For more extensive artist's bio, articles and list of exhibitions, visit artist(s) website(s). Many of the images displayed on this site are copyrighted, and are used here only for purposes of education or critical review. All rights are reserved by the artists who created the works referenced herein.

Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks. Simonides

Robin and John Gumaelius

Robin and John Gumaelius

here, here and here

John and Robin Gumaelius


2006 First Place and Honorable Mention, The Art of Surprise, Portland, OR

2006 Third Place, Viewpoint Ceramics, CA

2006 Merit Award, San Angelo National Ceramic Competition, TX

2002 Best of Show, Feats of Clay, Lincoln Arts Center, Lincoln, CA

2002 Merit Award, Monarch National, San Angelo, TX



Brigham Young University, Bachelor of Fine Arts, August 2003


2002 Juror's Choice, Utah Intercollegiate Art Competition, Weber State Art Gallery,

Ogden, UT

2002 Juror's Choice, Mayhew, Brimhall Gallery, Provo, UT

2002 Lewis Scholarship, Provo, UT

2002 BYU Talent Award (also 2001-2002, 2000-2001), Provo, UT

2001 Juror's Choice, BYU Student Talent Show, Gallery 303, Provo, UT

2000 Betty and Paul Boshard Scholarship, Provo, UT

2000 Juror's Choice, BYU Student Show, Gallery 303, Provo UT



2000, Masters of Fine Arts, The Ohio State University1998, Bachelor of Fine Arts, Brigham Young University


Edith Fergus-Gilmore Materials Grant & Scholarship, OH 2000The Ohio State University Fellowship, OH 1998Orca Grant, Brigham Young University, UT 1998Award of Merit, Spring Salon, UT 1997

Figuring the Feminine, Northview Gallery, Portland, OR 2006Thirty-Five Year Celebration, Whitebird Gallery, Cannon Beach, OR 2006Gilmore Awards Invitational, Hopkins Hall Gallery, Columbus, OH 2000


Walking home from school, we saw a small boy. Fifty or sixty crows stood within the winter brown patch of his front yard. There were more in the trees. All cocked their heads, watching the boy. ''Caw, Caw'' said the boy. Up and down went the black heads.

John cawed.

He was not doing it right said the boy.

''Cwaww, Caaa''

The boy said,''Practic''.

John does practice, and the birds seem to listen. They bob their heads looking at him with one eye and then the other. They do that to me too, though I'm too embarrassed to talk to them out loud. I stare at them as they pick the seeds out of my garden. They laugh. I think they can read my mind. I have never asked John what he is trying to say to them. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe the talking is enough.

I hope it is enough, because that is what our art is, us talking. There is a little magic in it. Together, we make something better than either of us could make apart. We work together fluidly, except that John does the metal. We talk about it like we talk about everything, but John does it.

We build our birds and figures using clay slabs. When the pieces are leather hard, we paint them with undergazes. Then we carve through the painted surface to the white clay. Radio stories, history books, biking adventures, gardening notes, neighbors spied, strangers watched in stores and parks and cars jangle together in our heads and come so freely to our fingers that when we see the pieces finished we are often delighted--as if we are not their creators; they just come to talk with us for a while and then leave again.

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