No mo’ Woe

Aaron Martin turned his demons into art

STORY SUMMARY »

Fans of the artist Aaron Martin are often confused when they meet him, though he's not sure whether they feel disappointment or relief when they point out, "Hey, you're not angry and you're not that woeful."

Angry Woebot Place: Split Obsession, Koko Marina Shopping Center Time: 5 to 8 p.m. Saturday Admission: Free Call: 395-3380 Online: www.splitobsession.com

What's in a name? Not much, other than success for the creator of Angry Woebot, though, unlike some artists who become one with their alter egos, wanting to be addressed by their made-up names, he's still, relatively, the same Aaron Martin who spent his childhood in Hawaii.

"Sometimes people in the street will go, 'Hey, it's the Angry Woebot!' and I'll just be like, 'No, I'm Aaron,' " he said

This is not to say he hasn't endured the kind of bumps and bruises that would give cred to his street moniker.

Martin will be at Split Obsession Saturday night to introduce a new print and T-shirt, limited to 100 pieces each. It will be available at the store from 5 to 8 p.m. and at the boutique's Web site. Martin, who now divides his time among Seattle, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Hawaii, will be available to sketch and sign at the reception.

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Aaron Martin never seemed to be the most likely person to become a pop-culture magnet. For one thing, he's not much of a self-promoter, cheerily doing a little bit of this, a little bit of that, just to see what happens, rather than setting deadlines and goals.

The artist behind the moniker Angry Woebot grew up in Hawaii, a fan of comic books and drawing, but moved to California at 11, which opened his eyes to graffiti art, but art was something he drifted to and away from throughout his life. If not for one particularly miserable period in his life, he might just as easily become a career chef, always willing to go with the flow.

Martin returned to Hawaii in 1999, after a near-fatal car accident that kept him bedridden for a year, and upon recovering, seemed intent on making up for lost time.

"After healing I had to go back to school, but I couldn't get the feel of it, so I decided to leave -- you know how it is, people in Hawaii get rock fever."

He moved to a Seattle winter, where it was "insanely freezing" and he was alone.

"Everyone was very independent, so it forced me to be independent, do my own thing."

That thing was working 12-hour shifts as a self-taught sous chef at a restaurant with a "very dark kitchen" where, typically, he'd get yelled at every night as part of normal on-the-job venting. Even though the tirades weren't intended to be taken personally, Martin said, "I realized I was going through depression from the chef yelling at me, to having no car and having to, every day, make the long trek home in the cold. I felt like I was a robot, and I didn't move to Seattle to become a robot."

His therapy was to draw.

"I had all these doodles of robots looking real beat and run down. It was sort of like the movie 'A.I,' where the robots learn what's going on and they try to break free," he said. "Taking everything that was negative and turning it to my art and turned my whole life around."

From there he graduated to animals like realistic-looking grizzly bears, then docile pandas, which became more stylized and aggressive over time, growing threatening claws and fangs.

In spite of rain and gray clouds, Seattle did have charms conducive to creativity.

"I was really stoked by how much they push art, all kinds of art, from hippie art in the street to abstract art.

"I got to hang out with a variety of people who helped open my eyes. It was great being around hippies that played bullhorns and fire-danced, things I'd never do."

By then he'd saved up enough money to quit his restaurant job and live off his savings. He began to dabble in ceramics, wire sculpture, wood, clay, painting and sewing plush figures and costumes.

He credits earlier ceramics studies at Leeward Community College for opening his eyes to the possibilities of media beyond paper and canvas.

"I found I could sculpt and make images in 3-D come out better than 2-D. I thought, 'Wow, there's other stuff I could get into.'"

But he wasn't ready to share what he was doing with those around him in Seattle. He didn't go public until his parents used their frequent-flier miles to bring him home for a brief visit. A friend in Honolulu was showing artwork in a Chinatown gallery and invited Martin to participate.

Martin's dark, angry pandas stirred a lot of buzz, and finally he was sure, "This is what I want to do."

His art could soon be found at In4Mation and in collaborations with Kicks Hawaii. He also became a member of Pocket Full of Monsters, a collective of friends in cities from New York City to San Francisco who keep in touch on the Internet.

On the Net » ArmyofSnipers.com

Being in Hawaii gave him more confidence starting out than he would have felt on the mainland, where there were plenty of established artists. "I felt like there was no room for me."

His work is now carried in several West Coast galleries from Seattle to Los Angeles, but he's not letting his successes go to his head.

"I'm kind of slow to take it all in. I still work the way I do and take it day by day, although my life has been getting really busy."