Over the weekend we went to see the David Smith show at the Guggenheim, it was great. It ended today though. Smith began as a welder and then evolved into a sculptor.
His earlier work was playful and dynamic, integrating obvious metal scraps which added character and transformed the mere junk into a richly detailed poem. It was visually complex and seemed to have little secrets that whispered to you as you walked around it.
When he acquired more fame and money, the materials were of a higher quality, but his work just lost a certain something. Maybe people who are willing to pay a lot of money for art do not want to see small gears and ibeams in the sculpture, maybe they want to distance themselves from the world of work which all of these elements represent.
He died suddenly, but has an impressive body of work. There is a picture of him on the brochure and he looks like a serious curmudgeon, I do hope his work brought him some joy though.
We walked away from the museum wanting to drop everything in the street right there and go and draw, paint and sculpt. We asked ourselves why do we need outside stimuli to inspire us? but then we resolved that there is nothing wrong with that really...and i felt lucky to have the opportunity to go to the museum on a random Saturday. New York wins again.
Now only to harness the inspiration so it plays like a song in your head over and over until you actually put it to use.
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