Harry Bertoia in his studio
Wild About Harry
by Joan K. Smith
A Philadelphia woman is devoted to archiving the
work of artist Harry Bertoia
|
|
Wild About Harry
|
|
this article originally appeared in the March 15, 2001 issue of the Philadelphia City Paper. Reproduced with permission. Mary Thorp speaks with a mystical reverence of her self-assigned life mission, a mission that her business card, which simply calls her a "Historian," scarcely hints at. Guided by what she terms "divine inspiration," her self-initiated project is to produce a definitive catalogue raisonne of the works of the outrageously prolific artist/designer/modern icon Harry Bertoia. Indeed, the way this particular field of research began has all the markings of a religious awakening. Although the seeds had been planted much earlier, she says her project began on May 20,1998 (yes, she cites this exact date — she has an uncanny knack for remembering the dates of pivotal life experiences, and she peppers these dates through her recollections like so many adjectives). She was discussing with her partner, Pascal, what she would do with a recently acquired inheritance after the death of her mother, and nothing seemed quite significant enough. A designer working in fibers and clothing, she could have used the money for her business but says, "I wanted to do something special that would honor my parents’ memory, and not just disappear." Suddenly, as she describes it, "this inspiration came out of the heavens as if divinely sent to me, and out of the blue I announced that I was going to buy a Harry Bertoia sculpture." Within two weeks she had a 4-inch high abstract metal sculpture that had been in Bertoia’s home for years. Now, this event wouldn’t be exceptional if
it had simply ended with the acquisition of a work of art. But this first
procurement turned into something of an obsession, a desire to search
out more works by Bertoia. "I said to Pascal, ‘You know, I could
spend the rest of my life looking for these things,’ and he said
‘There are people who do this, why don’t you compile a catalogue
raisonne?’ So I went to the Bertoia studio [in Bally, PA] and found
there was very little existing documentation." Thorp relates that Francois Gilot — yes, that Francois Gilot, the artist Pablo Picasso’s ex, mother of Paloma, and just one of many extraordinary people the Bertoia project has brought Thorp into contact with — told her that her task was impossible, being that many pieces had probably been destroyed, and that she should instead focus her intention on writing a monograph. In spite of this, Thorp persevered, and she laughs about how strange coincidences and twists of fate have assisted her in tracking down owners of undocumented Bertoia works: "I’m a Bertoia magnet!" Still, Thorp’s task is not a simple one. The Italian-born Bertoia, who died in 1978 at the age of 63, is believed to have created close to 6,000 works of art, which at this point are literally scattered across the world. Complicating the project is the fact that almost none of Bertoia’s pieces were signed. Establishing the provenance of a Bertoia piece, unless it was a well-known public commission or production object, lies at the end of a trail of first-hand anecdotes from aging people across the globe. Interestingly, leaving his works unsigned was something Bertoia did quite consciously, according to Thorp: "He made a statement about why he didn’t sign things, that if it’s meant to last, it’ll last — he wanted the things he made to be appreciated for what they were, not for his name." And Thorp is the first to acknowledge the inherent contradiction of Bertoia’s philosophy in her studious documentation of his work. "In a way, this could be seen as against Harry’s wishes. But to identify and preserve these pieces will allow them to live on past our lifetimes, and keep his history from disappearing." This is even more significant if you consider that today many people only know of Bertoia through his seminal mid-century modern furniture designs for Knoll (perhaps most notably the wire mesh Diamond Chair, an immediately recognizable icon that unites a simple, streamlined form with engineering virtuosity). But few outside of the art and design realm realize that Bertoia considered his furniture design to be merely a financially rewarding byproduct of his work as a sculptor, painter, and printmaker. Bertoia created his most significant works out of a converted barn studio in Bally, PA, under an unusual, Medici-esque arrangement with the Knoll Associates design firm: In 1950 Florence Knoll and her husband Hans set him up in the converted barn, just five miles from their company headquarters and essentially let him do whatever he pleased, without contractual obligation to produce anything, but with the hope that his explorations in sculpture would eventually yield something relevant to furniture or interior design. The enlightened partnership was fruitful for both parties. Bertoia’s designs for Knoll helped the firm gain international recognition. Bertoia, notwithstanding his classification of furniture design as a source for food, recognized an essential relationship between his functional designs for Knoll and his sculpture, in which the ethereal element of space was considered the principal medium. In discussing the wire mesh chairs in 1953 he said, "If you will look at these chairs you will find that they are mostly made of air, just like sculpture… space passes right through them… once you get down to it the chairs are studies in space, form and metal, too." By the 1960s Bertoia’s lyrical yet scientifically pragmatic approach to sculpture led him to explore an even more ethereal element — sound. Legend has it that he experienced an aesthetic epiphany when he accidentally struck a metal rod while bending it, creating an appealing resonance; but however he came upon the idea of adding this new dimension to his sculpture, he took to it with a vengeance, exploring the sonic qualities of various metal alloys, both alone and in combination. The resulting "sounding pieces" or "Sonambients" — often comprised of variations of metal rods and cylinders and designed to work with air flow and touch to produce a variety of sounds — went beyond mere kineticism, and occupy an interesting place in the world of abstract sculpture in that the incorporeal, namely space and sound, were the focus. Not surprisingly, it was the sound that hooked Mary Thorp. In fact, 20 years ago she had encountered a Bertoia sounding sculpture for the first time, and she says the gut emotion it evoked was the precisely the same feeling that came over her when she experienced her "divine inspiration" two years ago. She feels these pieces can appeal to different people on varying experiential levels: "These sounds are all universal sounds, and human beings are essentially energy, each being attracted to different people, food, art, clothes — it all has to do with the vibration each of us embodies, so [Bertoia’s] sounds touch upon these different vibrations." In speaking to Thorp, it’s difficult not to get caught up in her exhilaration. "It’s an extraordinary adventure, my life has literally altered. That first tonal sculpture I heard touched me in my heart and has never left." Will Thorp’s project ever end? Probably not. To date she has succeeded in documenting roughly 2,000 pieces, and has set up a web site with some essential information about the artist as well as a form for collectors to "register" Bertoia pieces they know of or own. She sees the catalogue raisonne — which, due to the sheer number of pieces documented, will probably have to be issued as a multi-volume resource, divided into categories — as being just the framework for much more expansive study. Thorp hopes to convene a symposium, or as she terms it "a Bertoia reunion," in Philadelphia this fall — preferably at the Annenberg Center’s Zellerbach Theatre, the lobby of which is graced with a hanging Bertoia sculpture commissioned in the ’70s. Asked to sum up her project Thorp says, "Really, the intention of this project is to love Harry." Which is one hell of a tribute to a hardworking immigrant artist who, by most accounts, never sought the spotlight, much less immortal fame. For additional information on Harry Bertoia and this
project, visit Mary Thorp's Harry Bertoia Research Project web site: Joan K. Smith is an artist, freelance writer, and
Associate Director of InLiquid.com return to InLiquid's Commentary section index © 2001 Joan K. Smith and the Philadelphia City Paper; image copyrigh t© HarryBertoia Research Project |
|
|||||||||||
