from San Diego. And one day they got talking about boys. And more particularly about boys in the school. Arne shrugs. Grins. "I was given to understand that Aki might be interested in dating me," he reveals. "So I immediately invited her out on a ski/snowboard date." He says it was the best mountain date ever — and the beginning of a great relationship. "Soon after that, we moved into staff housing together — in Building 7." Another radiant smile. "She's an avid cook," adds Arne, "And I like cooking too. So we really worked well together."

But there were challenges to the relationship too. "Aki could only stay here for the winters," he explains. "So for eight months she'd go back to Japan while I stayed in Whistler trying to hold it all together." It was a situation that couldn't last. And being the doer that he is, Gutmann decided to seize the opportunity. "So in 2002, I went to Japan and asked for her hand in marriage," he says. "And she accepted! We've been together ever since."

Like most young couples, the Gutmann's bounced all over the valley until their name came up on the local housing list and they were able to buy a condo in Function Junction. "Which," says Arne, "has worked out perfectly for us."

Indeed. The new/old nexus of artistic life at Whistler, Function Junction pulsates with creative energy. And it was there that Arne's enthusiasm for all things edgy would finally find a home. "That's where I befriended artist Dave Petko," he says. "We did the ARTrageous scene together in the early years." He laughs. "We did a lot of partying too — that is until the whole ARTrageous thing got too commercial."

Petko — better known as Pepe to his friends — also ran a production company in those days. "It was called Blind Mute Productions," explains Gutmann. "And it was really gritty stuff. Cutting-edge shows, small venues — full-on low-brow art." Another long sigh. "But there was no photographer involved. So I said to Pepe: 'Dude — this is for me. I love gritty. I love people. I'm in!"

And just like that, he was in. "That's what I love so much about Whistler," he adds. "In Toronto it's really hard to crack the art cliques. But here, the moment I made contact with Pepe and his friends I felt like I was included in their world. The collaborative aspect of the Whistler arts scene is quite unique I think. Gets the creative juices flowing, for sure."

But it doesn't produce a lot of income. "Yeah," he says. "That's a big problem. And it often defeats the best intentions. Like Pepe. Eventually he said 'you can't keep doing art shows for free,' and he disbanded Blind Mute." But Gutmann refuses to give in to the financial imperative. "Art," he says, "is all about doing it! The difference between me and other artists in town is that I can't stop doing. Whether it's a new domain name, a new font, or a new photo show, I love creating new things."

Gutmann retired from snowboard teaching a few years back in exchange for a full-time government job. "It was getting harder and harder to stretch my instruction dollars," he explains. "And as much as I loved the lifestyle, I knew it was time for a change."

Still, that doesn't mean he's any less active with his art. "I just like to stay busy," he says. "Group shows, solo shows — still photography exhibits — I do them all." He smiles one last time. "And I'll keep doing them till I drop. For me, it's not about the money. Never has been never will be. It's all about the art..."