“I’ll Never Understand Time”

 Many people ask me how a bronze sculpture is made.  It’s actually a very labor intensive and complex process.  In this posting I’ll give a brief explanation of the various steps involved in creating a sculpture in bronze.  The method used today for most castings, the “lost wax” process, was originated in Egypt around 1,500 B.C.  Many improvements have naturally been made since then, but the basic process has remained unchanged for over 35 centuries.

 I’ll use my sculpture “I’ll Never Understand Time” as a basis for exploring the lost wax process.  Like all sculptures this one began with an idea.  In this case, I wanted to capture my befuddlement over the concept of aging.  How was it possible that a cute baby could morph into an old man?  I started with a baby picture of myself...

 I then superimposed a photo of my current face over this photo...

Using this composite photo as a reference, I sculpted a figure made of plasticine clay.  This is a clay with oil added so it will not dry out.  It is the preferred clay for most sculptors working in bronze.  The resultant sculpture represents a positive image of what the final art will look like.  As you follow the progression, you’ll notice that the art begins as a positive image, then a negative, then another positive, another negative, then finally the bronze positive.

The positive clay sculpture

 The next step in the process is to produce a mold of the clay sculpture.  First the clay is coated with shellac and thin metal shims are inserted to delineate the different sections of the sculpture.  In the photo below, the back of the sculpture has already received four coats of a urethane molding material.  You can see the metal shims sticking out of the baby’s legs.  For this piece, the entire back was one section of molding material.  The front, however, required, three separate sections.  I am now ready to apply molding material to the three front sections.

 

The back half of the mold has been completed

The photo below shows the completion of the front of the mold.  The three bumps you see, one on the forehead and two on the torso, are registration points that are used to align this mold with the “mother mold.”

The front of the urethane mold is completed

The urethane mold is flexible and would not stand up to the steps that follow.  Therefore, a “mother mold” made of plaster is added over the urethane mold.  When reassembling the flexible mold with the mother mold, the registration points are used to assure a perfect alignment.

 

Plaster mother mold added

Unfortunately, I didn’t take photos of the following steps, but I believe they are fairly easy to grasp without the need for pictures.  Once the mold is completed, the four sections of the mold are separated from the clay sculpture, the clay is removed, and the mold is cleaned to remove any remaining clay fragments.  At the point the original clay sculpture is essentially destroyed.  The interior of the mold is now a negative image of the original sculpture.  The four sections of the mold are now reassembled.  A special casting wax is melted and poured into the mold.  It is swished around to create a thickness of about three eights of an inch.  When the wax has cooled and solidified, the mold is again taken apart, revealing a positive wax copy of the original clay sculpture.

 The wax positive after removal of the mold

You’ll notice that there are “fins” along parts of the wax sculpture.  These are called “flashing” and occur where two sections of the mold meet.  The next step is to remove the flashing.  In addition to the flashing, there are typically small areas that may have bubbles or other imperfections from the wax casting.  These areas are also repaired in a process called “chasing.”  Chasing continues until the wax casting exactly resembles the original. 

Wax positive with flashing and imperfections repaired

The next step is to add a pouring cup and pouring gates to the wax positive.  To explain the purpose of these, I’ll jump ahead a bit.  The wax positive will eventually be covered in a heat-proof ceramic shell.  The shell will be heated to a high temperature and the wax will be melted from the ceramic shell.  This again will create a negative of the original sculpture.  Molten bronze will be poured into this shell to create the final bronze piece.  However, in order for the bronze to flow properly to all sections of the sculpture “gates” have to be added.  The red sections you see in the following photo are red wax gates.  These are all connected at the bottom of the photo to a “pouring cup.”  Eventually, this will be turned upside down and the bronze will be poured into the pouring cup, flow along the lines of the gates and fill the sculpture.

 Wax positive with gates and pouring cup added

 Wax positive with gates and pouring cup added

 You may notice that a piece has been removed from the forehead of the baby.  This is necessary so air can flow freely through the piece when the ceramic shell is applied.  I’ll explain this in more detail in the next step.  The section that was removed from the forehead can be seen attached to the gate on the right side of the above photo.  This piece will also be cast, and ultimately welded back into place after casting.

 Gated wax positive with some of the shell added

 It is now time to add the ceramic shell.  The shell consists of two parts: a liquid slurry and a silica sand.  First, the wax positive is dipped in the slurry and then it is coated with a fine textured silica sand.  This is allowed to dry, and this is where the hole in the forehead comes in.  Without the hole, the drying time would be very long and it would not be possible to inspect the inside of the piece to ensure that the slurry was dry.  Once the first coat has dried, the piece is again dipped in the slurry this time, however, the piece is coated with a coarser silica sand.  The first coat is finer so that all of the detail of the sculpture can be captured.  The ensuing coats are coarser to provide strength.  Again, the second slurry coat is allowed to dry.  The process is repeated until the wax is covered with six coats of the slurry, sand combination. 

 When the piece is completely dry, it is placed into a “burn-out” furnace at 1,600 degrees.  Most of the wax melts out of the shell.  However, to ensure that no wax remains the piece is kept in the furnace for half an hour to completely burn out any wax that remains.  In the photo below, the flames at the top of the furnace are from the burning wax.

The burn-out furnace in action

Now the fun begins.  While the burn-out furnace is running, bronze ingots are placed into a crucible and heated to 2,100 degrees in a crucible furnace.  When the bronze is at temperature, the shell is removed from the burn-out furnace and placed into a pouring rack with the pouring cup facing up.  In the following video clip, you can see the crucible being removed from the crucible furnace, and the molten bronze being poured into three different shells.  You may notice that the shell is now white instead of yellow.  This color change occurs when the shell is subjected to the high heat of the burn-out furnace.

 

Video Clip of Bronze Pour

When the bronze has cooled, most of the ceramic shell is chipped away from the bronze casting.

Bronze sculpture with the shell removed

However, many small sections of ceramic shell still remain.  These are removed with a sand blaster.  You’ll notice that the gates and pouring cup are still attached to the final sculpture.  The next step is to cut these from the sculpture.

Sculpture with gates still attached

It is now time to “chase,” or clean up, the sculpture.  I’m sorry, but I don’t have any photos of this process.  However, the chasing process is as follows.  First, the section removed from the forehead is welded back into place.  Any bubbles or other voids are also welded and filled in at this time.  The welds are then ground down as are the remaining nibs left from the removal of the gates.  All these surfaces are then worked with files, grinders, and an assortment of other tools so the texture blends in with the areas surrounding it.  Any areas of flashing or other imperfections are also reworked so the surface identically matches the original clay sculpture.

 Finally, the sculpture is sand-blasted, and a patina is applied.  The last step is to heat the sculpture and apply a coat of wax to seal and protect the surface.

The final sculpture with patina applied and sitting on a cement pillow

And that’s it.  Many steps and a lot of work, but the end result is a sculpture that will last much longer than a mere lifetime.  If you have any questions about the process, please contact me.

 

Does Subject Matter Alone Qualify as a Consistent Body of Work?

In my last blog posting, I discussed what is typically considered a “consistent body of work.”  For most art critics and gallerists, consistency generally refers to the recognizability of an artist’s work.  This relates to the artist maintaining a consistency of style, color schemes, process, form, degree of abstractionism and other elements.  My own work consists of five separate series.  Within each series there is a consistency that is easily recognizable.  However, the series themselves vary wildly from one to another.  Here is an example from three of the series to illustrate the range of styles and other criteria between each series.

 

 “Disparity”

Organic Aluminum series

 

“Canopic Jar”

Artifacts From a Former World series

  

" Confined Man”

Figurative series

Obviously, the three series differ from one another.  But, within each series the sculptures have enough similar elements that each of the three series could be considered a consistent body of work. 

 However, I’ve created a sixth series, titled “It’s About Time.”  In this series, my goal was not to arrive at a consistent look and feel to each piece but to explore my fascination with the concept of time.  Ever since I can remember, time has been a vast puzzlement to me.  And now, as I’ve gotten older, this puzzlement has only increased.  When I look in the mirror at a white-headed man, it’s hard to imagine that this aging presence had once been a cute little baby.  In fact, my first sculpture in the series, “I’ll Never Understand Time,” was created to explore this very thought.  The work juxtaposes a baby’s body, based on an actual photo of me as an infant, with my current head.   

 

 “I’ll Never Understand Time”

  

Original photo composite for “I’ll Never Understand Time”

With this sculpture as a beginning, I began further exploring the concept of time.  In the series, I wanted to portray the changes and dissolution that are the result of the passing years.  Sculptures in the series are of two types.  The first group consists of self-portraits based upon the idea of time, such as “I’ll Never Understand Time,” and “I’ll Never Understand Time II,” which depicts a head of the present me with the head of me at about seven years old.

 

“I’ll Never Understand Time II”

Other works in the series, like “As Sure as Death and Taxes,” incorporate materials from my daily life in order to fix a period of time into a tangible form.  This particular piece consists of tax forms and returns from the year of my retirement combined with a wooden coffin made from leftover beech flooring from when I refloored my office.

 

 “As Sure as Death and Taxes”

 Another piece in the series that consists of items from my everyday life is “It Will All Come Out in the Wash.”  This piece is composed of dryer lint that I collected for a year attached to a section of log from an apricot tree in my back yard.

 

“It Will All Come Out in the Wash”

As you can see, the pieces in this series are very stylistically different from one another and appear to have no commonality other that being based on the concept of time.  For gallerists and art critics who often insist on consistency, these works would not be considered part of the same series.  However, because of the mutual theme that underlies all the pieces, I do consider it a consistent series.  As I’ve said, oftentimes, pieces in the series are based on materials that have been a part of my daily life; and I’ve used these materials to help anchor myself to that period of time.  Since the materials, themselves, differ so greatly, it seems only natural to sculpturally incorporate them in a way that would seem most fitting to the material.  This would enhance the consistency of the theme of time but would result in a series that would not be classically considered a consistent body of work.

So, what’s the consensus?  Would you consider the series “It’s About Time” a consistent body of work or not?  I’m curious to hear what you think.

 

 Why a Consistent Body of Work?

In the art world there is often talk of the desirability and necessity of a “consistent body of work.” This simply means that the output of an individual artist, regardless of the medium, be recognizable as the work of that specific artist. Thus, an art patron could easily recognize this painting as the work of Piet Mondrian even if she had never seen this particular piece.

"Composition A" Piet Mondrian

Do you know what sculptor created this piece?

 "Recumbent Figure" Henry Moore

I, personally, had never seen this sculpture before, but I immediately recognized it as the work of Henry Moore, the famous English sculptor.

These two examples highlight what is meant by a consistent body of work. Their style, color schemes, shape, form, degree of abstractionism, and additional elements are consistent with other works in the artist’s oeuvre.

Most artists create a body of work around subject matters, methods, styles, and further criteria about which they feel passion. In doing so, they give themselves the opportunity of exploring and experimenting with those artistic factors that most inspire them. They also gain the additional benefit of gaining greater technical proficiency in their chosen media.

Often students, novices, or emerging artists try on a variety of artistic “hats” as they seek to find that which most speaks to them. However, after this beginning phase, the majority of artists (and almost all professional artists) settle in to creating a consistent body of work by which they are recognized.

But is this necessary? The preponderance of gallery owners would say “yes.” These gallerists spent a lot of time promoting the artists they represent and developing relationships with clients who are drawn to the work of individual artists. If the artist were to frequently change their style, the gallerist would have to repeat the process again and again at a cost of both time and money. Thus, most galleries see a consistent body of work as a necessary criterion to carrying the work of an individual artist. In fact, I’ve heard a few gallerists state that consistency and passion are even more important than creativity or skill in making sales.

While I fully believe in the concept of a consistent body of work, I personally find it hard to be constrained to any one style. As I began sculpting, I worked on small, table-top sculptures made of acid-stained cement with a rich textural surface such as “Burning Sun” and “Burnt Offering.”

   "Burning Sun" from "Artifacts from a Former World"

 "Burnt Offering" from "Artifacts from a Former World"

These two pieces and others I created definitely fit the criterion of a consistent body of work. However, as time passed, I wanted to explore other styles, such as figurative work. I considered my first works a separate series that I called “Artifacts from a Former World,” and began work on a second series (or, if you will, a second body of work), “Heads and Hands.”

 "Man with Hands by Face" from "Heads and Hands"

 "Bearded Man" from "Heads and Hands"

To date I have begun work on five different series of sculptures. Within each series of sculptures, the work is consistent and recognizable as being from that specific series. However, the series themselves vary from one to the other. Unlike most artists who move from one series to the next, I find that I still continue to work on all my series. I find interest and passion in each series and want to continue exploring the allure that each holds for me. Thus, I am still working on the “Artifacts from a Former World” series that I began over a decade ago. 

This may not be a path that is taken by most artists, and probably not advised by most gallerists. However, for me it seems to be a path that fits my own passions, creativity, and need for variety while still adhering to the definition of a “consistent body of work.”

 If you have any thoughts on the subject, I would love to hear from you.

In my next blog posting I will talk about a sixth series I have recently begun. This series, “It’s About Time,” is based not on the general consensus of what constitutes a body of work but is, instead, based on a unifying theme that overlies all of the sculptures within the series. The theme of time.

The Meaning of Art

"Silence" by Dan Woodard

I am often amazed and sometimes impressed by artists who can succinctly talk about why they create art and what their goals and intents are.  They can talk at length about what they had in mind when creating a particular piece, what message they wanted to convey, what they wanted the viewer to experience, or what their emotional or philosophical intent was.  For myself, I find that I usually begin the creative process as though my mind were a blank slate.  Naturally, I’m aware of what I am about to produce, but I’m generally not aware of what this piece means to me; let alone what it’s meaning will be.  Rather, I continue with the process, refining and defining the sculpture as I proceed.  Perhaps, the meaning comes to me during the course of creation.  However, usually it is only after I have completed a piece that I find personal meaning in it.  And sometimes it is only after I have finished several sculptures that I realize they are all representative of a single theme.  For me, the process is more intuitive than intellectual.  But by no means am I attributing a value of one way of working to another.  In fact, I admire and often envy those who have a definite message in mind when creating. 

Having created several bodies of both figurative and abstract work, I realize that my own work falls into two broad—and diametrically opposed—categories:  alienation and complete union.  I would have to say that the majority of my abstract pieces, such as “Golden Offering”, exhibit a sense of alienation.  My series, “Artifacts From a Former World,” to which this piece belongs, depicts the artifacts and ritualistic objects from an unknown and former world.  They represent the remnants of a society that has long since vanished.  About as alienated as one could get.

"Burnt Offering" by Dan Woodard

After completing several figurative pieces and standing back and looking at the series as a whole, I discovered that the majority of the men, such as “Silence” and “Anguished Man with a Broken Nose,” were on the alienation end of the spectrum.  While the women, “Ariadne’ and “Ester” for example, showed pregnant women.  The far end of the complete union category.  I further noticed that my males were generally titled with a description of their condition, while the women were given real names.  This is all incredibly interesting to me and has led me to explore the subconscious reasoning for my depictions of men versus women.  

"Ester" by Dan Woodard

So, on the one hand we have the intention of the artist and their message, whether it be conscious or subconscious.  But, on the other hand there is an equally powerful force, the perspective of the viewer.  And, since everyone’s perspective is different, the messages derived from a creative work are as varied as the number of viewers.  Each individual has their own sense of what a particular work of art “means” to them.  And each person adds their own background, personality, experiences, current mental state of mind and on, and on to arrive at this meaning.  And that’s good.  In fact, it’s one of the wonderful aspects of art...the viewer comes to her own relationship to the art sometimes totally independent of what the artist intended.  And all of the meanings or relationships that one has with a particular piece of art are valid—even if they are not what the artist intended.  Marcel Duchamp summed this view up when he said:  “The artist only has fifty percent of the responsibility.”

After hearing people’s reactions to my work I am often led to look at it in a new and different way.  And as a result of this process, I, myself, learn more about my art and about my subconscious creative impulses.  It’s an exciting and wonderful process.  A process that is very therapeutic and gives me a better understanding of myself.

Creativity and Chance

 Art loves chance and chance loves art.

Aristotle

"Marion 3.0" by Dan Woodard

In my last blog, I talked about what I believe are two important elements of creativity:  1)  creativity comes not from our conscious mind but from a source beyond it; and 2) creativity is deeply connected with a sense of play.  In this posting, I will discuss what I believe is the third element of creativity:  chance.

Most people would probably not consider chance to be an aspect of creativity since it definitely does not occur through any intent of the individual but rather from a mistake, an accident, or simply happenstance.  However, I believe it is what one does with the chance occurrence that makes it an aspect of creativity.  Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert stated:  “Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes.  Art is knowing which ones to keep.”  Whether it’s creating a work of art, working on a scientific research project, or designing a building, one is faced with a multitude of choices.  The conscious part of the creative act is selecting which of these choices one should follow.  As a sculptor, I must decide:  “Do I make the nose longer, wider, aquiline, straight, and on, and on.”  As I continue to make these choices, I often discover that some of my previous choices do not support ensuing choices.  I then must go back and take a different direction to make the piece work as a whole.  In the same way, a scientist will make certain choices as to the direction she should proceed.  Sometimes these choices will lead to the desired results, but more often they will not.  The scientist must then go back to make other choices that will hopefully lead to a solution to the problem.  During this creative process, both for the artist and the scientist, chance occurrences often present themselves.  And the opportunity presented by chance is yet another choice.  The choice being, “Do I accept this, reject it, or learn from it?”  Just because we ourselves have not participated in the element of chance does not mean that it is not a viable route to our desired end (even if we may not yet know what that end is). 

Alexander Fleming is generally given credit for the discovery of penicillin.  However, this ‘discovery’ was based on the ‘chance’ observation by several scientists who preceded him.  One of these was Louis Pasteur who studied the growth of the anthrax bacilli.  When his samples were accidentally contaminated with mold, the growth of the cultures was inhibited.  He correctly interpreted this chance event and surmised that the mold itself had a negative effect on the growth of the anthrax.  This lead to his famous quote:  “In the fields of observation chance favors only the prepared mind.”

I’d now like to look at a few examples of my own work to demonstrate how chance played a large role in their creation.  “Marion 3.0,” as shown at the top of this posting, was originally designed to be a solid bust of a woman.  However, the casting was faulty and a gaping hole was left in the piece.  I was just about to toss it away, when I realized that I really liked the effect.  The location of the hole was such that, for me, a great deal of originally non-intended meaning was added to the piece.  I considered my options and decided to finish the outside and inside of the casting with diametrically different finishes to arrive at the final sculpture.  She was thus born of chance.

"Gorgon" by Dan Woodard

 “Gorgon” is another of my pieces that was the result of chance.  The head of “Gorgon” was originally made for another sculpture.  But, after completing the sculpture, I felt the head, then without hair, was too small and cut it off.  This head lay in my studio for quite some time.  I still wanted to use it but wasn’t quite sure how.  Then one day, I held the head in my hand, turned it this way and that and wondered, “Now, what can I do with this?”  Suddenly, I realized, “Wow, I like the way the head fits my hand so comfortably.”  I then sculpted a hand to hold the head and created hair to flow around the hand.  It is now one of my favorite pieces.

Many of us believe that creativity does not arise from the conscious mind.  Some say it comes from a ‘muse,’ the creative impulse, the subconscious, a universal creative force, God...but wherever it comes from, couldn’t that force also be controlling the chance occurrences that present themselves to us?  As I’ve heard many people say, “There’s no such thing as an accident.”