​NEWS FROM SCULPTURE SPACE, UTICA, NY

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HIGHLIGHTS Monika Burczyk, Executive Director

ARTIST IN RESIDENCE Terrence Campagna in conversation with Monika Burczyk

EYE ON THE STUDIO by Darci Bleau, newcomer

ALUMNI Jonathan Kirk in conversation with Mary Murray

DONOR Joe Corasanti by Lisa DeFrees

PERSPECTIVE ON PUBLIC ART featuring Peter Lundberg

NEWS

ScSp WISH LIST
 

 

I am happy to introduce our new online newsletter “sculpt.” In this premiere, I am delighted to say that so far, the Year of the Snake brings wonderful and new opportunities: we will be presenting the “Season of Sculpture Festival” this year through a grant from the State-funded Mohawk Valley Regional Economic Development Council. In partnership with Mohawk Valley EDGE and the Griffiss Landowners Development Corporation, this will bring artists to our community to create unique, site-specific, public sculptures that will be permanently installed. As befits our identity as a laboratory for creativity, we hope to present the artists’ process from beginning to end in novel ways. Another bit of wonderful is our finalist status for a grant from ArtPlace: a national consortium of both private and public funders, that seeks to provide nonprofit arts organizations monies to maximize their potential as “creative placemakers.” We are honored to be included in such a prestigious cohort.

Befitting this already lucky start to the year, our 13th Annual Mardi Gras Celebration held on February 23 was jam-packed and filled with surprises. Check out the photobooth pictures on our Facebook page! We would also like to thank our ever-gracious Royal Couple, Adam Lawless of the United Way and Don Shipman of WKTV once again for the casual elegance and enthusiastic support they brought to the event. We also sincerely appreciate all of those who attended or sponsored or volunteered to help make this night truly special. We have already started thinking about next year!

We currently have four Artists in Residence hard at work in the studio: Brian Burnett, Terrence Campagna, Anna Kubelik and Nathan Hatch. Having just finished our Artist Review for the 2013-2014 year, I can say that as always it was both a demanding and exhilarating experience: the number and quality of the submissions made our task extremely difficult. However, true to our past, we will continue to host artists that surprise, delight, confound, educate, question and inspire to Utica to create new works. We would like to thank our distinguished guest panelist, Tracy Adler of Hamilton College's Wellin Museum for providing her expert eye to the process. As you know, presenting these artists at our Works in Progress receptions always affords terrifically interesting and unique conversations along with an eclectic and enthusiastic crowd.

On Thursday, April 18th from 4-7 p.m., alumna Ann Reichlin will present her outdoor installation “TRACE in Bloom” – we can't wait to witness the efforts of last October's community event – the flowering of 3000 narcissus bulbs. This ephemeral and moving piece will restore the lost foundations of past structures for a brief period of time each year: an eloquent statement on the passage of time, the nature of memory and a visual history of change. We hope to have some singular Spring offerings at this special reception, with refreshments from the Colgate Inn in Hamilton, NY.

I hope you enjoy reading sculpt as much as we did writing it – let us know should you have any suggestions or ideas for future issues!
 

 

in conversation with Monika Burczyk, Executive Director, Sculpture Space

Monika: I am intrigued by an integral part of your current practice: walking around and gathering wood and other salvage as your material — how did that start, where did that idea come from?

Terrence:

Yes, my work is  made from materials that I find in my surroundings, usually while I’m out walking. Sometimes I make cross-country walks that generate the work. But most of the materials I collect  come from daily walks in the neighborhoods where I live. I bring what i find back to my studio and start to slowly piece together and edit my findings.  My sculptural work is often put into context by field letters, and small bodies of photographic and video work that also emerge from my walks. 

What's important to me about walking is how it can root me in my body and connects me to place. When I walk my feet are, of course, on the ground. I'm breathing in the changing air. Visually, I'm taking in all the little details in my surroundings and I'm listening to whatever may be going on around me. I'm also intuitively feeling out what direction I want to go and where I want to stop to listen or what i'm drawn to collect and take back to my workshop. So, walking in my practice is less about getting somewhere on my feet, and much more about being present and embodied in a place, open to encounter. It turns out that the way we have been building our world–both the so called built environment and our rural environments- does not exactly invite this kind of embodied presence. Instead, we have designed the world to be moved through in a hurry, getting us from one place to another, most often in a car. But I still like bringing an embodied presence to this kind of landscape. My work often emerges from what I encounter while opening myself to the possibilities that exist on streets, roadways, parking lots, and on marginal or overlooked pieces of land.

M: I love that your walks are about noticing the “stuff” that surrounds us in the world; can you talk about your engagement with materials?

T: With my earlier work I was often focused on picking up things I found along curbs and roads:  empty paper soda cups, hamburger containers, cigarette packs, bottle tops, etc.  In general, this is all material we have agreed to call trash.  But when I brought these materials back to my workshop and started working with them I began to see each piece as a unique (and perhaps even beautiful material) to build with.  The openness to seeing the material as something other than trash allowed an exciting dialog to develop. Each of the cast-off containers I found had designed geometries related to their former function. For example, the cylindrical paper coffee cup is a geometric form I used frequently. When altered by cutting the cup open and removing its bottom, the cup transforms into a flat rectangle that bends or curves slightly on its top and bottom edges, while its two sides taper at straight angles to form an arcing trapezoid. When several flattened, opened “cups” are joined together they result in a range of different kinds of twisting, arcing lines referencing anything from interlocking roadways and winding rivers to game boards and Celtic knots. The important point here though is that the pieces themselves encourage particular orientations in the composition when I piece them together.  While I direct the process, the shapes of the materials themselves and their unique colors, textures and histories also guide the direction the work takes.

My interest in wood began in Summer 2011; I was an artist in residence in the city of DaWang in Southern China.  Along with other artists who were there, we visited Dafen, a town famous as an “art factory,” where Chinese artists create (among other things) iconic oil paintings by hand — Pollock, Klimt, Warhol, Dutch still lives — made for the global market. There were also, as one might expect, dozens of frame workshops (I never saw a painting without a frame, in fact!) They tossed out the days’ remnants into the streets, so I started picking these cast-offs up– picture frame molding that had been cut wrong or were damaged in some way–and piecing them together.     My first work made out of these remnants is titled “Lao Wai” (a polite slang for foreigner in Mandarin, which I constantly heard being whispered as I gathered material from the street).  After returning, I lived on a farm in Wisconsin and was surrounded by decaying outbuildings: old wooden corncribs, truck sheds, barns.  After China, I was really attuned to the possibilities of wood; I was drawn to the beauty of these rural structures that were falling back into the earth.  The wood was quite weathered, it had all these grays, cracks, and variations of textures and tints, lichens on the surface, moss. I was also drawn to the architectural structures themselves, the way they translated light and air.  Most of these buildings functioned as storage for tools, hay, grains and animals.  It seemed to me they “breathed” differently than the architectural structures we live in, because of their intended purpose and histories.  I lived on that farm for five months and during more than half of my time I lived in a barn. The thing about the barn was that it was so dark so often, It felt like I was living inside a giant camera. The bits of sky and light that shine into the bar are constrained (like an aperture), framed by odd windows, slots and seams in the sides and roof.  That idea and sense of permeability is influencing my current sculpture.

M: I love the image of you living in a barn – not only the light and passing clouds and sky but the smells and textures, attuned to earth and sky at the same time maybe?  Your work seems to be centered on a kind of layering, material and experience. Can you talk a bit about your creative process?

T: Sure, in the studio I join materials until the piece starts to take on a clear presence or character.  I’m always trying to achieve a kind of “flow” and allow the work to grow organically — bit by bit — so that each addition is informed by concentrating on the site of joinery. If the joint has "life" to a certain degree I keep it and join the next piece or layer. 

I realize what I mean by “life” is a little vague but it is still very important for me to consider that question. Sometimes I mean whether the site of joinery has a lively feeling, compelling character or enhanced resonance rather than being dull, static and uninteresting. It could be as simple as noticing the way two colors or two contrasting textures work against each other. It’s intuitive, I'm always making the decision of what stays and what does not by asking these questions as I go. Whether something has more or less “life” is also about an element of surprise: does this site of joining make me more curious? Does it help create a new order or a new way of seeing my surroundings? That's what I'm interested in. I want the work I make to wake me up.

M: I find it fascinating the way you describe your process: as the artist, you inhabit multiple roles: observer, listener, seer as you create your assemblages. John Dewey talked about just this in his definition of art as an antidote to the anesthesia of world, so the aesthetic experience really exists in that dialogue between the perceiver and the perceived – the maker/ viewer and the art object. When did you know you wanted to be an artist?

T: After I graduated from college, I ran art workshops with adolescents in a juvenile detention center.  I was also doing my own work but I had a lot of doubts about how my creativity and interests could be part of the larger artworld. Being around the young men as a facilitator and  getting to  watch their joy in their own process was a profound experience. Through artmaking I witnessed so much raw creativity,  growth and intimacy. The years of working with those guys helped me remember who I am and how important it feels for me to cultivate my own creative vision and bring it into the world. On a more general level,  I've always just loved looking at things, really looking closely – so being a visual artist is a good fit!

M: I know what you mean, I used to do community arts, facilitating that kind of joy and fulfillment is deeply moving. So now I am wondering who and what else inspires you? Who are your favorite artists?

T: So many artists, so many periods in history. What comes to mind in the moment is one of George Morrison's wood collage pieces in the Minneapolis Institute of Art’s collection. I lived there for a while and visited that piece quite often. I notice i'm often drawn to work that has a mixture of sculpture and painting. Leonardo Drew is another artist who often inspires me in this way. I love getting surprised by work in museums and galleries. This Spring in Chicago I saw some of Dorothee Joachim's paintings — so wonderful — you have to get up close to see all the little cracks in the pigment to get the full effect. Aside from the visual, I love the ideas in Gary Snyder’s essays and the presence in his poetry: how he uses his life, whether its tightening down bolts while fixing a truck, watching a heron at the rivers edge or in bed with his lover, he find the form for a range of everyday experience. I also love how comedians use creative energy, these days I am allowing myself to open up to that playful energy in my own process: I grew up watching the Canadian team "Kids in the Hall" and also Saturday Night Live — Phil Hartman and Jan Hooks were my favorite. Music too is a constant source of inspiration. Lately I've been listening to a lot of Toumani Diabate and the reggae/jazz guitarist Ernest Ranglin: his music just flows and keeps the rhythm uplifting. Music definitely inspires my work, learning about the way musicians work and their own processes is helpful to me.

M: That makes sense you are drawn to other improvisational or journalistic forms as they are all anchored in a special heightened state of awareness, whether to one’s self or another’s experience and response. Anything special you are looking forward to especially in Utica?

T: II definitely want to get into a practice of walking around town everyday. So far I've been digging all the different old churches and brickwork around town; mostly I just want to get a deep feeling for this place while I’m here.

For more information, see:
www.sculpturespace.org/terrence-campagna
www.terrencecampagna.com

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When my family first visited Sculpture Space, it was without me. In November 2004, they drove through the old industrial streets of Utica, looking for the studio/museum that had intrigued them enough to seek it out. This was before the graphically distinct and conspicuous orange sign topped the building, and they had trouble finding it. They persisted, though, driven by their curiosity about one of Utica’s cultural treasures that had eluded them up to that point. Finally locating it, they were welcomed in by the visiting artists and administrative staff, and given a tour that each one of them still remembers. From this tour, my family first became acquainted with Sculpture Space as a work place as they unintentionally must have interrupted the artists at work, busy welding, carving, smelting and drawing.

I, on the other hand, first experienced the studio as a gallery, at a Works-In-Progress Reception late last Fall. I arrived earlier than I usually do to an event of this type—fifteen minutes in—and I was surprised to find that the space was already crowded with people. I glanced around the room. Right away, I knew that this was neither a typical exhibition opening nor a standard “open studio.” The people ranged in age from 8 to 80. Some had come alone and others as families. Some were dressed in black and others in fleece. I recognized a professor of psychology from Utica College and a regular attendee of Munson Williams Proctor Arts Institute’s weekly film series. Two things encouraged the crowd to congregate in the center of the space: an industrial-sized wood stove (burning hot on a cold evening) and a banquet table full of rich Polish food (including pierogies, sauerkraut and kielbasa) for which the group seemed impressively grateful.

Despite the eclectic crowd and the homey elements, there was no doubt in my mind that this was a serious arts event. That became even more obvious later, when Monika Burczyk, Sculpture Space’s Executive Director, introduced the resident artists—Miha Cojhter from Slovenia via Austria and Nicholas Fraser from Brooklyn—who proceeded to talk about their work and process. However, long before that, the studio was giving off a serious vibe.

What created this seriousness? I had read a bit about the Space’s history. I knew that the residency program was renown for its devotion to sculpture – broadly and inclusively defined. I knew that it drew artists from across the nation and across the globe. I knew that the building’s original function as the Utica Steam Engine & Boiler Works provided the kind of space, tools and expertise that were particularly useful to sculptors who need to work on a large scale, and that Utica’s post-industrial urban landscape was lush with inexpensive raw materials.

Over the course of the evening, however, I wondered if it might be the people who gave this space its distinctive character. The staff and Board led the event like an orchestra conductor, quietly offering introductions, information, and direction while putting “the music” of the event first. Scott Hartmann, the studio manager, acted as a quiet change agent, someone who—without calling the smallest amount of attention to himself—gets things done. Many of the Space’s former staff attended, too, such as its first Executive Director, Sylvia de Swaan, and longtime studio manager, Jonathan Kirk. They contributed their own subtle energy—that of longtime supporters of the Space as well as devoted contemporary artists. (She is a photographer; he is a sculptor.)

As I departed, I decided that this was a studio that promoted working. Not “showing work” or “spinning work” or “selling work,” but working. I left with a feeling of surprise and pleasure that, in a time when marketing art seems to take precedence over its creation, such a place continues to not only exist, but to thrive.

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in conversation with Mary Murray, Curator, Munson-Williams-Proctor Arts Institute, Utica

Mary: You came to the United States for graduate school at Syracuse University after having studied in a strictly formalist program in London. Your sculpture incorporates many visual references to subjects of interest to you, like engineering, machinery and ships or other nautical topics. When did you realize that these allusions were important to your subject matter? What lessons of your early training do you, conversely, continue to value?

Jonathan: I studied at St. Martin’s School of Art in London under the aegis of Anthony Caro. The Abstract Formalism dogma was rigid. No narrative content of any kind or reference to real world objects was permitted. The rules were very strict! As a result, after leaving St. Martin’s, it took me quite a while to break away and chart my own course. It was at this point that I slowly started to embrace the idea of narration, a notion that seemed radical and heretical at the time. I never thought about abandoning formalism, in fact I have to say, that “formalism” as I see it, remains an absolutely essential ingredient for any sculpture if it is to exist as a meaningful and compelling work. If a sculpture falls down in terms of formal integrity, then for me, it falls down in every other way. By “formalist” I mean a sculpture’s real three-dimensional presence in the world, and how it competes with every other object. It has to have a certain formal “rightness” that compels the viewer to make multiple return visits in an attempt to have the sculpture reveal its secrets. This word ‘rightness’ is of course also horribly vague. William Tucker makes reference to it as “thingness” – even more unscientific! But whatever it is, I’ve spent thirty years looking for it, and it is as compelling, elusive, cogent, and exciting a quest for me now as it ever was.

M: Your current exhibition is “Machines: Fragments and Reveries” at the Clifford Gallery, Colgate University. There is much evidence of fragments; it’s my understanding that your table of bits and pieces is included here because these present a teaching opportunity for Colgate students. You fashion small forms in cardboard and wood dowels with glue, and this process functions as drawing for you, correct?

J: Yes indeed. This is what I do in place of drawing. I start with an idea, usually a simple form or tableau that has narrative and formal qualities that I find compelling and intriguing. I make this shape or assemblage. Then I play with it, looking at it from every angle, turning it this way and that, and in the process a sort of dialogue ensues. This could last minutes, days, or weeks. I add, I subtract, I change scale—I’m all over the place. With luck though, at some point, peripheral concerns fall away to reveal the essence of what it is I want to say. All this has to be worked out in 3D. I have to have the object in my hands. Drawing just does not work for me, and I’ve never found a computer to be a useful tool.

M: Talk about your reveries in sculpture. There are some fantastical pieces, especially the upended steam engine in a state of suspension in the middle of the gallery. Some of your sculpture seems at once a tribute to and a cautionary tale about industrialization.

J: I like to put together seemingly disparate references. I tell partial narratives—stories without endings. The piece that you are referring to, “Old King Cole,” is one of my more narrative works. It closely resembles a real object, in this case, a 3/4 scale steam traction engine that one might have encountered in the latter part of the 19th century. A period when steam was king and electricity was yet to transform the world. My steam traction engine – mightiest of beasts — representing at the time the zenith of industrial power and man’s dominion over nature now lies here, broken, defeated, upside down, a relic of the past. The work does represent a dichotomy. It is both tribute and cautionary tale. Something is clearly terribly wrong. I am thinking about our seemingly unquenchable thirst for things material, the resultant and ever-growing carbon footprint, climate change, and our hubristic attitude towards the consequences of our actions.

M: Many of the machine-like pieces seem to transform into something else as one walks around the sculpture. You are masterful in creating three-dimensional forms that move the eye steadily onward. “Ashes to Ashes,” for example, is all bent engine parts that transform into something cubistic on its other face. Can you please talk about how you conceive the compositions of your sculptures? And how does the thought-process differ, if at all, depending on the sculpture’s orientation or scale?

J: I am totally committed to sculptural objecthood where the piece “works” in the round as much as possible. By that I mean the sculpture holds the eye as one walks around the piece, with no one view dominating or representing front, which of course then implies back and side views. I’m putting together disparate elements in a kind of three-dimensional game of chess with its resultant compounding levels of complexity. Every compositional move has implications for every other viewing angle. I want it all to flow together and feel cohesive. This is a challenge I have set for myself, and it is a technique I employ regardless of scale or orientation. You mentioned the piece “Ashes to Ashes’’ – I can certainly tell you where this work came from and how the composition was conceived. I woke up one morning with an image in my head. It was a dream-like image of a steam traction engine going up in smoke, rising, twisting, disappearing as it ascended. This idea morphed, smoke lead to chimney, chimney to tumbled blocks of stone, and the machine, rather than floating skyward became partly grounded and trapped within the rock. I was also making reference to 19th-century civic monuments and possibly an art historical nod to Tatlin’s Tower.

M: Speaking of scale, certain forms recur in your work, in varying sizes. How does scale change meaning? Are you thinking of human orientation with your larger forms? What are the benefits and pitfalls for very large or very small work?

J: Scale is of course crucial. Several smaller pieces in the “Machines: Fragments and Reveries” exhibition incorporate a spiraling ratchet or cog motif. On a much larger scale this same motif might read as steps or spiral staircase, quite a different interpretation. I choose overall scale carefully. Too small, and a work might appear toy-like or trivial, too large and it may become ponderous or dull with expanded surface area failing to hold interest. My largest pieces have never exceeded human scale, and to date I have not undertaken any monumental works. Working with human scale, one always has an advantage because the viewer is invited in, psychologically at any rate. So this provides an additional level of engagement that may bring sculpture and viewer closer together.

M: Why do you choose one material over another, steel or wood, for example? When or why do you decide to paint a surface?

J: Surface treatment is something I struggle with, especially when working on the smaller pieces. I use an array of materials in the construction of these maquettes. I use whatever is at hand that best suits my needs – materials are a means to an end. The building process leaves the work scarred (gussets, splints, splines, scarfs, fillers, etc.). Half of these marks are attractive, the other half, ugly! My solution, and it is a compromise, is to cover up the whole lot with a unified surface treatment. I have not managed to find a way to hide the unattractive scars while at the same time leaving the interesting ones—those that nicely reveal the history of construction. I have attempted to remake the work without these “alterations”, but invariably spontaneity and freshness are sacrificed. With some large pieces the compromise is more to do with materials. For the most part, I’m making these larger sculptures for myself. I don’t have them sold, where, under normal and ideal circumstances, a substantial construction budget would be available. For instance—cast aluminum might be a desirable material, but budgetary constraints dictate a substitute. Wood might be used as the next best thing. Perhaps aluminum paint could be applied in an attempt to suggest metal.

M: You’ve been a professional artist for more than thirty years. What excites you at the moment as a new challenge? What are you doing now that keeps the work fresh for you?

J: Quite frankly, and to be totally candid, I have to say it is very difficult to keep the work-practice fresh – habits are comforting. By way of an answer, permit a philosophical digression. As one grows as an artist, insights strengthen, and hopefully maturity results. But conversely, and in equal measure, staleness and torpor can set in. As focus narrows much else by necessity is cast aside – it is sort of a cruel double-edged sword. Also, I’m a firm believer that one can try too hard in an attempt to embrace the new. If this is the case, and it is at the expense of authenticity, then I say one has nothing. As with all things in life, it is a question of balance. In many ways, the hardest thing for an artist to do is edit. For example, deciding to discard months of work because you know in your heart of hearts that it is flawed, for whatever reason, takes real courage. It is, however, the most profoundly liberating course of action available to one. Unencumbered, and a little lighter in the baggage department, the lure of the new, the fresh, seems just a touch closer. I don’t know what the new challenge is yet, but I’m certainly excited and eager to be back in the studio.

Jonathan Kirk was employed as the Sculpture Space studio manager from 1980 to 2000. Working closely with Executive Director Sylvia de Swaan, Jonathan helped establish the philosophical underpinnings that are the foundation of the mission statement today, and played a vital role in securing Sculpture Space’s international reputation.

Jonathan’s work can be seen in the upcoming "63rd Exhibition of Central New York Artists" opening at the Munson Williams Proctor Art Institute on Saturday March 2, from 5-7 p.m., on view through April 28.  To register for a tour of his Broad Street studio (shared with Sculpture Space alumni Takashi Soga) on Saturday, April 6, 10-11:30 a.m., contact the MWPAI Ticket Office at 315.797.0055; space is limited. 

​

For more information, see:
http://www.mwpai.org/museum-of-art/museum-of-art-calendar/63rd-exhibition-of-central-new-york-artists
www.jonathankirk.net
http://merz.colgate.edu/fall_2012/kirk/index.html

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By Lisa DeFrees

Joe Corasanti is the President and CEO of Conmed Corporation (NASDAQ:  CNMD), a publicly traded company and one of the largest employers in the Mohawk Valley region.  Conmed is a global medical device company with 50% of its sales coming from outside the United States.  In addition, Joe is a director of IIVI Incorporated (NASDAQ: IIVI), a publicly traded company headquartered in Pittsburgh, PA which is a global leader in laser optics and telecom products.  Joe is a former member of the Board of Directors of Sculpture Space for 10 years and is currently a member of the Board of Trustees of Munson Williams Proctor Arts Institute in Utica, NY.  

In 1995, when Joe Corasanti attended his first event at Sculpture Space, the long running “Chairity” Auction, the organization had no idea just how fortunate they would be for having made his acquaintance.  His first impression left him wanting to get involved.  Shortly after, Joe joined the Board of Sculpture Space and began to provide personal input on development and strategic planning needed to strengthen and grow the organization.  Among his early contributions was turning an annual Mardi Gras event he cofounded over to the organization, for Sculpture Space to make into an annual fundraiser.  Who knew at the time, that an event that started over dinner among friends at Chesterfield’s would become known for being one of the best, most colorful events in Utica and certainly, a major source of funding for Sculpture Space?

The great success of Mardi Gras is due in part to Joe’s continued effort, year after year, to assist with raising sponsorship dollars.  Through the many mergers and acquisitions Joe has led on behalf of ConMed, he’s made many contacts in the greater financial world.  The many supporters, past and present, who have answered to his appeal for Mardi Gras support include UBS, Citigroup, J.P. Morgan CHASE, Sullivan & Cromwell LLP, Needham & Company, PricewaterhouseCoopers and Hancock & Estabrook.

As one who personally enjoys the many cultural events the organization hosts enabling members of the community the opportunity to meet artists from around the world and witness their creative process, along with lively art auctions and fundraisers, Joe appreciates the way arts organizations like Sculpture Space have enhanced life for him, his wife Michelle and their family and friends. Furthermore, “As an employer and an advocate for the Mohawk Valley area, arts and entertainment play an important role in promoting a quality of life needed to retain a skilled work force and recruit new business to our region” Corasanti said. For Sculpture Space, the support of a community leader like Joe Corasanti is vital in enabling the organization to strengthen its foundation, thrive, evolve and continuously add vibrancy to the community it serves.

To find out more, see:
www.conmed.com/

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featuring Peter Lundberg, 1988 Sculpture Space Artist in Residence

“Sculpture is what you bump into when you step back to look at a painting.”
Ad Reinhart

“Public art is what you bump into when you step outside of art museums.”
Forecast Public Art

As Sculpture Space continues to venture ever deeper into the waters of Public Art, the illustrious Peter Lundberg (1988) was recently awarded the $70,000 Balnaves Foundation Prize for his monumental piece “barrel roll” exhibited in Sydney Australia at the 2012 Sculpture by the Sea Exhibition. Terrence Maloon, a member of the unanimous jury commented: “…'barrel roll' impressed us with its majestic scale, its visceral energy and impact in the natural setting.” Founding Exhibition Director David Handley stated: “Peter’s sculpture is totemic and primeval… The finished work reminds me of something the Druids would have conjured up.”

Part of what makes Lundberg's work popular is that his creative process is just as “public” as the product. Speaking of his monumental sculpture “Freya” (now installed permanently at the Griffiss International Sculpture Garden in Rome), he recollects: “… making Freya was complex. I began making a simple shape, long and elongated, 50' long, then decided to twist and crumple the shape into a sort of butterfly. The process was brutal, digging in the earth burying the form, twisting steel and forms and finally forcing concrete into the forms. The day “Freya” was pulled from the earth, the Italian sculptor Arnaldo Pomodoro was visiting, and upon seeing it emerge, he exclaimed ‘Raw Power!’ His English was limited, but he spoke truthfully.” “Freya” is an eloquent vision of Peter's fascination with Viking mythology. Inspired by the Norse goddess of love, war, beauty and gold (among other attributes), the sculpture also pays homage to the wild Nordic landscape: beautiful, unforgiving, powerful. Peter states: “These Gods are complex, full of mystery and like us mortals, full of both good and bad. I enjoy this relationship to our own life.”

While in Australia, Peter also collaborated with schoolchildren in Perth before flying to Tasmania to co-curate an exhibition at the Botanic Gardens in Hobart. His final stop before returning home was a residency at the Red Gate Gallery in Beijing, China where he created new bronze pieces.

In addition to the Griffiss International Sculpture Garden, Peter’s work can be seen at Grounds for Sculpture, Princeton, NJ; Storm King Art Center, New Windsor, NY; the Calder Foundation, New York City; Socrates Sculpture Park, Long Island City, NY; Sculpture for New Orleans, LA as well as other parks around the world.

To find out more, see:

www.sculpturespace.org/freya-added-to-griffiss-international-sculpture-garden
www.peterlundberg.com

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» We were thrilled to see so many talented alums at the opening of the Munson-Williams-Proctor Arts Institute's “63rd Exhibition of Central New York Artists”: Lou Getty, Christine Heller (make sure to check out her monumental wall drawing), Kim Carr Valdez, Kim Waale, Marion Wilson, Jonathan Kirk and Takashi Soga. In addition, two other Sculpture Space luminaries' work was also featured: former (and first!) Executive Director Sylvia de Swaan and former Board President Sheila Smith.

In January, Vox Populi, an artist-run space in Philadelphia presented Jessica Segall's video and sculpture installation The Hardship (including pieces made during her time in Utica), and in February featured “The Friendly Falcons” (Jeffrey Kurosaki and Tara Pelletier) performance Tropiclipse. The Falcons also performed First Light Last Light at the R/D Gallery in Honolulu as well as Moon Moves (So Slowly) on closing night of their solo installation at SPACE Gallery in Portland, Maine in March. Jessica will have another solo installation at the 1708 Gallery in Richmond, VA and is included in the group exhibitions “Welcome to The Real!” at TEMP Art Space in New York City and “Videorover” at Nurture Art in Brooklyn. Her other ongoing installations include 40,000 Double Rubs at Franconia Sculpture Park in Schafer, MN and “Desert Pyramid” in Ikh Gazriin Chuluu, Mongolia.

» Rachel de Joode has been traveling back and forth across America and Europe since departing Utica last Summer: works made while in residence were featured in “Real Things—Explorations in Three Dimensions” at the Oliver Francis Gallery, Dallas; other solo and group exhibitions both past and upcoming include “Wobbly Misconduct” at the LV3 Gallery, Chicago and “The Hole and the Lump” at Interstate Projects, Brooklyn and SPRING/BREAK Art Show 2013 at Old School in New York City.

» Last Fall was also a busy one: in November, David Bowen's video pieces fly bimps and fly tweet were included in “Soft Control: Art, Science and the Technological Unconscious,” curated by Dmitry Bulatov and organized by KIBLA Mulimedijski Center in Slovenia. In addition, tele-present water and fly tweet were also featured in Taipei's Digital Art Festival. Priscila De Carvalho's three-dimensional mural was installed at the ambitious Kathmandu International Art Festival that featured 95 artists from 31 countries.

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