The Balance of Old and New and the Risks of Tradition

We’re deep in the midst of the John David Crowe Monument project. The finished piece will measure almost 12 feet in height and the shear size of the project brings with it a host of challenges. First we’ve had to relocate large elements of the studio to an off-site annex studio with larger ceilings to permit Steven to work on the complete figure. The soaring figure is like a two story building and Steven spends much of his time either up on a ladder or on the new scaffolding we bought for the project. It’s caused a funny dynamic in the studio that reminds me of the power of having the top bunk when I was younger. Once up on the scaffolding, it’s hard to get down and the studio staff is forced to scramble around handing Steven everything from warm clay to glasses of water.

The actual construction of the piece is a mixture of old and new techniques. Steven studied in England and was trained in a very traditional and classical manner. We continue to find our greatest inspiration in the artistic achievements of the past ranging from the Albert Memorial to the Statue of Liberty. These mammoth memorials were produced in pain-stacking protracted techniques. In part it is this struggle that makes the finished monuments so truly awesome. Our monument work is an effort to successfully replicate the spirit of these historic landmarks while taking advantage of the benefits of modern technology.

Today many large-scale works are created with the use of computers in a process called foam enlargement. A sculptor creates a small version of a sculpture and then a computer scans the piece, calculates the rate of enlargement and then programs a laser to cut the larger version piece out of a block of very dense foam. This foam sculpture is then used in place of a traditional clay sculpture to produce the final bronze version of the piece. The process saves huge amounts of time and labor and eliminates many of the risks associated with a project of this size. But for us, the technique takes away from the overall impact of the piece and the distance it creates between the finished sculpture and the artist negatively impacts the artist process and the final creation.

As a result as we move forward with the project, we are constantly balancing the physical implications of the massive volume with our ultimate commitment to creating a product of high artistic quality. All of Steven’s sculptures are created with an armature or base that gives shape and support to the piece. Normally we use the armature to give the general suggestion of the figure, but in order to keep the Crow piece light enough to be even partially mobile Steven has added to the basic metal armature and sculpted the figure out of a new “sculptable” foam. He then lays thin sheets of clay over the foam body before addressing questions of texture and detailed expression.

As with so much of what we do the practicality of the process leads to elements of the surreal. Honored to be involved with such an impressive project, the whole staff remains frustrated with a week filled with rolling out dough/clay and working as a kind of temporary sculpture bakery. With apologies…I guess the project is starting to cook.

Why Couldn’t He Have Been a Painter ? - Lamentations of Sculpture Roadies

The most basic fact about cast bronze sculpture is often the most overlooked. Each piece is made of metal and is, as a result, very heavy. With the inclusion of the expected granite or marble base you’re hard pressed to find a piece that weighs less than fifteen pounds. And, of course, each sculpture has to have a pedestal on which to be displayed. While these aren’t made of cast bronze they are still heavy and certainly awkward. When the gallery is properly set-up with all the most recent works placed to best advantage, prices and signage in place, and lighting correspondingly designed, it’s easy to forget what a mammoth effort it is to move work around.

The reality came crashing down on us this weekend due to our participation in the new Carmel Art and Film Festival. In addition to a slew of other events the festival, which was organized with the director of the Sunset Film Festival, included an art show in a local Carmel Park. As a selected artist, Steven had a booth to display work. The idea of an outdoor art show with noted artists all displaying their work in the usually sunny Carmel autumn is a romantic concept and I’m sure it’s a pleasant attraction to visit. But, the transport and set-up for the event is a mammoth and cumbersome undertaking. Not to mention it was strangely cold all weekend.

The event found us loading trucks with sculpture at 5:45 in the morning, only to have to bring it all back in the evening for security and then return it the next day. Of course, as with any struggle, you immediately feel as though your lot is the hardest. This mature response is how we have come to hate all painters. It’s an indiscriminant, purely selfish resentment based solely on the fact that their artwork weighs less, takes up less room, displays faster and is just generally more portable. The painters at last weekend’s event made one trip and set up their booths in an hour. Five trips later, we’re exhausted, bitter and depressed that the other painting artists have eaten all the good muffins. The noble pursuit of artistic expression is nothing in the face of such hardship and unbalance.

At 8 p.m. on the last day of the festival, when two and a half hours of transporting finally brought the conclusion of our participation, we drove out of town and passed the park. One car was still parked near the edge, hazard lights on and back door ajar. We looked over to find it was being loaded up by one of the festival’s only other sculptors. If I had his address I’d send him a solidarity muffin.

Becoming Part of the Story - Myth, Reality, Talent and Dirty Socks

Much of the rationalization for why people buy art is the story behind the piece, or the collector’s discovery of the piece. As beautiful or special as a collector finds a work of art, at the end of the day he or she is fundamentally looking for a story to tell. Something that communicates why the work has personal value to the collector or what makes it stand out within a larger collection. Sometimes a collector will have a powerful personal response to a work - a reaction so strong that they have little choice, but to acquire it. More often, the decision to invest is a combination of appreciation on the part of the collector, salesmanship, and the mystique of the artist.

It’s a funny thing to realize that Steven’s personality is a marketable commodity, but we’ve been in the business long enough to know that it’s a fundamental part of the game. More polished galleries play the artist card as the ultimate trump play to close a big sale or to woo a new collector. Since Steven’s studio is an active part of the gallery, we don’t have the same opportunity to communicate a sense of exclusivity or reserve. While Steven would like nothing more than to eventually mature into an eccentric recluse who barely supports visits by the public in the midst of a cider and glam-rock haze, the reality is that we currently balance the need to preserve an aura of reverence about his personality alongside his remarkable accessibility.

Our frequent compromise is that Steven works in the gallery, while other staff approaches visitors to speak about him with appropriate distinction and deference. It’s through this practice that the legend of “Steven Whyte the Sculptor” or “The Artist Steven Whyte” has developed. While compiled of facts regarding commissions, training and accomplishments, the myth we share with visitors is a marketing tool and is a world away form the flesh and blood reality of the man who seems physically addicted to leaving his socks in the hallway of the house.

I think it’s for this reason that it’s such a funny surprise when the myth takes hold in a powerful manner. We had a couple of remarkable visitors walk in the door this week that can only be linked to growing reputation and word of mouth - truly contacts that Steven has dreamed of making for the entirety of his career. And just like that, myth and reality become one and the same.

Waiting and Creating

One of the things that often surprises people about our work in the gallery is how similar it is to any other business. Since we also have the studio component, our business plan is different than most traditional galleries. Beyond simple retail sales we spend a huge amount of time pursuing contracts for large scale public and private commissions. In these efforts, we are like any other product-based business. We make phone calls, draft proposals, try to identify new venues and in the end spend a lot of time trying to pitch our work.

What makes it slightly different is that rather than just send off a proposal, Steven almost always creates a model for every perspective project. By the time we’ve discussed the possible design, researched the site and subject, and the model or maquette is finished we’ve become pretty attached to the whole concept. It’s not just the idea of winning the project for its financial benefits, although that’s certainly always there, it’s also the desire to be able to see the creation take shape and to have the vision become reality.

The fact that we make figurative work just adds to the bizarre sense of creation and stalled gestation. The studio is full of the scale models of possible monuments, 1/6 scale figures that never got to assume the heroic scale for which they were meant. Sometimes, we just break down the clay and use it to build something else. Other times we’ll hold on to it in the belief that we’ll find a home for the idea at some unknown point and place in the future. The end result is that we have a workspace full of homeless unfinished figures. If we weren’t so busy, it could be a little depressing.

Some of the figures are merely waiting, designs for contracts that are “just about to be” finalized. Here too we’re like any other business – waiting for the initial contact to take shape, judging if there’s enough interest, and enough funding. A series of exciting phone calls can have us celebrating for a week. But, even then, the reality of making massive bronze structures is that there are still site considerations, planning permission and frequently several civic or governmental organizations that have to be convinced. It’s a long, drawn-out and delay-prone process. Steven often says that the sculpting part is the easy part. It’s certainly less time consuming.

You constantly feel as though you’re on the precipice. This summer and fall we sit waiting for decisions on three projects that would fundamentally change everything. It’s an exciting time that is wonderfully ripe with possibility. But, there is always the waiting, the fear and the memories of past experiences that weigh equally between successes and ideas that just faded away.

At least now the projects we’re waiting for are much bigger than they used to be.

Molding: Messy, Risky, but Glorious

The creation of cast-bronze sculpture is a multi-step process. Sometimes the production side of it seems to overpower, intimidate and out-cost the sculpting process. Visitors to the studio seem to generally understand that Steven develops the pieces from clay, but the stages that follow often lead to great confusion.

Granted, there is a slight Rumpelstiltskin quality to the idea that what starts out as clay somehow becomes bronze. But fairy tales aside, each sculpture has to be molded before it can be cast. It’s a messy, complicated and stressful process and we've been in the midst of it for most of the week.

Even with the mess and worry, there is a certain celebratory factor to mold making. Foremost the creation of the mold heralds the completion of the sculpture. But the more emotional side of mold making is the whole staff involvement, the related drama and risk, and fundamentally the acknowledgment that producing the mold is powerfully representative of being a producing sculptor and studio.

Only a few years ago when Steven was first attempting to produce his own work, the cost and complications of molding were a huge obstacle. One year for Christmas my parents, as a gift, helped him buy some rubber so that he could mold some sculptures. And there was a birthday party he was late for because the excitement of having finally been able to open a mold he had made was a better present than any he anticipated receiving at the party.

The mold holds the entire story of each sculpture. It protects each stroke of texture, every element of created character and evocative detail. A good mold protects the sculpture’s legacy and allows the piece to be produced perfectly for the run of the edition. A bad mold destroys the sculpture and is an expensive waste of time and materials. I’ve seen Steven boast about a mold he’s made with equal pride to any sculpture. The mold itself is itself a work of art - a series of technical hurdles and tests to champion.

These days were lucky enough to be able to mold work as soon as Steven’s completed the sculpture. It’s an achievement and the launch of a new challenge all in one, but the process brings the whole studio staff together and is a constant reminder that we’re here, we’re making art and now we always have rubber on hand.

The Calm After One Storm And Before The Next

It’s a strange nervous calm the follows the conclusion of two back to back shows. The feeling is very reminiscent of Christmas when you’re young - a lot of anticipation and preparation, followed by a few moments of pure joy and the overall amazement that after months of waiting and preparing for the event, it’s actually here and then so quickly over. It can be a little anti-climatic and a peculiarly sad.


Working in a community like Carmel these events take on an even stranger feel. Their attendance is mixed with the close friends who are so supportive of everything we do, new acquaintances that we hope to build into friendships, business connections that demand attention and of course the constant pressure and need for potential sales. It makes the whole venture very difficult to digest in the aftermath. You worry that you didn’t spend enough time with those close to you or that you were too cautious and spent all of your time talking to friends and not enough time building collectors.

More than anything I just wish there was time to appreciate. Steven’s work is displayed at the Sunset Center in Carmel. It’s an interesting venue and the work has a wonderful museum exhibition quality to it – the kind of space and show we’ve always wanted to have. It’s a great accomplishment, but it’s so hard to balance that with the built in self-criticism that comes from always thinking you could have improved on well, everything.

I sometimes wonder if the day will ever come when we finally feel like we’ve gotten to where we want to be – or if the nature of working for yourself just makes it impossible to stop striving, stop planning, stop critiquing.

We also had the second of our new Fine Art First Friday events last week. The evenings seem to be gaining in momentum and they’ve been a wonderful opportunity to bring a little life to nighttime Carmel. Steven and I have both enjoyed working more closely with the other galleries and artists. Like any other industry art is complicated in that your colleagues are also your competition. It can lead you to cultivate a kind of insulated existence and while you can really admire another artist’s work from afar you’re so busy cultivating your own collector base that you don’t have the time you might like to support other artists and you can be instinctually wary of any group projects or activities.

The First Friday program has us working with three other galleries and it’s been great to let our walls down a little bit. The next one is Friday, October 2 at 6:00 p.m. – stop in and visit if you’re in town.