Gwynn Murrill and Billy Al Bengston go far back enough that they can’t seem to remember the exact moment that they met. Billy says it was during his last year of teaching at UCLA and “Gwynn was the best student in the art department,” while Gwynn recalls meeting Billy through their mutual friend, Tony Berlant, sometime in the 60s hanging out with “the Venice boys.”
About sixty years later, the two remain dear friends, sharing a deep respect for one another’s craft as made clear by the distinctive display of their works traded over decades between their homes. Hanging above a shelf of her own clay maquettes, Gwynn points to one of Billy’s “Valentines,” a body of work that has become Billy’s own highest token of affection. Since their original reveal at Ferus Gallery in 1960, Billy has unexpectedly gifted his Valentine works in times of gratitude, celebration, and solace to those he loves most. Today, we take a fresh look at this intimate body of work, which has long lacked public opportunity, yet whose sole purpose is to offer a comforting gift to the receiver. At Billy’s home, Gwynn’s bronze and cherry wood sculptures relish the space with their curvaceous form, glinting in every light-source with their impossible smoothness and soul.
The two lifelong friends, now both in their 80s, will present work together in public dialogue for the first time. Gwynn’s satiny sculptures of lovers and animals are euphorically calm amidst Billy’s forthright “Valentine” paintings of central hearts that stretch outward amidst flinging rocks and open oceans, showing love’s passionate and ineffable role during hardship. Billy’s inclination to give paintings a core structure is heavily rooted in the years he spent as a student of the legendary ceramicist, Peter Voulkos, and his time throwing clay with his studio mate and best friend, Ken Price.
