Our Sculptor of the Week - Reflections on Late Night Sculpting: Everett Ressler

 

Everett - Working on Zeus

I don’t consider myself a ’real’ sculptor, and don’t know enough yet to espouse any great theories of sculpting. Obviously, sculpting is about seeing, feeling, and expressing. Therefore, because these functions are universal, anyone can sculpt, anyone who sculpts benefits, and everyone should try.

Modeling and sculpting are humbling, for they are a forceful reminder that we are not as good at ’seeing’ and understanding what we ‘see’, as we imagine. What are the elements that make a face distinctive and how does one capture the spirit communicated by the face? Life is expressed very subtly; sculpting tries to figure this out (and usually fails). I visited one of the great museums of Rome, for example, to look at how the eyes were sculpted, why many are lifeless and dull, but a few seem more alive.

Sculpting underscores the importance of considering all perspectives. How does it look from the front, back, sides, and top? Even then, the mind plays tricks on what we see. To break the deadlock of our perceptions, it is commonly necessary, in sculpting, to work on a piece by turning it upside down. In times past, masters in sculpting argued the importance of studying nature to find forms, and a lovely and most helpful hint found in a very old book about sculpting, suggests that in nature there are no straight lines.

Contrary to common assumptions, sculpting is not a genetic mutation, or innate talent, any more than seeing, feeling, and expressing are talents. Sculpting is a learned distraction that only requires curiosity, a desire to learn, a willingness to try, and persistence.

I started sculpting, by chance, in El Salvador. In the small hotel in which I was booked, many pieces of sculpture were showcased, not arranged as an architectural display but reflecting a love of sculpture itself. I discovered that the hotel was owned by a well-known Salvadorian sculptor whose workshop was behind the hotel. After checking in, I immediately went there.

I told the sculptor that I knew nothing about sculpting but wished to learn something. I explained that even though I was engaged fully during the day, I could work on sculpting at night. He graciously gave me a block of clay and told me to return with whatever I produced. I attempted a torso, a small model of a large beautiful torso he had produced that stood by the hotel’s swimming pool. At the end of the week when I showed him my work, he critiqued each part, using his fingernail to mark the clay where I had made mistakes on proportions, on the construction of the neck, the arms, and so forth, noting that it was not very good but a beginning (I had seen, but not seen.). Despite all its faults, he asked if I would like to cast my sculpture in plaster and assigned the task to his assistant, as a demonstration for me. After it had hardened, he gave me both the resulting sculpture and the mold, a first.

Years later, on another mission to El Salvador, with difficulty I tracked down the hotel and the sculptor. When he opened the door to my announced knocking, I told him that he would not remember me but years ago he had very kindly started me on the sculpting journey, and I came simply to thank him. He invited me into his house where we had a wonderful discussion. He showed me his private collection of sculptures and as we parted, he gave a picture book of his sculptures. Why he would show any consideration of me I do not know, but I have found this same kindness and willingness to share from sculptors and artists wherever I have traveled. Come to think of it, this same openness and willingness to share is deeply a part of the emergency and development experience in all countries, so perhaps a generalization might be drawn – all people have something to share and are usually happy to do so for the asking.

I began a search for information about sculpting technique, and learned, as you will see in every bookstore, that there are many, many books of pictures of sculptures, but very few which attempt or effectively show technique. Courses are few. YouTube is empowering independent action but most people seem more inclined ‘to look’ rather than ‘to make.’ Museums need to be challenged to do their part so I have started a small campaign – in every museum I ask staff if they have classes that teach technique: why not show people how to sculpt and paint, rather than simply exhibit what others have done?

I was fortunate, for I found a wonderful book titled “Modeling the Head in Clay” by Bruno Lucchesi. It has few words. It is a book of photos which sequentially show each step in the development of a beautiful sculpture from a lump of clay. Seeing each step, I thought, but I can do that. I still refer to this book, now old and soiled and I am reminded how helpful it is when explanations are given of how to do something. And of course there is ‘discovery’. On various occasions I have consulted a sculpting house in New York to ask how to solve a problem. After an explanation, their usual advice is, “Try it. If it doesn’t work, try it again.”

Building on my Salvadorian experience, I developed a strategy for learning – “let me try to learn just one thing.” Wherever I went for work, if I had a free afternoon or even a few hours, I tried to find a sculptor or some other artist, and approached the situation with frankness, that I know almost nothing, anything I learned will double what I know. Over and over I would say, “Kindly show me what you do and how you do it.” At every asking, I learned something, just ‘one or two more things’. I imagine it as putting ‘gold nuggets’ in my pocket – gifts of insight and experience, shared with kindness.

In Italy, to find sculpting shops one must go to small villages near the quarries, villages such as Pietra Santa. I knew nothing of working with marble so took a quick weekend trip from Geneva in a quest to learn something. On a Saturday, by the time we reached the village all the shops had closed at the sound of the noon cathedral bell. Determined to learn something, we drove through back streets until I saw a yard of marble blocks behind an iron fence and could hear the sound of a hammer. When I found the sculptor I repeated my mantra and asked if I could ask him questions. He laid down his hammer and we walked through the marble, past pieces in progress and others discarded. A useful ‘golden nugget’ was his admonition not to be carried away by fancy tools; all that is needed, really, is a hammer, a pointed chisel and a raked tool chisel. It was helpful to me in sculpture but also as a broader metaphor.

We searched and found a sculptor on the side of a nearby mountain who spoke of her approach in teaching sculpting. On leaving she gave me a scrap piece of marble to carry away and try; that became my first marble sculpture and a helpful lesson because I broke the neck of the form with an over-zealous strike of hammer and chisel – one needs to know the limits.

In Bangladesh, during a visit there for work, I asked staff in the office if anyone knew of any sculptors. One day a man arrived and introduced himself as a sculptor; I accepted his offer to show me his sculptures; I was particularly interested in seeing his workshop. There under iron sheets in the simplest of structures was a beehive of creative activity, in the midst of a collection of past projects and materials - bits of iron, a human form made of computer parts, broken body parts from old molds, etc. – the usual rich sculptor’s den. His workshop was a reminder that you don’t need fancy places to create beautiful things.

Then we went to see his sculptures, all over the city, beginning at the entrance of the airport, and down the airport road - sculptures of metal, of bicycle chains, and many other materials and in many forms. Wherever he saw a tiny piece of grass or unused space he would say, “There could be a sculpture.” With any commission he received for one sculpture, he made two or three. He asked if I used models for sculpting. “Not usually,” I said, “I start and let faces and torsos emerge until I find a form that I am content with.” “I used to do that,” he said, “but I realized that many of my faces looked similar.” “Use older people,” he advised, “for character is more clearly reflected in their faces and forms.” I left the afternoon in awe, my pocket full of ‘gold nuggets’ and an appreciation for what a real sculptor is.

At art exhibits I typically enquire why hundreds of paintings are displayed for every sculpture. The same is true in homes – everyone has paintings but few have sculptures. Part of the answer is that people are poorly engaged in sculpture, and I am told are uncertain how to display it. They haven’t recognized how pieces of intrigue and beauty can enrich a living experience when met daily in the kitchen, bathroom, and on window ledges. I suggest that a good standard would be that every house should have a minimum of 15 sculptures. Displaying sculpture pieces should not be about possession or to impress others; it should be for the sense of wonder, beauty and feelings a sculpture can inspire, particularly if self-made.

Make sculpting a continuing process immediately at hand and a part of living and the living space. I find that this brings liveliness to a house and facilitates sculpting. This means establishing a work space in the middle of the house. In one house for us it was the entrance room; in another a sculpting table stood between the kitchen and living area; now the sculpting work area is off the living room. Sculpture pieces develop more rapidly when they are tinkered with, before or after meals, or late before retiring, or in the quiet time of night. Obviously such an approach requires a concept of home as a place to create things, and a partner willing to put up with the mess! I am fortunate, for my wife and I share concepts of living. She is wonderfully supportive and keeps my disorder in check.

Most of my sculptures to date I think of as studies. I hope my best sculptures are yet to come, but one never knows. Sculpting must compete with other necessities, a competition it usually loses. I have on several occasions exhibited a piece or two in small village art shows in France and the US, but have not yet sold sculpture pieces. Wouldn’t that be nice; one day perhaps a commission! I imagine that sculpting might become a more dominant activity after I ’retire.’ On leaving UNICEF, so far, I am merely ’rewired’.

Sculpting and working with UNICEF share many similar dynamics. Effective actions in UNICEF also require a continual striving to see and to understand better. It involves striving for matters of consequence and creative actions that are life-giving. Both sculpting and working in UNICEF can be approached very cerebrally, but the results from this approach will always differ from actions rooted in a sense of empathy, respect, and beauty.

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