I went with a cup of the macadamia nut. He opted for the Mill Mountain blend along with a turkey sandwich.
"Would you like a pickle with that?" the person behind the counter asked.
"Not really. Unless ..." looking over his shoulder, "Ryan, would you like a pickle with your coffee?"
Bill Connelly slyly smirked; his eyes gently rose in a moment of reflection, mentally cataloging the peculiar question.
Connelly, a senior studio arts major, thrives on such one-liners; ostensibly fleeting phrases that, when dissected, can actually enlighten. This is where his art begins.
"A lot of titles are so elitist," Connelly said. "I want [mine] to have an everyday quality."
"Hold On To What You've Got" and "Just When You Thought It Was Safe" are the catalytic paintings in Connelly's recently developing series.
Humans, nature and human nature are the three phenomena that propel Connelly's artistic pursuits, and these latest pieces clearly portray each one.
"Hold On To What You've Got" offers a dialogue between a youthful bird and the limb of a tree. This typically neutral scene is capsized as the limb morphs into a tentacle, sweeping across the wooden canvas to forcefully grip the winged prize.
In an excerpt from his thesis statement, Connelly wrote, "Birds are so innocent and engaging. Sitting. Flying. Enjoying a freshly discarded french fry. Birds are like those enlivening relationships that come and go. My own personal goal is to find meaning in my relationships. Hoping to bridge the gaps between my relationships."
Connelly is enthralled with the unending motion of his immediate environment. For him, the bird embodies the wayward influences of our collegiate journey. The aggressive tree branch is struggling, just as we do, with how to soundly absorb the insights of these many transient associations. How strong -- and possibly harmful -- is your grip?
Regarding his process, Connelly said, "Most relationships don't begin with a bleached canvas."
"Hold On To What You've Got" is executed upon discarded wood from a barn. The texture and unique history of the wood are incapable of replication. Connelly sees the recycled material as a facilitator of the conversations he is crafting; the literal tree enlivens the voice of the illustrated tree.
There is a level of modernity in Connelly's color applications. He aims to utilize vivid schemes that afford the "directness" of street art. He mindfully scours hardware stores for enticing mistake tints or the abandoned cans of homeowners. Spray paint is also a favored medium, as the excess drips cascade with unintended personality.
The same means of manufacture are used in "Just When You Thought It Was Safe."
A relatively narrow, vertically oriented piece of dark wood rests atop a sprayed black background. The wood's middle section has endured a subtraction akin to the first bite of a sandwich. Lining the circumference of that void are several disfigured teeth shaped from a lighter-colored wood. Another adolescent bird hesitantly peers out from behind the mangled molars.
"(The painting) developed from thoughts of instability," Connelly said. "Thoughts of being on the fence."
Connelly said the piece highlights periodic -- or sometimes constant -- risk aversion: fashions, romances, careers and the like.
Connelly has been told that his crouching bird in "Just When You Thought It Was Safe" looks like a baby or an egg.
"I guess those images still carry that innocent notion about them," he concedes, "but they can't really fly on their own accord unless thrown. Maybe I should paint babies being thrown?"
Connelly wishes for his art to be accessible to a broad audience. He doesn't envision himself as an elevated creator; rather, he strives to directly express universal perceptions. In his thesis writing, Connelly describes his repertoire as "routinely simple, while containing a certain level of ambiguity."
"If you don't leave room for interpretation," he says, "you might as well just make posters."
Connelly briefly pauses; his eyes descend in regret.
"That's great," he said with a sigh. "I'll piss off the graphic design kids."
As our cafe rendezvous nears its end, my gaze is drawn to Connelly's attire. His vintage 1991 Pittsburgh Penguins jersey looks affectionately worn. The flightless bird swiftly skates across his chest, its hockey stick poised to strike.
Birds. Motion.
Have I discovered Connelly's Antarctic muse? If so, then go Pens.
The Armory Gallery (across from "The OC," next to "She-Sha") will host his exhibition of eight to 10 pieces on April 14. You'll meet the two paintings described here alongside their new complements, as well as a handful of his engaging sculptures ("Parallelus," an exhaust pipe tree).