What If?

One of the most common questions studio visitors ask is, “How did Steven discover that sculpture was his talent?” followed by, “When did he know that this was what he was meant to do?’ It’s the kind of query that you don’t get in more traditional occupations, but we hear it so frequently that we’ve developed a response that strikes Steven as, more or less, accurate.

We explain that Steven’s parents were in the Royal Air Force and that as a result he frequently changed schools. We add that he suffers from dyslexia and had a hard time catching up in more traditional subjects. It was in art, always in art, that felt comfortable.

It was art that became his constant. By the time he was ready to think about university the choice of focus was all but decided. In many ways, it’s been both a blessing and a great responsibility to have your chosen path appear so early and so clearly. Steven rarely suffers from the great debate of “what am I going to do with my life?” At that same time he feels a great responsibility to give voice and opportunity to his talent. It’s as if other careers are disrespectful toward his talent.

We found ourselves newly considering our origin story when Steven went this week to meet with a representative from Chartwell School about working with their art education program. The local school is specially designed to work with students with learning disabilities, including dyslexia, with specialized education. Steven visited Chartwell’s beautiful eco-conscious campus and met with students, teachers and members of the administration. He left full of ideas about how to collaborate with the school, ways to give to others the resource that art was for him.

But at the same time, he wondered, “What if?” “What if he had gone to a school like Chartwell when he was young? What if reading had been easier? Would art still have been the obvious path? Would Steven still be “Steven” if he was doing something complete different?

It’s impossible to know, but were thrilled to be playing even a little part in the important work being done by Chartwell. They are providing children with options for their future, with the confidence that any career, even something as impossible a sculpture, is possible.

It Really Is in the Details

This week is our last scheduled week of sculpting time on the John David Crow project. Next month, the studio team will begin molding the piece. This means that the next seven days represent our last opportunity to see the complete sculpture in one piece until the finish casting is created.

Preparations and work on the project have been such a big part of our work over the past few months that it’s a bit overwhelming to realize how far along we’ve come. And, of course, there’s the immediate pressure of making sure we get everything exactly right. The general fear that many experience when they realize they might have included a typo in a blog post or press release is nothing compared with the fear that you’ve made a mistake on a monumental bronze sculpture that will exist and be seen by millions of people for perpetuity.

Of course there are the mistakes that are subject of disaster nightmares (four toes, untied shoes, etc.), but the reality of the more likely errors is just as frightening. The project itself is so important to so many people, Steven as an artist, John David Crow and his family, the A&M donors who are purchasing the piece, and the legions of fans, that the pressure to “get it right” is enormous.

To the outside observer the sculpture seems all, but finished. Crow nearly sprints off his clay grass. Equipped in his period appropriate uniform, the sculpture features everything from detailed spikes on his cleats to the unique stripping found on mouth guards of that era. And yet, there is still much to do before the sculpture can be deemed, “finished.” I know from experience that it’s this final stage that Steven finds the most challenging. His current work days don’t have the immediate gratification of the early stages of the project. He can’t leave for the day content that there is an arm or leg that wasn’t there before. Instead, it’s a constant processes of evaluating and perfecting - checking on the draping and seams of the uniform and making sure that the texture of the piece is cohesive and suggests the different materials and finishes at play on the figure. It’s a difficult balance between making sure every detail is correct and preventing the sculpture from looking over-worked.

It’s the kind of details that only Steven and John David himself can see. For this reason we were thrilled when John David called late this week to say that he would fly in from Texas to give final notes on the project. It’s clear that in the time between today and his first visit early this fall he has come to terms with the project and accepted both the honor and the responsibility of the recognition. He came to the studio with a small leather (maroon of course) notebook with the list of questions and suggestions that he and his wife Caroline had compiled.

He was concerned about the curve of one of the pads on the figure. Caroline had shared that she thought he might have more muscular carves during his college career, although Crow thought she might have been suffering from a bit of romantic reminiscing. Each comment and reflection brought the monument one step closer to the level of authenticity required to make the final sculpture a true resonating celebration of John David and the era of his great athletic achievement.

One example of the importance of this personal input stuck me as particularly representative of how wondrous this work can be. Before his visit, we had been in back and forth communication with John David about the size of the feet on the sculpture. He kept saying he thought they were too big and we kept 'replying' that they were exactly twice the size of his actual feet and were, as a result, exactly to scale. During his visit he looked at the feet up close. Anxious to prove their accuracy, Steven got out a pair of calipers and measured John David’s feet. As promised the feet of the sculpture were two times as big. John David agreed that this was the case, but off-handedly pointed out that he wore one size smaller shoes when he played at A&M since it had been hard to find a size 10.

With that new information in hand, Steven has begun resizing the feet of the monument. It’s adherence to these kind of nuances that really set his work and the studio apart. I hope John David goes home to Texas and tells his wife that, as she requested, his sculpture is getting a few more muscles and that some day his great-great grandchildren will be able to share the story about how their “Poppa” fixed the size of the shoes on his sculpture.

Letting the Outside World In – Sharing, Showing Off and Cleaning Up

People are often amazed at how available Steven is to the public. There’s a commonly held assumption that the artistic process requires isolation and the kind of extreme concentration that can only come from working in a secluded studio or artist’s garret. In contrast, Steven has always thrived with public interaction, as he reminds me, the public, 'people' are his subject. However, higher profile projects have brought new attention to the studio and it’s been a little bit of shock to see our little world from the outside perspective.

The John David Crow project has brought some nice media coverage including newspaper and magazine articles and a recent feature on a local news program. Since we want to put our best face forward we actually have to clean up the studio. The pace of the project has us adding about 150 pounds of clay to the sculpture a day and none of it happens in a neat and tidy manner. Of course when I mentioned that Steven might want to change his shirt for the interview since the one he was wearing had a spot on it, he explained that he was just going to get clay on it anyway. It’s this slightly prepared, but still messy reality that is now captured on film.

Since the studio couldn’t exist without the support of our staff, much of the media coverage also includes comments by the staff. As always, they do us an incredible service and their comments on the work and the process make us both grateful and inspired. Lord Wellington seems to have made the smoothest transition to print and film. He takes no notice of the extra attention and may be the one true media star of the group.

l

As strange as it is to see yourself on film, it’s been wonderful to see how well the sculpture itself is photographing. Though still in progress, the piece is definitely taking shape and it’s clear that the finished work is going to convey the spirit and momentum Steven intended.

Joining the Team

One of the best parts of our work at the studio is the way each project exposes you to new places and new subjects. For many of the monuments we’ve worked on, we’ve had a general familiarity with the subject, but the demands of the project insist on an extensive and thorough knowledge base. For a Martin Luther King piece we learnt about King’s personal library and preferred texts. For a multi-figure tribute to Bob Hope and his work with USO, it meant watching countless performance videos. Now as we move forward with the monument to John David Crow for Texas A&M, we are learning about the culture of football in Texas and the traditions of a unique university.

Of course, the learning curve on the subjects is made steeper since, Steven and I are more familiar with Europe than we are with states outside of California. Worse still as an Englishman Steven’s knowledge of "American" football consists of a general understanding that it involves elements of rugby, but with more padding and equipment. We’ve been participating in a gradual education program based on viewing of every football movie ever made, but the time had finally come for a more direct course of action. It was with this goal in mind that we traveled to the great state of Texas.

In a three day crash course, we went to two major games and came away with a fortified excitement for the project. The tangible enthusiasm, fierce loyalty and pride we saw was inspiring. Former A&M President Bob Gates once remarked that A&M was a "unique American institution". As we visited the grounds around Kyle Field, we were swept up in the culture of and passion for the school.

The university is steeped in history and a sense that every student holds the honor and responsibility of carrying the mantle of past achievements and future recognition. As we became enraptured with the day’s football contest and spoke to alumni, fans and current students, we began to feel as though our current project made us temporary Aggies. As if we too should stand with the student body as the ever ready Twelfth Man, ready to take the field to fight for what the school represents.

As we returned home this same since of purpose continues to guide our work on the project. We have been chosen to create something special and unique. We remain grateful for the hospitality we were shown, cognizant of the honor of our assignment and ever so slightly hungry for barbeque...

In the flesh.....

We use live models for all of our work in the studio. Even when the subject is a posthumous one, we will still bring in a model of a similar height and build. Steven maintains that it’s as much an effort toward efficiency as an attempt to ensure accuracy. He says it’s just easier to see something right in front of you and he'd rather work from a three deminsional reference.



For the most part our larger monument work features great achievers from the past. While our research frequently puts us in touch with decedents or colleagues of the subjects, it’s very rare that we meet directly with an individual of whom we are creating a huge heroic sculpture.
That changed when John David Crow visited the studio to consult on the monument we are making for Texas A&M University. It’s a powerful moment when an individual that you’ve been studying as a legend for months and months suddenly appears and the whole studio was honored at his presence.


Faced with a soaring representation of his younger self, Crow was at first humble and quiet. He even seemed slightly resistant to this grand scale celebration of his achievement, but eventually our enthusiasm for the project became contagious.


As Steven began to explain his thoughts for the piece, the design decisions he was considering and the overall impact he envisioned, Crow offered suggestions and comments. He stepped away from the overwhelming weight of the honor and began to talk with simple passion about football and his time with A&M. He shared stories about the way he played, his stance and his technique. While he talked, Steven shifted the pose of the sculpture, changing the angle of the torso and moving the arms and legs.




In one hour the shape of the sculpture was transformed and the whole project suddenly became much more real. A shift had taken place and we were no longer making a sculpture of a man from old videos and archival photos. Now the project is properly individualized, showcasing John David in every nuance. It’s this process that defines Steven’s work - the transference and communication of these details and his ability to do so still seems magical to me.

As Crow and his wife and college sweetheart were getting ready to go, Mrs. Crow turned to Steven and said, “it looks just like him.”

Jumping In

We’ve just signed the final documents on a new monument project for Texas. Like so many projects of this scale, we’ve been anticipating this moment for months. Now that it’s finally time to start working for real, there’s both palpable excitement and the nervous energy that comes with the consideration of any large and challenging project.

We’re working on a twice-life size sculpture of Texas A&M football legend John David Crow for instillation at the university’s Kyle Field. One of the realities of monument work is that the size of the sculpture makes a huge impact on the environment. This combined, with the expense and the amount of labor involved can frequently lead to questions regarding the subject. When an inquiry for any large project comes in you find yourself wondering what about this individual has led to the decision to create such a permanent and high-profile celebration.

At the studio we respond to these questions by a massive amount of research. There’s a great responsibility that comes from changing the national landscape. First there’s the desire to create something of beauty and impact that benefits the environment and surroundings. When the project, like this one, is designed to honor a specific individual, then you have the added responsibility of doing justice to the spirit, achievement and legend of the subject. It’s a difficult balance. The work by definition of its scale requires an element of grandeur, but in order to be personable and approachable the sculpture also has to be as authentic as possible.

Again, we protect ourselves with research. But in order to cover both sets of objectives, the spiritual and the factual, we partake in a total immersion program. We want to understand what John David Crow represents to Texas A&M, as an athlete, as an individual and as a source of inspiration. And so we must learn about football (today and as it was played in the late 1950s) we must learn about the traditions that define A&M, and finally we must learn about John David.

The project’s just begun. The whole studio is wearing A&M paraphernalia, we’ve got game tapes playing on the computer, the sounds of the Texas Aggie Band are playing over the stereo and John David Crow is scheduled to visit. It’s overwhelming, inspiring and it’s just begun…Gig em Aggies!

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.

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.