Excerpts from "Out of This the Sculptural Forms Come": The Posthumous Papers of Kenneth Campbell

Leonardo

Excerpts from "Out of This the Sculptural Forms Come": The Posthumous Papers of KennethCampbellAuthor(s): Kenneth CampbellSource: Leonardo, Vol. 21, No. 1 (1988), pp. 11-18Published by: The MIT PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1578409 .

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Excerpts from "Out of This the Sculptural Forms

Come": The Posthumous Papers of Kenneth

Campbell

Kenneth Campbell

Abstract-A stone carver who originally trained as a painter, the author analyzes major tendencies in twentieth-century painting for their bearing on both modern sculpture and his own carvings. Campbell interprets his turning to sculpture as a natural outgrowth of this early work as a painter of geometric, hard-edge abstractions. He relates sculptural form in his carvings to such primitive elements as gravity, volume, weight, mass and color of individual stones. His site works mingle metaphors derived from myth, art history and astronomy with others that are technological, sociological and topological.

I. FORM AND SPACE

Although my career as an artist began in 1947, after the Second World War, my art education, mainly in painting rather than I stone carving, was completed before the war. My strongest feeling as a painter was for the plastic use of pure shapes of color strengthening or opposing one another- a form of hard-edge painting. Those who excited me most were Mondrian, Arp, f^ Mir6, Kline and de Kooning.

A strange idea came to me from Mondrian's work. Although he used the horizontal and vertical as his chosen forms, Mondrian's real accomplishment was the way he could lead the eye in . sweeping diagonal movements over the

'

surface of his paintings, expressing a stability that was both horizontal and vertical. Mondrian's measures were very ? clear, involving a sense of timing and proportion-a sense of interaction and containment of one form within another that seemed to me classical. I found a similar type of formalism in Franz Kline's work, with its sense of diagonal thrust ?___

and tension between areas. It gradually occurred to me that

painting, in our time, was leading in the direction of sculpture, as though it needed a three-dimensional manifestation to complete the ideas that were emerging. Something similar had occurred during

Kenneth Campbell (artist) 1913-1986.

Kenneth Campbell died while the present article for Leonardo was in preparation. The artist's draft, compiled from his voluminous body of unpublished Fig. 1. The Watch Bird, Vermont Gray and White marbles and Italian beige marbles on ceramic tile writings, was given its final editing by his xecutor, base (5 parts), 14 x 24 x 48 in high, 1966. (Collection: Carl Marshall) One of several works on eye and Patricia Sloane, 53 Duffield Street, Brooklyn, NY 1P1201, U.S.A. ear motifs that evidently refer, through the artist's readings in Eastern philosophy, to the conception of

reality and the role of the senses. The Watch Bird, which watches with its eyes, implies the Atman, Manuscript solicited by L. Alcopley. which incorporates all (and therefore watches the Watch Bird) but also transcends sensory experience. Received 22 September 1986. Or, parodying the familiar children's book, "This is a Watch Bird watching a watcher; this is a Watch

Bird watching you."

? 1988 ISAST Pergamon Journals Ltd. Printed in Great Britain. 0024-094X/88 $3.00+0.00

LEONARDO, Vol. 21, No. 1, pp. 11-18, 1988



Fig. 2. Persephone Returns, Georgia White marble, 84 in high, 1965. (Collection: Storm King Art Center) One of several works on the theme of rebirth, miraculous return from an underworld, or transcendence. In this case, the artist appears to have abstracted not merely from pelvic articulations but also from the flowing robes of female figures in classical

Greek sculpture.

Fig. 3. Cassiopeia's Chair, Tennessee Pink marble on Botticini marble, 18 x 24 x 72 in high, 1978. In the several double-entendres of this piece, the chair 'behind' the group of stars in the constellation Cassiopeia, which is called Cassiopeia's Chair, displays its own form. But it also displays forms suggestive of the woman who sits in the chair. Cassiopeia's Chair was, in fact, so named because the stars in it are thought to resemble the outline of

a chair.

the Renaissance, when painters made models to aid them in their investigations of the workings of perspective and of the

disposition of light and shade. The main difference was that, during the Renais- sance, painting seemed to be born out of

an essentially sculptural idea. Now, sculpture seemed about to be reborn out of painting ideas.

Campbell, Posthumous Papers 12



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Fig. 4. Night and Day #1: A Meeting Place (stone-on-stone dyad with 14 parts), Vermont Radio Black marble and Vermont White Rutland marble from the Smith layer (pink and green veining), each construction 18 ft high, 1968-1975. This was the first of two versions planned on the same theme and is the only one of the artist's large-scale site works located in the United States (on extended loan: University of Maryland at College Park). In various written statements, the artist emphasized the function of this piece as a public place where people could meet. But the parallel interest in proper orientation of the work to the cardinal points of the compass suggests an intent which is shamanistic rather than sociological. Meetings at this place were to be auspicious

because the place itself had been organized to exert a beneficent influence on encounters.

However true my particular vision of this may be, the linear element and the formal structure became so important to me that they no longer would stay on the flat plane of a picture. I found myself in the ludicrous position of trying to look at the reverse side of a canvas to see what another view would be like. I needed volume, weight and mass to articulate fully the lines and planes I wanted to move through space.

The Nature of Sculptural Form

All the effects in my sculptural work are the result of a direct approach to the material. There is a tangible reality to any volume, weight and mass which might be called its history. The interplay between the thoughts I bring to the stone in front of me and the thoughts it conveys to me by its natural history, structure and workability creates an ever increasing reality-a process of becoming-until a climactic moment comes about.

I can trace my love affair with the diagonal through The Watch Bird, Persephone Returns [ 1,2], and Cassiopeia's Chair (Figs 1-3). In all the component units of all three of these pieces, and in my work generally, the weight or heft of the individual stones is of extreme importance. Balancing or poising this weight is the first stage in transferring a feeling of my

own physical identity. I try to give to each stone an awareness, so to speak, of its own sense of gravity, encouraging it to feel as mobile as I am. Many of my pieces are made of stacked component parts (stone on stone), bringing about the potential of movement. Attention to orientation, as in Night and Day #1: A Meeting Place (Figs 4, 5) [3], integrates the dynamic or organic quality of the stones with that of the universe around them.

The Night and Day dyad is one of four large site pieces I carved [4]. The 14 stone parts, which range in weight from 1800 to 3000 pounds, were drilled and split by hand. The alignment of the finished piece is on a line 30 degrees east-west of the north-south axis. The line of travel on the walkway between Night (north side of the site) and Day (south side) is directly on an east-west axis.

Night and Day, the individual parts of the dyad, are twin units, each 18 feet high and consisting of two sets of columns and lintels, one mounted on the other. The lower set of columns is a triplet arranged in a triangular pattern; the upper set is a pair of twins. All columns are 8 feet high. The lower lintel is a truncated triangular slab 8 inches thick, conforming to the triangular arrangement of the columns supporting it. The upper lintel, on the twin columns, is flat on the bottom but

grades from 22 inches thick at one end to 12 inches at the other.

II. THE TACTILE AND THE VISUAL

What is the key component of sensibility? As a sculptor, I often feel it is an awareness that the hand knows more than the eye, that the tactile is superior to the visual. This leads so easily to that other question which often comes up: What are the boundaries of the realm of the visual art of painting, of the tactile art of sculpture? There are many contemporary works of art that cannot be called true developments of either sculpture or painting in any conventional sense. They belong in a nameless 'no man's land' between the two. I think the categories need to be redefined.

Until this redefining occurs, I do not think any development that exists ought to be overlooked. Perhaps this no man's land is the truest sign of the ferment in our times. Its very existence is all that is necessary. Its philosophical message is existential; come what may, we must be prepared to encounter the consequences. The whole keynote for an artistic creation is how to 'let happen' what will. The true virtue is to know through seeing and feeling-through our visual and tactile experience of the world of reality around us-whatever we have had courage enough to let happen.

Campbell, Posthumous Papers

.l II

13

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I have the feeling that the keystone of our art today is the great achievement of painting. Speaking as a sculptor, I know in my bones that sculpture is being reborn out of the magnificent achievements of painters in the immediate past who have thought seriously of the objectiveness of sculpture. There is hardly any need to enumerate these painters. Where is the sculptor today with the quality of conception of Matisse?

For a long time I have felt that, whereas the painter's role had eventually evolved into making visible the invisible world (that is, the world of ideas transmitted through feeling, emotion and the visual sense), the sculptor's is to make tangible this very same world of ideas, feelings and emotions. After the first step of making visible the invisible, the next had to be to make the invisible tangible.

Five centuries ago, the invention-or codification-of the rules of perspective enabled the Renaissance world to envision the fixed or tangible object oriented in space, although it was an old-fashioned

kind of space by our standards. Painting at that time arose out of sculptural ideas. Today the situation is reversed. We can no longer look through the window of Renaissance perspective into a safe, sound, tidy world that promises a complacent, idyllic existence. Whether one likes it or not, one cannot go home again. Wherever we look there is only space, vastness of scale, and motion. Our identity-the only identity we can know-is to be found within our own existence.

Living today requires the courage to take strong measures. I do not mean this in the ordinary sense, but perhaps in a sense that is essentially musical. In music, alternate realities coexist, even realities that seem unable to lie side by side: large and small, vast and particular, infinite and finite, and so forth. And so I think the sculptor's age-old task of forms, proportions, measures, colors and spaces for containment of voids comes alive again by the pursuit of a tangible tactile evolution.

In my case, the nature of space is made manifest by the lines I lay out like lassos around the stone. The colors are those intrinsic to the stones themselves, but I pick and match and contrast them to one another. The measures and proportions are built in along the way by trimming, fitting and balancing during the evolution of the work. In the end, the forms become strong through their oppositions to one another. The colors, and the wavelike motions of the grain, are clarified by the process of polishing. Sometimes, as in Draco (Fig. 6) [5], the waves on the surface of the piece seem to be answering the music of the waves of the grain in the stone.

I hate approximations. Everything must be crystal clear: sharp in some places and softly moving away in others. The skins of the stones, their outside surfaces, must be continuously flowing. I would like to say of them, as Renoir did of the models who posed for him, "Give me the model whose skin takes the light".

Mondrian seemed to signal the end of

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Fig. 5. Artist's drawing for orientation of Night and Day#I: A Meeting Place at College Park, MD, site. The artist had visited Stonehenge, Carnac and other megalithic sites. Several of his late works are constellations of several pieces to be arrayed in a landscape within an orientation keyed to the cosmological. Examples include East- West Site for the Rising and Setting ofthe Sun and Fireball andthe Satellites, in which the satellites are identified

as the Seven Wandering Planets.




Fig. 6. Draco, Vermont marble, 6 ft high, 1964. (Collection: Wilfred P. Cohen) "Draco was carved from one block of Vermont Rutland Marble split into four pieces. The original piece was half a cube, two feet square and one foot high. If it had been cut perfectly at the mill, it would have made four small cubes, each exactly one cubic foot in size. To cut the stone, I drew a cross that divided one of the square faces into quarters. I drilled and split this large block into four more or less irregular cubes. The way the block split-its cleavage-made the irregularities. Because all of the pieces came from one block, each irregularity had a counterpart. Wherever one piece was somewhat larger than I intended, its twin was somewhat smaller. The pairing of irregularities created a rhythmic relationship among the pieces that became the theme of the work." (K. Campbell interview with Colette Roberts, December 1964.) Note: Draco (the Dragon) is a constellation between Ursa Major and Cepheus. The title was probably inspired by the undulating or serpentine 'hide' of the carving.

painting, in a Platonist kind of way. When I read him, it seemed he was saying that the time would come when we would

Fig. 7. Queen of the May, Tennessee Pink, Baque and Cedar marbles; Italian St. Stefano, Sienna; Vermont Pink and Alabama White marbles; 114 in high, 1966. Queen ofthe May is totemic, an apparition that contains the stacked stones rather than appearing to emerge from them. The artist, who spent the first half of his life in Boston, became familiar at an early age with the Indian collection at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts and with the writings of Coomaraswamy. The artist's first carving in wood is titled Maya, the world of illusion or sensory experience. Later works weave on the motif, including a series of carvings in which female forms, sometimes interchangeable with those of flowers, typify the enchantments of the unreal. This is traditionally inseparable from the metaphysical dilemma

that the unreal necessarily seems real to us as human beings.

no longer have any need for art because Now how could any utopia of this kind our lives would take on such an ordered be possible? I could not accept this view existence. of the world, any more than I could




accept a projected date, in the near future, for the Last Judgment. Yet there seemed to be a grain of truth somewhere within it.

I think the main consequence of Mondrian's work, life and thought is that people were guided to a sensibility to the

Fig. 8. The Door, Georgia White marble, 10 x 20 x 60 in high, 1961. (Collection: Walker Art Center) As in Willem de Kooning's Door to the River, or the doors painted on the walls of Etruscan tombs, the

entryway is presumably to a world of interphenomena.

tangible, tactile nature of the world. In Mondrian's reincarnation, if we can speak in such naive terms, I think he would want to be a sculptor in pursuit of these same strong measures I have mentioned. With the plastic power of his primary colors, he was already creating reliefs that step right out into the room to meet the viewer. Mondrian pointed the direction towards the no man's land of which I speak.

The territory was surveyed by others, leading to hare-edge painting, color- field painting, shaped canvas; to systemic, optical, poptical, kinetic, erotic art; to primary structure and a long list of more recent styles. I am at least glad to note that most of the names were apparently coined, and the categories invented, only after the works of art had been created. That these works of art exist-not what they are called-is what counts.

The best painters in each of these respective styles are not really the camp followers they sometimes seem to be. Their saving grace is that they do not fit well within the boundaries that today too often are programmed by influential critics, curators and other 'organization men' with the gall to brush aside the visionary purposes which true artists can only reach in their quietest and fullest moments of existence. We have not seen the last of pushy exhibitions engineered more for mass consumption than to nourish the soul or provide food for thought.

Recent politics in the world and in the art world have brought about attitudes so materialistic and technocratic that sub- stance and commitment seem to me to go thin. Even the process of creating art, in

many instances, slips out of the artist's control. However, the optical events and primary structures certainly educate the public to a new way of seeing relationships and measures of form and color. This is a good beginning, and much more will follow. These forms of art are a means of integration for two- and three-dimensional manifestations.

Primary structures interest me parti- cularly. By my own manner of defining the term, I have been involved for many years in the pursuit of primary structure. But primary structures can be many things, from the constellations in the sky to the fates to the colors and grains of the marbles meeting in Queen of the May (Fig. 7) [6].

To me, the braininess of planning too far in advance of events seems a great flaw. A scheme has to be arrived at in every well-structured creation. But we have Robert Burns to remind us that mice and men see their plans go awry. The best




schemes, systems, or whatever we want to call them, can only emerge through the process of work. This would not disallow preconceived systems, but it would imply that they ought to be truly incorporated into the working process.

I had considerable experience as a tool and die maker during the Second World War. Because of this, I have immense respect for the creative know-how of model makers and other workers in the shop. The 'brain-work' that arrives in a shop, in the undigested form of projected plans, is often a mere conjecture looking for a foundation. It receives a new lease on life through the creative hands and minds of practical people who are manual workers. At that point, it is barely recognizable as what it was originally.

That the real creativity is more often in the shop than at the drawing board-or that the hand discovers refinements never anticipated by the brain-has a bearing on the recent idea that the artist can be a planner who chooses not to be a maker. In my estimation, the artist who avoids those aspects of process that are physical or manual has denied any personal identification with the creative act. The issue is not whether industrial means of manufacture should be used in creating art, but why they are used in a particular manner: as a pretext for disengagement, for lack of involvement in what is genuinely the creative process or for glorification of the merely mechanistic.

Manufacturing methods have taken over our civilization. No one can deny the great democratic advantages of these articles of manufacture as products for our consumption and well-being. But it is time to call a halt before manufacturing methods take over our powers to 'cut and fit' according to the measures we want and the patterns that genuinely work. Strangely, this warning needs to be issued at the very moment when our lives are being freed from much of the drudgery of existence-that moment when we most need the cultural and civilizing influences of the creative mind and heart.

This is truly an age of existence on many levels when individuals could tap the large percentage of human powers that have never before been used.

III. CHANCE AND THE CARVING PROCESS

Everything happens after the fact, and only the fact counts. Nobody starts out to do the inevitable. But, as we look back, the inevitable seems to have happened. One does not decide anything important ahead of time; one does and decides simultaneously. Or one does it and

decides afterwards, thinking up reasons for why it was done. Time is of the essence in any of these gestures. Think of all the dreams and conjectured possibilities that never came into being. They never fitted in; never became inevitable; never found a place for themselves in time.

Try to let things happen, many things happen, just try to bring them together, work on relationships. I start a work and after a while nature, the nature of a living process, takes over. At a certain stage, I start to realize the ideas it contains and the condition of being it will manifest. Reality is how we meet what we encounter; what happens then may be inevitable. It is human nature to fight experiences, to not allow things to happen. It is an artist's duty to bring other people to the condition of experiencing the world around them.

Chance, coincidence, is the truth of the moment, and therefore the truth for all time. It is existential, and therefore closer to reality than we can bear to admit. In the Chinese book of changes, the I Ching, chance occurrence is accorded its rightful importance. This book of so-called oracles is not about prophesying; it celebrates, instead, the centrality of certain natural processes. I believe these ancient peoples had a degree of conscious awareness of the nature of reality that extended far beyond our own.

They understood, for example, that a person who goes straight to a thing like a horse wearing blinders has no vision. People begin to acquire vision by learning to let things come to them sideways. Their peripheral vision-and I mean the peripheral vision of the inner eye as well as that of the physical eye-makes them more aware of the world around them. We must get things from the side; let them come to us; piece the shattered fragments of consciousness together with infinite patience. There is no easier path to a more complete awareness, to the gift for being in each situation and for having a genuine point of view. An artist's duty is to go at things sideways, however crablike the metaphor may seem.

What these ideas imply, from a practical point of view, is that direct carving is a meditative art. One has to get with it, like a drummer entranced with the rhythm of the thing. The timing makes it musical, and one is in the midst of the process, never a spectator viewing from outside. Perspective and the flatness of a wall have no part in direct carving, an art that exists in time and space.

An individual piece of sculpture, like an individual person, has a physical presence by virtue of this simultaneous existence in space and time. Every time one sees the piece, it looks different.

People return to a show of mine and say, "You've moved things around." "No," I

say, "you've moved." That is what sculpture is all about.

The Door (Fig. 8) [7] suggests to me that forms can be made geometric and organic at the same time. Is it not strange, this continuing unity of surface? I guess that is a classical idea, but I get the startling feeling of looking at past and present all at once with this classical tactile sensibility and the immediacy of chance encounter.

Color is most important to me. I do not use colored stones as a painter uses color for an illusion of space. These stones are tangible materials with the color in them, not on them. The space around them is not an illusion; or it is, at least, no more of an illusion than anything else.

The hand knows more than the eye. If one closes one's eyes and caresses the eyeballs with one's hands, in a short time one will know more about the eyes than the eyes themselves can see. This is done in the yoga eye exercises called Nethra Vyayamam.

Sculpture, of course, is an art of symbols and not merely of rhythms, spaces, colors, forms, materials or tactile sensations. My favorite symbol is the figure eight: it seems to symbolize eternal motion and the containment of one form within another. Placed on its side, it is used as the symbol for infinity. To me, it indicates the curvature of space. It can be distorted, played with and made into a part of the contour of an object, as I did in Chalice: Homage to John Ferren (Color Plate No. 1) [8, 9].

In contemplative moods, we stop to rest and look back reflectively. At these times, we attain our allotted measure of comprehension of the constant flux of possibilities. Perhaps what there is to understand about art is quite simple, at least insofar as we can understand it. As the record of a life lived, art presents the same mysteries as life itself, which only achieves a reality when it is lived forward.

REFERENCES AND NOTES

1. Information on the works in Notes [2-8] is from Catherine Gallitelli, "The Sculpture of Kenneth Campbell: A Catalogue Raisonn6", unpublished master's thesis, Hunter College of the City University of New York, 1987.

2. Persephone Returns was exhibited in the 1966 Sculpture Annual at the Whitney Museum of American Art and at the Art Institute of Chicago (1966). See H.P. Stern, Sculpture at Storm King (New York: Abbeville Press, 1980) p. 102, p. 63 (illus.), and Sculptor's News Exchange 4, No. 8 (April 1980) pi. 3, p. 3.

3. Night and Day #1: A Meeting Place was begun at the First Vermont International Sculpture Symposium, with partial




support from the (U.S.) National En- dowment for the Arts, the Vermont State Council on the Arts, and the Vermont Marble Company. It was completed between 1972 and 1975 at College Park, MD, with partial support from the University of Maryland. Two small scale models exist for the piece, which is one of two planned variations on the theme. See the artist's statement of 1980 in feature article by Lola McCaffrey in Sculptor's News Exchange 4, No. 3 (Nov. 1979) and Craft Horizons (Nov./Dec. 1968) pp. 4-5.

4. The other site pieces are Venusberg II (1969, San Margarethan, Austria), Venus of Federsee (1970, Oggleshausen am Federsee, Germany) and Eternal Light of Arandjelovac (1984, Buckovicka Banja Sculpture Park, Arandjelovac, Yugoslavia).

5. Draco, an early stacked work, con- siderably smaller than many later

examples, was included in the 1964 Sculpture Annual at the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York. See Thomas B. Hess, "Disrespectful Handmaiden: American Sculptors in the Whitney's Latest Survey", Art News 63, No. 38 (Jan. 1965) illus.

6. Queen of the May was exhibited at the Landmark Gallery, New York (1972).

7. The Door was exhibited at Grand Central Moderns Gallery, New York (1963) and in the 67th Annual American Exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago, where it received a Ford Foundation Purchase Award (1964). See Dona Z. Meilach, Contemporary Stone Sculpture: Aesthetics, Methods, Appreciation (New York: Crown, 1970) illus. p. 26.

8. Chalice: Homage to John Ferren was exhibited at the Andre Zarre Gallery, New York (1978); Gallery K, Washington, DC (1980); University of Maryland Art

Gallery (1981); and the Sculpture Center, New York (1981).

9. Editor's note: As in this case, the artist sometimes referred to works that, to all other intents and purposes, were finished carvings as 'models' for other pieces to be executed at a much greater scale. This was supplemented by what was essentially a variation on the 'thought-experiment' of the physical sciences. An extensive correspondence was conducted with quarries, and detailed documentation meticulously compiled as to weights, prices and delivery terms of the larger stones ostensibly required. In actual practice, this ornate procedure was abandoned and the artist rarely or almost never worked from preliminary models. The three large European site works, for example, ranging up to 18ft high, all were carved directly, without maquettes or preliminary drawings.




No. 1. Top left. Kenneth Campbell. Chalice: Homage to John Ferren, model, Tennessee Pink marble, 22 in high, 1978. This was to serve as the model for a 9 ft sculpture to be

carved from a 10.3 ton block and a 5.6 ton block of Tennessee Pink marble.

No. 2. Top right. Koji Miyazaki. Successive appearances in 2-space of a rolling 4- dimensional die. They are shown from top left (a cube having a unique arrangement of spots) to top right (a rhombic dodecahedral type having four arrangements of spots), to second row left (a hexagonal prism having three arrangements of spots) to the same row right, and so on, ending at bottom right; the sequence would then return to top left to be

repeated.

No. 3. Bottom. Michel Bret. Paysage Fractal, computer-generated image, 1986. Figure illustrates the simulation of mountains through use of fractals.




repeated.





repeated.


I I I I I I



Excerpts from "Out of This the Sculptural Forms Come": The Posthumous Papers of Kenneth Campbell

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