2015 - First Person: About Touching Art
October's Third Friday at 78th St. Studios was sensational as usual!
A sculptor by trade, I work alone, and look forward to meeting the minds behind the new faces that pop in to see my work each month. People are treasures and invariably there's a lesson to learn, but only IF I'm careful to listen for it.
A sculptor by trade, I work alone, and look forward to meeting the minds behind the new faces that pop in to see my work each month. People are treasures and invariably there's a lesson to learn, but only IF I'm careful to listen for it.
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Children are uncommon gallery visitors, and while it may be defensively safer to view them as little bulls, I prefer to approach them gently with the reverence and respect they deserve. It's much easier for me to honor that inclination if kids have been taught to respect what they see by keeping their hands off. Sounds simple, right?
But what happens if we as curators are called upon to stop a collision of hands and art? What do we say? When I was a kid, someone always seemed to be wagging their finger in my face. (I deserved it.) At retail, strategically placed signs read: "If you break it, you bought it", "Hands Off", and the more ominous and uninviting, "Ask for Help." Unfortunately, little kids aren't stopped by signs, even if they can read.
An emphatic "Don't Touch" is clear enough, but nobody wants to say it. And everybody hates to hear it. Touchers who are old enough to know better will feign shock, plead ignorance and look you right in the eye saying they couldn't resist the irresistible, while tacitly resenting your interference. "Don't Touch" shoots from the hip and gets the job done, but it leaves everbody cold.
Maybe there's a better way.
The answer came from a young woman who was carrying a toddler and managed two more kids under six who hurried alongside. Full of enthusiasm, they rushed into the gallery and descended on my sculpture like ants at a picnic. I moved closer, we exchanged pleasantries and I honored their boundaries by observing unnoticed, across the room. Did mom have control? Yes. She did. My heart was glad and I applauded her style.
Neither of the kids at her side reached out to touch. Not once! They studied and pointed and gestured and queried but made no attempt to handle the work. Impossible, I thought. How can this be? How had this young mother instilled such respect in these very small, naturally impulsive people?
Suddenly, the babe in arms wobbled, folded sideways, swiped at a sculpture and missed by a mile. Clearly, mom had everything under control. My heart skipped a beat.
She took both of the little one's hands in one of hers, and pulled the wide-eyed girl's face close. Pointing first to her own eyes, then to the child's, and finally to the object of the child's attention, mom in her wisdom, taught me what to say.
Squeezing those small fingers, she whispered, "Art....we touch it with our eyes."
But what happens if we as curators are called upon to stop a collision of hands and art? What do we say? When I was a kid, someone always seemed to be wagging their finger in my face. (I deserved it.) At retail, strategically placed signs read: "If you break it, you bought it", "Hands Off", and the more ominous and uninviting, "Ask for Help." Unfortunately, little kids aren't stopped by signs, even if they can read.
An emphatic "Don't Touch" is clear enough, but nobody wants to say it. And everybody hates to hear it. Touchers who are old enough to know better will feign shock, plead ignorance and look you right in the eye saying they couldn't resist the irresistible, while tacitly resenting your interference. "Don't Touch" shoots from the hip and gets the job done, but it leaves everbody cold.
Maybe there's a better way.
The answer came from a young woman who was carrying a toddler and managed two more kids under six who hurried alongside. Full of enthusiasm, they rushed into the gallery and descended on my sculpture like ants at a picnic. I moved closer, we exchanged pleasantries and I honored their boundaries by observing unnoticed, across the room. Did mom have control? Yes. She did. My heart was glad and I applauded her style.
Neither of the kids at her side reached out to touch. Not once! They studied and pointed and gestured and queried but made no attempt to handle the work. Impossible, I thought. How can this be? How had this young mother instilled such respect in these very small, naturally impulsive people?
Suddenly, the babe in arms wobbled, folded sideways, swiped at a sculpture and missed by a mile. Clearly, mom had everything under control. My heart skipped a beat.
She took both of the little one's hands in one of hers, and pulled the wide-eyed girl's face close. Pointing first to her own eyes, then to the child's, and finally to the object of the child's attention, mom in her wisdom, taught me what to say.
Squeezing those small fingers, she whispered, "Art....we touch it with our eyes."