Black is a color in Stan Lebovic’s Holocaust art

February 17, 2:26 AMBaltimore Celebrity Headlines ExaminerCheryl Taragin

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As if steadfastly guarding a benevolent king, a suit of armor stands quietly at attention.

I am at once both amused and intrigued. After all, it isn’t every day I come face to face with reproductions of medieval battle gear. The statuesque figure seems both protector and inspiring monument. I later discover it is neither, but rather the central piece of an annual holiday display awaiting storage. Scattered pieces of the same display dot the front lawn.

I’ve arrived on time for my interview with local artist Stan Lebovic. Unfortunately, this article has not. In all fairness, our meeting took place over a month ago. Back then I had no idea a trip thousands of miles across the world and other personal obligations would throw a monkey wrench in my schedule.

Not that Lebovic’s story has become any less relevant. In fact, like a fine wine, it gets better with age.

I am curious about his latest exhibit “Black is a Color,” Holocaust images digitally enhanced and affixed to canvas through a process known as giclee. The collection has already received notable attention. Indeed, Yad Vashem recently acquired a piece for its permanent collection.

Lebovic cheerfully accommodates my request to tour his home studio. A theme of duality permeates each work of art. For example, plumbing fixtures double as Jewish menorahs. A single piece of wood resembles the back of a bear yet serves as a coffee table. Giant cartoon animal heads protrude from the walls like wild game on display in a hunting lodge. It’s all very light-hearted and accessible, each piece an engaging mixture of transcendence and deliberation.

Little wonder Lebovic got his start copying movie posters and cereal boxes. He enjoyed the well-defined conceptualization of realism, sketching objects as precisely as he could manage. His mother tried to encourage him with lessons, but didn’t recognize his passion as more than a hobby. For many years, neither did he.

From West Los Angeles, he headed east to attend The Corcoran College of Art and Design. Computers were beginning to go mainstream and Lebovic hoped to develop an artistic technique incorporating technology. But the field was too nascent, too primitive to achieve anything noteworthy. He concentrated instead on becoming proficient in graphic design, eventually opening his own business after graduation.

For a while, he enjoyed making a living creating technical drawings, logos and patent illustrations. But then came feelings of restlessness. The artwork side of the business no longer fulfilled him creatively. Lebovic realized it was time to move on.

He cannot pinpoint exactly when graphic design became stifling and routine, but likely it coincided with the patent office accepting lawyer sketches for illustrations. Around that same time, the field of technology took off, offering exciting new possibilities for artistic creation.

Lebovic began immersing himself in books and online tutorials, most notably, Bert Monroy, Photoshop, Illustrator, and Poser. He spent hours experimenting with different programs until sufficiently comfortable. In retrospect, he was slowly reinventing himself, moving away from well-defined images toward digital art as a method of expression.

I began to use art as a way to think through things and present ideas, explained Lebovic, something I had never done in the past.

Not surprisingly, business declined incrementally. The more time he spent mastering the new technology, the less time he devoted to marketing. He became more introspective, eventually landing, metaphysical speaking, in a disturbing space occupied during youth.

Experience born of pain can yield valuable insight, spiritual growth, and a wealth of maturity. Then there are times when unspeakable pain blocks meaningful reflection. All that is left is the ability to bear witness and acknowledge life inextricably moving ahead.

Such pain does not reside within Lebovic. It inhabits his 81-year old father, a Holocaust survivor now based in Tucson, Arizona. Although his father never withheld information about his nightmarish experiences -- living in concentration camps, narrowly escaping the gas chamber and forging a post-war life without the comfort of a large extended family -- Lebovic never felt comfortable fleshing out the horrific details.

Children of survivors take a back seat, he responds when I ask why. My father answered my questions about the Holocaust matter-of-factly, like ‘What are those numbers on your arm?’ -- ‘That’s a tattoo I received from the Nazis.’ This is not my story to tell, I have no access to it. I didn’t go through it. I had to take whatever information my father was willing to give and be satisfied.

I get the feeling some dissatisfaction remains.

Ultimately, Lebovic came to terms with his past by paying a visit to his ailing parents in Arizona. The confluence of personal events led to heavy reflection. Upon return, he turned to art to release emotions he had been processing most of his life.

“It was time to reconcile my convictions of faith with my father’s experiences,” he explains.

The end result is a stunning collection of inspiring Holocaust art, eighteen limited edition pieces offered for sale through his personal website. There’s an accompanying self-published booklet with personal commentary and brightly designed illustrations. Prominent pieces hang from a wall in the front of his studio. My video images don’t begin to do the collection justice.

In “Branded,” a study in contrast that catches my eye and won’t let go, two outstretched arms clasp together from opposite ends of the canvas. One is wrapped in black straps, religious articles donned by Jewish men for morning prayers. The other is tattooed and entangled in barbed wire, each twist the shape of flesh-piercing swastikas. Auschwitz’s reversed entry gate barely registers in the background, but it’s symbolic, Lebovic says, of the imprisoned arm finding freedom. In doing so, it returns to God.

That theme is readily apparent throughout the collection. Although the Nazis tortured, murdered, and literally tried to extinguish European Jewry, enough people survived to carry on. Not only did a large majority of them remain faithful, but also managed to instill that faith in their children.

It's the message Lebovic dredged up from his past and hopes to pass along to future generations, a message that fills him with acceptance and a measure of peace.