For an artist of D.S. Bakker's peculiar turn of mind, a commission from the Maryland Historical Society to create an object for the White House Christmas display might be an invitation for another sensational artist vs. elected official culture clash.
Left to his own devices, Bakker fashions surreal dioramas that depict creepy subconscious scenarios involving arson and cockroaches (shellacked) among other unpleasantries, as well as Magritte-like visual paradoxes.
But like his work, the lanky, amiable father of two contains multitudes and when asked, cheerfully constructed a patriotic and cockroach-free diorama commemorating Francis Scott Key and his poem, "The Star-Spangled Banner." The diorama -- on display in the White House Grand Foyer beneath a portrait of Franklin D. Roosevelt -- should do Bill and Hillary Rodham Clinton proud.
The work is Bakker's take on this year's White House holiday theme, "Save America's Treasures." The theme is paired to the National Park Service's grant program of the same name, from which the Maryland Historical Society received $180,000 for preserving paper-based national icons in its collection, including Key's original manuscript, written during the War of 1812.
As it happens, Bakker was very familiar with the story of how Key came to write the national anthem. His wife, attorney Cynthia Sanders, was born on Defenders' Day, and the artist and his family celebrate with an annual September pilgrimage to Fort McHenry, where by now, they know the park rangers' commentary almost by heart.
Bakker's ability to create pieces multilayered with symbols and ideas also served him well as he conceived the diorama. A "method artist," Bakker steeped himself in history, emotions, and period materials to create the piece.
Within a case 1 foot high, 8 inches wide and 6 inches deep, the 42-year-old artist created the "environment -- both physically and emotionally -- in which Francis Scott Key wrote the poem," he says.
The diorama evokes Key's room at Baltimore's India Queen Hotel (complete with authentically garish wallpaper), where he stayed after observing the British bombardment from the deck of a truce ship. Compressing the moment of Key's inspiration into a potent visual, Bakker scanned a piece of Key's original manuscript on to a sheet of paper that serves as the sail for the truce ship.
Bakker, an obsessive model maker who as a boy would paint in the eyes of Napoleonic soldiers, bought a square-rigger model and modified the mast and yard arms with his own hand-tied rigging. The diorama also contains a shred of battered American flag, a cannonball mound, a goose-feather quill gathered by a zoo keeper at the Baltimore Zoo, "bombs bursting in air," and blushing light breaking through wispy clouds to capture the "dawn's early light."
As he studied the anthem, it became much more than the song everyone sings at the baseball game, Bakker says. "It's very moving. Key had just lived through [the battle], the country was on the brink " The author's "noble emotions" were very refreshing in this distinctly unnoble age, he says.
Bakker's earliest inspiration as a diorama artist was not so noble. On a European trip as a child, he vividly remembers dioramas of medieval torture methods. The images made a lasting impression. While others were creating huge art works at the Maryland Institute, College of Art, Bakker thought small and found that he "could create visual philosophical statements by combining real miniature objects in bizarre surrealistic circumstances."
By creating "voyeuristic" art that forces viewers to approach the diorama and often peer through eye holes, Bakker alters the usual dynamic of strolling through a gallery or installation. It's as if viewers have to enter his artwork to experience it. "Your work isn't small; it's the height of an entire retina!" one viewer told Bakker.
He sees himself as a kind of folk artist, who is also re-creating the "cabinet of curiosity" philosophy guiding the earliest private and public museums. Unlike certain contemporaries, Bakker prides himself on making his work accessible to a wide audience, not just the art elite.
An "artist has responsibility to the audience," Bakker says. "If they don't get it, you failed. You should make work that isn't so obscure that it throws people off. Nor do you want to sugarcoat or soft sell. You want to be more eloquent, so more people understand."
Bakker also creates dioramas for commercial enterprises and museums, including a two-story apartment building for the traveling women's health exhibit that made its debut at the Maryland Science Center.
Bakker's studio outside his home near Lake Montebello reflects his eclectic interests. There is, for example, the vintage motorcycle he retooled after finding it in a Pennsylvania barn. Out front, Bakker's 1990 Plymouth Voyager, wrapped in aluminum foil and art-car compliant, is parked.
Bakker is also a licensed pilot who occasionally takes impromptu trips to Ocean City or the Luray Caverns with his family. He also takes another companion, someone who has acquired an avid following on the Internet. It's Bakker's alter ego, a child mannequin christened Bud, whom the artist has photographed across Europe, Africa and North America. On www.touristbud.com (a former Yahoo site of the week), visitors correspond with Bud (there has been a marriage proposal) and peruse his travelogue. In this festive season, Bud, wearing a Santa cap, is also pictured in the midst of Baltimore's own miraculous 34th Street.
But Bud won't be accompanying Bakker to the White House on Friday, where he and other artists will tour a display of their many contributions. Bud is his own project, says Bakker, projecting just slightly. The diorama "is my project."
