Archive for the ‘Sculpture’ Category

Object as Insight: Japanese Buddhist Art and Ritual

Saturday, June 1st, 1996

Bodhisattvas with serene, all-embracing smiles; golden flower baskets for carrying lotus petals to purify a sacred space; ritual bronze chimes adorned with peacocks. “Each article is incred­ibly beau­tiful, but it’s only when all the arti­cles come together, evoking the pres­ence of the Buddha, that you can under­stand Buddhist art.”

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The Fire of Hephaistos

Wednesday, May 1st, 1996

These ancient bronzes, which have long since lost their golden gleam, are still numi­nous frag­ments of a vanished world. One statue of young man was recently pulled out of a river; his pale sea-green body is scratched and scarred; but he is still a lovely appari­tion, reminding me of some lines from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”:
“Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea change
Into some­thing rich and strange.”

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Judy Kensley McKie

Saturday, December 2nd, 1995

Working in bronze, that most ancient and enduring of mate­rials, JUDY MCKIE’s work reveals the power of art to console and heal. Her Bird Foun­tain has the silent, soaring pres­ence of great mourning monu­ments. “The water makes you feel calm and peaceful,” she says. “It’s nour­ishing. A life force.”

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Dialogue: John Wilson/ Joseph Norman

Friday, September 1st, 1995

JOHN WILSON is a clas­si­cally trained artist whose life’s work has been a search for enduring, spir­i­tu­ally charged images of African-Amer­i­cans. JOSEPH NORMAN weaves together all kinds of imagery into elab­o­rate compo­si­tions that are elegant, yet full of feeling. “For both of these artists, art remains an impor­tant way to think about what it means to be human and to have an inner life.”

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Bernd and Hilla Becher

Saturday, December 21st, 1991

Bernd and Hilla Becher photographed blast furnaces, water towers, power stations, and other indus­trial struc­tures, which they called “anony­mous sculp­ture.” I thought of this show again when I first read W.G. Sebald’s books — myste­rious, elusive, and strangely moving.

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Lazlo Moholy-Nagy’s Light-Space Modulator

Friday, October 4th, 1991

When the “light prop” was set in motion for the first time in a small mechanics shop in 1930, I felt like the sorcer­er’s appren­tice. The mobile was so star­tling in its coor­di­nated motions and space artic­u­la­tions of light and shadow sequences that I almost believed in magic.”

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Fragments of Antiquity

Friday, June 21st, 1991

All that we know of Greece has come to us in ruins – armless, head­less, faded, fallen, broken, battered, lost in trans­la­tion. What we have are frag­ments, frag­ments that have lost almost every­thing – except their poetry. But, gener­a­tion after gener­a­tion, that poetry has never lost its thrilling, visionary gleam.

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When We Dead Awaken

Thursday, February 21st, 1991

A neon blue river of light crosses the stage on a diag­onal. A black moun­tain looms beyond, pierced by a stark white water­fall. The sculptor sits brooding on a rocky throne; an egg-shaped stone is pierced with a spear. Two Irenes enter, and lie on the ground, like stones. “You have killed my soul,” they cry. “I am an artist!” cries the sculptor. One Irene sits on the rock, like a statue. “I was a human being too.”

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Chuck Holtzman

Wednesday, November 7th, 1990

His sculp­ture is like a very sophis­ti­cated game of musical chairs, where all the pieces come together for a moment of perfect, precar­ious balance. In his draw­ings, the char­coal keeps on dancing, long after the music stops.

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Martin Puryear

Monday, July 9th, 1990

His falcons are elegant objects, yet they are also birds of prey. They are chained to a perch, dreaming of flight; perfectly at rest, yet poised to spread their wings and reach for the sky. His art conveys a sense of scraping away and discarding every­thing that is not essen­tial — of trav­el­ling light, like a nomad, and soaring high, like a bird.

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John Udvardy

Monday, November 2nd, 1987

Sculptor JOHN UDVARDY sees the aesthetic possi­bil­i­ties in an old whit­tled paddle or a forked birch branch, and he knows how to make a curve from a green sapling. But most of all, he brings to his mate­rials a feeling that every mark matters: every stick, every thread, every shell, every bone.

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