If the exhibition’s title invites thinking of Fitzpatrick as the Jesus of Western Avenue, then he is a self-appointed savior, redeeming Chicago from encroaching banality by insisting on its dynamism. But the closer one gets to the art, the farther away this jazzy, all-nite, gin-and-tonic version of Chicago seems. The collages are so rambunctious, and their gridded compositions so meticulously choreographed, that viewers must get close to experience their tactility. In mythology, birds are emissaries from the afterlife Fitzpatrick’s birds, framed against litter of long-gone Americana, look as though they’re here to remind us that nothing lasts forever. Likewise, in Humboldt Park Tern (Longing for the Sea), the presentation is both ennobling and kitschy, with the namesake seabird surrounded by a similar explosion of skulls, flowers, kitten heads, and cartoon characters. The mood of sinister schmaltz is central to Fitzpatrick’s aesthetic every reference is so self-aware that even allusions to murder, drugs, or other weighty fare feel cheeky. In Humboldt Park Winter Woodpecker (Among the Spirits), the eponymous bird is perched among an intricate bricolage of musical notes, jaunty skulls, a raven, a scorpion, and stock illustrations of men and women that could have been clipped from postwar catalogues. The collages incorporate quirky headlines about locusts and murder hornets, or monumentalize birds against a debris field of retro iconography. While many of the works-roughly the first half of the show-were produced in the past two years, and some, such as The Plague Angel, from 2020, obliquely acknowledge the pandemic, they are dominated by animals rather than people. Perhaps to offset this spectral quality, Fitzpatrick also populates his pictures with vibrant portraits of creatures whose regal scale dwarfs the surrounding mélange. The ghosts in Fitzpatrick’s work are architectural and cultural. Humboldt Park Winter Juncos (I, Apostle of This Radiant Place, Cast My Bread on Your Water), from 2021, features a stamp-size ad for the Edgewater Beach Hotel, a luxury playland on the shores of Lake Michigan that was demolished in 1971. In these and most other recent works, matchbook covers advertising defunct Chicago businesses do double duty as a border and a visual chorus.
Tony Fitzpatrick, Holy Ghost of Western Avenue #2, 2020, watercolor, ink, gouache, colored pencil, and ephemera on paper, 11 by 14 inches. A published poet, Fitzpatrick occasionally garnishes his work with snippets of portentous verse: “On Western Avenue, / the bird of last things / awaits the final night / of lillies grown in / a bloody red garden,” reads a stanza from Holy Ghost of Western Avenue #2 (2020). He can also sometimes resemble a distant heir to the Chicago Imagists, whose exuberance and sardonic humor he shares. From the earliest work on view (a 1994 etching) through the most recent mixed-media collages (the bulk of the show), Fitzpatrick has mined the same visual vocabulary drawn from comic books, holy cards, tattoo art, vintage matchbooks, and midcentury ads. The exhibition’s name derives from the street where Fitzpatrick’s studio is located, near Humboldt Park. His résumé includes stints as a tattooist, bartender, and boxer, and he still moonlights as an actor. Fitzpatrick is a self-taught artist who grew up in a large Irish Catholic family.
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