21 | Artist profile: Ted Larsen

Solo Exhibition | Ted Larsen from March 8- April 15, 2025 | opening night Saturday March 8, 2025 6-9

Short Stack, 2025

Salvage Steel, Marine-grade Plywood, Silicone

Vulcanized Rubber, Vinyl Spackle, Hardware

5 3/4 x 7 1/2 x 5 1/4 inches

Career Narrative | Ted Larsen

My life has been a kaleidoscope. As a child raised in rural southwestern Michigan on the shores of the Great Lakes, I explored the natural world just outside my back door. I built forts in the sand dunes behind our house, climbed trees and swam in Lake Michigan. My father owned a large commercial orchid greenhouse and I also spent a good bit of time exploring the boiler and mechanical rooms. It was heaven for a curious and adventurous young boy.

The combination of activities formed an enduring interest for me; the natural world offset by the man-made world of machines. By the time I was a teenager my parents had moved us to Santa Fe, New Mexico. There a collision of cultures—Anglo, Hispanic, and Native American—pushed the range of my mind even further. Right before moving my father joined my mother in her field of work: artist. They thought moving to Santa Fe would offer many advantages for their work while also providing a more restful place to raise my sister and me than a bustling urban environment. It proved to be just that. After the initial culture shock, I again found my footing by exploring the natural world in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains just outside of Santa Fe, as well as exploring the stunning array of archaeological sites throughout the area.

"Purity comes from distillation. Through a process of removal, things become more clear. What is removed can be as important as what remains." - Ted Larsen, April 2020

Big Town, 2024

Salvage Steel, Marine-grade Plywood, Silicone,

Vulcanized Rubber, Hardware

9 1/2 x 13 1/4 x 2 1/4 inches

The qualities of nature co-existing with human made creations, such as architecture, suspension bridges crossing huge gorges, and the remnants of the Cold War in Los Alamos, again came together in a fascinating way for me. In many ways my early academic career was perfunctory. I read what was proposed, wrote what was required, and worked well enough to be regarded as a better than average student. Along with the rote academic curriculum, I fortunately had teachers who fostered in me a relentless curiosity about the nature of things. Over time these questions formed the basis of how I would approach the world.

By the time I graduated from university it was abundantly clear that my passion was in creative endeavors. I graduated from Northern Arizona University with honors, having majored in Geology and Art. I was given an exhibition of my college-level art at the university art museum in 1986, and quickly made advances in the work which resulted in my first real exhibition at the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 1987 at age 22. The basis of my studio work was a painted exploration of the natural world. As had been the case throughout my childhood, I was drawn to places of beauty, but mostly places where the beauty of the natural world existed alongside the alterations of man. Over the next 15 years this was my path and I tirelessly honed my practice with a reductive eye, allowing just the most important aspects of these places into the composition. The work became reductive and spare, which allowed for greater interpretation. I exhibited this work quite successfully and to critical acclaim during this 15 years.

Boxed Out, 2024

Salvage Steel, Silicone, Rivets

12 x 10 x 8 inches

Toward my mid- thirties, without a full understanding of why, I felt restless and was not satisfied with my work. In the late 1990’s I began experimenting with new and different materials, than an event of monumental impact occurred. Watching the Twin Towers collapse on television, over and over, I abandoned painting entirely as I had known it. Up to that point, my work had always referenced things outside of myself, relating to the natural world. In a sense it was a form a simulacra. Watching the disastrous events of 9/11 take place on a TV codified something new for me. I no longer wanted to make work which referenced something or was about something other than itself. No more artifice, just purity. It wasn’t seeing the events happening that shaped this new idea, it was rather in how I saw them—on a TV.

I continued these new explorations with increasing reductive inclinations, and slowly developed a new pathway. There were many epistemological and aesthetic considerations which have informed me along the way. With a Post-minimalist interest in the expressive qualities of materials, an abiding love of natural materials, how they might encounter industrial materials, and the interdependency between them, I made my first truly reductive work within a year of 9/11. I called them objects as they felt like hybrids between painting and sculpture, but were neither. This is still the basis of my current work. As successful and rewarding as my previous work had been, this new work would take me on a journey I could not have anticipated or loved more.

Rubber Bumper, 2024

Salvage Steel, Marine-grade Plywood, Silicone,

Vulcanized Rubber, Hardware, Rubber Bumper

5 1/4 x 3 1/2 x 2 1/4 inches

Since 2001 I have had over150 exhibitions of the new work with extraordinary critical success. One of the issues I had faced as a painter was making surfaces and qualities in the painting which felt like landscape. Unburdened by representation, I now wrestled with how to make things which were real to themselves. My first discovery was using pre-painted materials. They we real to themselves. They needed no simulation for effect. The pre-painted surface also allowed me a way to appropriate paint conceptually as my “own paint.” I reject the brush, but not painting itself. Metaphorically these pre-painted surfaces also allow me to reference art history, one of my abiding loves. Of the many things which High Minimalism taught me, its use of serialized repetitious form and modular structures which imply infinite reiteration have proven quite important to my work.

I often work within a unit system in which I create geometric building blocks, and by ordering them or placing them in different positions relative to one another, they create new patterns beyond the original units. By covering them with the pre-painted material they become shaped “paintings.” Because these objects inhabit the wall, a place traditionally occupied by painting, they reference painting, and yet function beyond that. Sculpture holds the possibility of magic; things can appear or disappear depending on where you stand in relation to the work.

Brief Survey, 2024

Salvage Steel, Marine-grade Plywood, Silicone,

Vulcanized Rubber, Hardware

10 1/2 x 6 1/2 x 2 1/4 inches

Painting doesn’t function like this; no matter where you stand, the piece will always look essentially the same. I love the absolute quality of painting and the endless possibilities of seeing sculpture poses. One of the many things my work addresses is where painting ends and where sculpture begins. I am involved with hybridizing them to see what possibilities can emerge. The works I create are intended to supply commentary on minimalist belief systems and the ultimate importance of High Art practice. It is my aim to bring purist shapes and surfaces back down to earth. Another important aspect of my ongoing experimentation with my hybrids deals with context and scale. It is my perception that context and content are always in conversation. It is not possible to isolate one from the other without changing the meaning of the work. Therefore, placement of the work is critical to seeing and understanding the work. Scale is another critical aspect in determining meaning.

My work is generally small, typically not much wider than my shoulders and often considerably smaller. Standing in the great history of makers of pure abstraction, I hope to be humble in the advocation of my work and honor those who have traveled this path before me. By making work which is small in scale but grand in conceptual stature, I hope to honor my aesthetic heroes and challenge the notion of small work’s visual impact in context: small work on a large wall—made to hold the wall because of the strength of its presence. All of these ingredients come together in the work to create a pleasing formality and visual elegance while challenging modernist purity.

Carrot Top, 2024

Salvage Steel, Marine-grade Plywood, Silicone,

Vulcanized Rubber, Hardware

7 1/2 x 6 1/4 x 2 1/4 inches

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Find Ted on instagram

20 | Artist profile: Tom Martinelli

Installation view studio light | space Untitled (SeqOrbs) [TM.0452] 2023 Acrylic on canvas 45 x 30 in. 

Photo: Logan Havens

Tom Martinelli was born and raised in New York City, receiving his BFA from the School of Visual Arts and his MFA from Hunter College. He has been exhibiting his work since the late 80’s. Some of the venues include White Columns Gallery, David Richard Gallery NY/Santa Fe, Paula Cooper Gallery, James Graham and Sons, Pierogi, the Brooklyn Museum, The MAC, Dallas; the Carnegie Museum; Tom Solomon's Garage, LA CA; Norte Maar, Brooklyn NY. He recently had a mini-retrospective at the Wright Contemporary in Taos, NM.

He’s been the recipient of two Pollock-Krasner Foundation grants as well as a New York Foundation for the Arts grant. Numerous fellowships and residencies include Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, the Elizabeth Foundation, Yaddo, Millay Colony and Tyrone Guthrie Center, Ireland. Tom has taught at Hunter College, the New School and Yale University. He arrived in New Mexico from New York in 2006.

Tom is a devoted student of meditation and has spent long periods of time in meditation retreats. Many of his works have a transcendent, contemplative aura.

“I’ve often trusted, even welcomed what comes unsought. Sensitivity to that

has been an important part of life….”

Santa Fe Studio interior detail 2024 Photo: Tom Martinelli

What’s your earliest memory of an encounter with art or design? 

My early memories are of making things. I don’t know what inspired the things I made as a child but most of my memories of grade school are the process of making something… like doing book reports in the form of a bound collection of drawn images or cutting colored paper. Lots of crayons. I’ve been told that as a child I would sit around and draw. I wish I had those drawings. They never made it into the archive. 

My maternal grandfather Felix, an immigrant from northern Italy near Milan, was the one who had the aesthetic sensibility. He was a very skilled craftsman… did jewelry work, tailoring, photography. He wanted nothing more for me than that I keep drawing and painting. As a child I was aware of the objects in my grandparents Astoria apartment - their design was different from the usual household things in other homes. He had a circular glass clock. I had never seen anything like it. Each hand was on a circular glass plate and each hand rotated independently from the other. You could see through the glass and take in the world at the same time. Very minimal, kind of old world futuristic. He once made me a 2 headed nickel by filing down the backsides of 2 nickels and wielding them together. It was just so odd and flawless and cool. I still regret having lost track of that gem. I likely confused it with the rest of the change in my pocket and spent it. Even their living room chairs were different. Everyone seemed to look better sitting in them. 

When I was a kid my father would take me to Chelsea to the offset print factory where he worked, usually on Saturdays. I had a fascination with the printing machinery and the off-registration print that the presses would spew out as they were being calibrated. To see an image separated into these 4 bright colors and then coming together to form something so different from their base elements was a small miracle to me. 

Untitled (SeqOrbs) [TM.0225] 2024 Acrylic on canvas 60 x 40 in. 

What was the cultural or creative make up of your family? Were you the “creative one” or was your family in the arts? 

My immediate family was a very working class. We lived in Queens. Not much interest in art or aesthetics. Lots of tv. Of course one can be working class and have a great affinity for aesthetic beauty but this wasn’t the case in the household. Yes, I was the “creative one” and Grandpa Felix kind of saved the day. 

When did you start making art, and what inspired you to pursue it as a vocation? 

I phased out of my early interest in making things when I went to a high school in the Bronx. It was very academic - heavy in science and mathematics… it didn't even offer a single art class. My favorite class was a technical drawing class. We would make schematic drawings of nuts and bolts and stuff like that. I loved it. After high school, due to parental pressure, I went to Queens College in NY but only for about 6 weeks and then I quit. My friends and I bought an old school bus at a NYC auction and took off on a year-long hippy/Ken Kesey bus trip. When I got back to NY I was 18 or 19 and found out I had cancer. Recovering after a long period of brutal surgery and treatments I decided to go back to school to study art. In the end it was the only thing I was really interested in.  

Work in progress in the Roswell studio | Photo: Tom Martinelli

What are some of the prevailing themes explored in your work? 

I tend to go a bit blank when the word ‘theme’ or ‘meaning’ comes up. I work with promptings and processes often having to do with repetition, with progressions, with slightly non-symmetrical symmetry (also known as perfect imperfection). These things can act as a stable element or as scaffolding in the painting. I usually start with a loosely conceived idea, not necessarily an articulated, targeted subject matter or end point but a way of moving through the painting, like a road map drawn on the back of a napkin. The current work uses a progression of Fibonacci numbers. They elicit for me a sense of an unfolding path or expansion. 

I love the color relationships in your work, can you describe how you arrive at the color palette for a painting (or series) 

I pivot off primary and secondary colors. There is a systematic approach at least as an entry point. I might define a color progression as going from close value, unsaturated color to high contrast, saturated color but it’s really in the spirit of a loose road trip and not a pursuit of perfection. The imagined endpoint gets me out the door. In the recent work I've focused more on color relationships than I have in the past. The color decisions in these works though have been quite difficult. I find that when I go down the path of color relationships everything becomes about the color. I’m working now on bringing back a sense of touch which has always been important to me. The physical body can make decisions that might differ from what the mind might want to do. 

Detail of the Roswell studio 2025 | Photo: Tom Martinelli

Installation view | Left:Untitled (SeqOrbs) [TM.0225] 2024 Acrylic on canvas 60 x 40 in. Right: Untitled (SeqOrbs) [TM.0478] 2024 Acrylic on canvas | Photo: Logan Havens

I noticed a red underpainting on the big black and white painting – is that something you often start with? (It’s interesting to see the underpainting bleed through) 

I usually start with a color (or colors) on the ground. It gives me something to respond to. I like the evidence that remains of what's underneath. Sometimes that little bit of exposed painting can be a portal to offer a viewer a way in. Abstraction sometimes reveals itself best by being asked questions and small bits of painting detail can be a starting point. I’ve had studio visits that begin with talking about a particular edge in a painting. 

If you care to, can you describe the templates that you have used and kept, and what you are thinking about using them? 

I’ve often worked with stencils and I apply paint through them with foam paint rollers. I use rollers more than brushes. I cut the stencils out of thin mylar sheets. I use a few different tools to cut them including circular punches and compasses designed for cutting circles. I started using stencils in the early 90’s to do the series of ‘dot’ paintings I worked on for a number of years. Back then a 6 x 6 ft. painting would have a corresponding 6 x 6 ft. stiff plastic sheet with holes punched in it. I spent as much time on the stencils back then as on the painting. It was a bit maniacal. Over the years I've accumulated a tonnage of stencils. I’ve always been reluctant to get rid of them. Some of the benefits of working with stencils is that they allow me to position a shape and move it around without outlining it. I can paint the shape with rollers. The form comes into being more quickly as a full form… for me more satisfying than outlining and filling in. Rollers also have their own responsiveness to touch and pressure and I like this. Early on I used to do house painting to earn money and I loved rolling out walls. 

You accept imperfection in your paintings, the incidental, which I appreciate – where does that acceptance come from? 

I’ve often trusted, even welcomed what comes unsought. Sensitivity to that has been an important part of life. Stencils and rollers can provide an environment for all kinds of wonderful bleeding and unanticipated edge leaks to occur. What might be seen as an accident can have a valid, even intelligent voice, often suggesting not a loss or a mistake but an addition to the story. Sometimes paint bleeding under a stencil offers a sense of ‘touch’ or a relatable kind of imperfection. It’s also a reminder that I’m not in control of everything and maybe don't I want to be. In my life some of the things I value most are things I have found. 

Martinelli in Santa Fe Studio

“

There is a systematic approach at least as an entry point. I might define a color progression as going from close value, unsaturated color to high contrast, saturated color but it’s really in the spirit of a loose road trip and not a pursuit of perfection.”

How has your practice evolved over the years? 

It seems to spiral back and forth in time as if I’m looking at the same things but with a different relationship to my own thoughts and feelings. In outward ways it’s withdrawn from theory and history and more a means of examining myself more deeply. I think too my thinking and experience of beauty has shifted. I’m not sure I can say more about this. 

What is one tool or object that you use daily (and how or why)? 

In the studio it’s usually a foam paint roller, masking tape, a stencil. In non-studio life it's a toothbrush. 

Please describe your new studio since moving to Roswell. How are you settling in there? 

I really like the new studio. Great light. Good space surrounding the studio. It feels both secure and expansive. It also has quite an historic lineage including Milton Resnick, Pat Passlof, Luis Jiménez and many others. It’s a registered historic landmark with a brass plaque on the door. I’ve been pretty lucky with studios since I got to New Mexico. My first couple years were spent in Agnes Martin’s studio in Galisteo NM. 

Finally, what’s inspiring you at the moment? 

I’m getting older so the awareness that the end of life is closer than it was yesterday - there's a certain amount of heat to this :) 

On different note, since he recently passed away, I have been revisiting and taking in David Lynch. Not just the work but his attitude, his spirit. I've been listening to his words and appreciating a deep trust he has in his process. He combines weirdness and sincerity and spontaneity and a subtle spiritual perspective. I like that he speaks about the place meditation has in his life. 

On yet another different note where I’m living there are these beautiful pecan tree groves - massive grids of trees. I spent time with them. And of course always and forever the spacious New Mexican sky. 

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Find Tom on instagram

19 | Artist profile: David Kimball

Throughout his forty-five-year career, David Kimball Anderson’s sculpture has been described as “a contemplation on the meaning of things that give beauty and pleasure.”

David Kimball Anderson has received a Pollack-Krasner Foundation Grant, three NEA Arts Fellowships, and a California State University Research Grant. His work is in the collections of: Albright Knox Gallery, Buffalo, NY, National Endowment for the Arts, the World Bank, Art in Embassies, Washington, DC, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco, CA, Oakland Museum, Oakland, CA, San Antonio Museum of Art, San Antonio, TX; New Mexico Museum of Art, Santa Fe, NM, Albuquerque Museum and the City of Albuquerque, NM. From 1967-1971, he sporadically attended the San Francisco Art Institute.

Studio interior detail 2025 |

Photo: rr jones

Hello David, can you start by sharing where you are at the moment and what you’ve been up to today?

Hi Beverly. I am in my studio, which is also home. Our modest Santa Cruz property consists of three separate structures. Our house is a 1910 farmhouse. My writer wife, Lis Bensley, has a cozy office in a renovated 1940’s era garage structure. I have a one-thousand square foot studio workspace on the property. Our commute to work is painless. We lunch together in the compound’s patio.  

What part of the country did you grow up? (urban/rural) and how did that impact your childhood?

In my early years, late-1940’s through mid-1950’s, I lived in Los Angeles. In 1959 we moved to Claremont, California, then a college town surrounded by citrus groves.  There are still seven colleges, but sadly, few citrus trees.

 Do you remember the first art or design object that impacted your imagination?

Like many Southern California teenagers, I was enthralled with the visuals and the physicality of hot rod culture. The cartoonist ‘Big Daddy’ Roth, Ed Roth, 1932-2001, was the illustrator of choice for many of us. Later, my high school art teacher, Geri Turner, a graduate student at the Claremont Graduate School, introduced me to the American ‘transcendentalist’ painter Morris Graves, whose animated images of animals and nature offered me a bridge between populist and contemporary art. 

 The drawings are intimate, “It’s not that they are private, nor less relevant to my overall studio work. It’s that they come at times of calm and without intention to exhibit. I will spend two or three weeks at my ‘clean’ table and make twenty or thirty pieces. “

Heat Points 1

Acrylic and ink on Rives BFK

15.5 x 22 inches

2024

You spent formative years in the San Francisco and Berkeley area, what was that era like? What stays with you from that time?

 Prior to moving to the Bay Area to attend the San Francisco Art Institute, I had the good fortune during my senior year of high school to enroll in life drawing classes at Scripps College and the then titled Los Angeles Art Center School, now the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena. I was encouraged by faculty at both schools to visit Los Angeles galleries and the Pasadena Art Museum. Walter Hopps was the curator at the Pasadena at that time. As a very young artist, a kid really, I saw many significant shows and exhibitions. Alan Kaprow at the Pasadena, Jay de Feo at the Ferus Gallery, Robert Smithson at Dwan. This was my foundation with which I arrived at SFAI.

 My Berkeley years began after an honorable discharge from the US Navy including one combat tour in Vietnam. Rather than return to SFAI full time, I opted out of the pursuit of degrees and began working full-time for the American ceramist/sculptor Peter Voulkos, assisting with the fabrication of his monumental bronzes. There were substantial benefits. Not the least of which was attention to my work from museum directors, curators and gallerists.

 This was a time of dramatic political and social awareness and action. It was also a time of accepted drug and alcohol abandon. The art world was still doggedly hanging on to the romance with alcohol. And other substances were becoming woven into the social mechanics of the art world. So, you ask what stays with me from that time? Most importantly, is the memory of the discomfort and embarrassment of acute alcoholism. I remain continually grateful for my good fortune to have had a remission of same in 1984.

Nutrient Points 2 | 2013 Acrylic and ink on Rives BFK 15 X 22” inches

 Even though you are most well-known for your sculpture, we loved showing your works on paper. How does that work emerge?

Thank you so much for your ‘discovery’ of my works on paper. I rarely exhibit these.  It’s not that they are private, nor less relevant to my overall studio work. It’s that they come at times of calm and without intention to exhibit. I will spend two or three weeks at my ‘clean’ table and make twenty or thirty pieces. I may not return to the works on paper for a year or more. Thus, they are not well known. Very few are consigned to galleries. They remain in my flat files, sometimes for years.

They are intimate works. A gallerist friend, Renato Danese, since passed, RIP, loved drawings. A number of Renato’s clients also loved works on paper. Some took his advice to refrain from framing their collection and, rather, have flat files installed in their homes. He would tell of gatherings of collectors when after dinner they would all don white gloves and open the drawers and be with the pieces intimately, no glass etc.  

Anderson’s work encompasses steel sculpture, photography (as documentation and installation) and drawings on paper

Detail of the studio 2025 | Photo: rr jones

What does your studio look like? Do you keep a journal or sketchbook?

My studio is barn-like. A wood frame structure. High ceilings. One big roll-up door facing south. And one very large white wall, 12’ x 36’, upon which nothing hangs, nor will it ever! Not even a push pin. It is utterly glorious. My stance drives my painter friends crazy.

Yes. I always have an active journal/sketchbook. But, like the works on paper, I might not open it for months. When I do, it may be to attach a clipping, a quote or an image from a weekly periodical, like the Sunday NY Times T Magazine, a favorite source. The inside cover of my journals often note the years the journal was or is active. Three or four years is common.

Work in Progress 2025 |

Photo: rr jones

Do you have a favorite art historic period or culture that you return to again and again?

Not a period so much. I would say I feel a kinship with artists for whom material is a primary vehicle. A vehicle for a narrative, a transcendent sensation, a simple observation or even a theory. A few with whom I feel close: Barry Le Va, Robert Grosvenor, Afton Love, Erika Wanenmacher, Dieter Roth, Kiki of course…

Now that you are based in California again, what does your daily routine look like? Any morning or evening rituals you’d like to share?

OMG, we have a nearly two-year-old Labrador Retriever who needs endless exercising. We do ‘ball retrieving’ at 7:30 am and a 45-minute walk at Antonelli Pond at 8:30 am.

I am up early. I read best at 6-7 am. I am currently reading essays by critic Hal Foster.

I work every day in the studio. Some days two hours, some days six. Rarely eight.

Installation view | Cottonwood leaves 2024 watercolor and ink on Rives BFK

15x22 inches

The weave of my love for drawing and my exposure to culture began in my teens. Geraldine Turner, my high-school art teacher, recognizing that my academic studies were not a priority for me, enrolled me in life drawing classes at Scripps College and Pomona College, Claremont, California. Geraldine Turner was a graduate student at the Claremont Graduate University. She opened a door for me, and I am eternally grateful to her.

You mentioned that you love road trips and driving – any memorable routes or recommendations?

The past few years, a decade really, my most traveled route is: Paso Robles, Bakersfield, Las Vegas, St. George, Grand Junction, Snowmass Village, Aspen, Denver, Colorado Springs, Ojo Caliente, Santa Fe, Albuquerque, Flagstaff, Sedona, Kingman, Barstow, home.

I drive a 2011 Chevrolet Silverado 4WD pickup with 236,000 miles. I recommend the mineral hot springs in Ojo Caliente.

Finally, what are you working on or looking forward to this year?

Ahh, consequent of our work together, and since returning from my opening with you, I have just begun new works on paper. For the last year I have been building pieces with lichen encrusted fence posts. I want to incorporate very hair-thin silver filaments from post to post. I am finding it impossible. But I can do it on paper with an extremely hard/light graphite pencil.

I am also prepping for several shows in the fall.  

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Find David on instagram

18 | Artist profile: Glenn Goldberg

Installation view Studio light | space From the series Other Places | Acrylic on Canvas and paper Photo: Logan Havens

Glenn Goldberg was born in the Bronx in 1953 and attended the New York Studio School and Queens College during his undergraduate education. He later continued his graduate studies at Queens College to receive his MFA. In 1996 he was named the Heilman Artist and since has received grants from The Guggenheim Foundation, The Edward Albee Foundation, National Endowment for the Arts, and The Joan Mitchell Foundation. Goldberg’s work has been shown extensively throughout the US and internationally, and is held in numerous collections, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the National Academy of Arts and Letters, the Brooklyn Museum of Art, the National Gallery of Art and the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, among others. Goldberg has taught at various institutions including The Cooper Union, NY Studio School, Brandeis University, Queens College, Parsons School of Design, and Lodestar School of Art in Ireland. He has also been a panelist and visiting artist for MFA painting programs at Yale, Columbia, Boston University, American University, Hunter College, and others. In 2023, Goldberg was commissioned to create a public arts project at the E. 149th Street subway station in the Bronx by the New York MTA Arts and Design Commission. Goldberg lives and works in New York City.

Glenn Goldberg uses decorative arts, rugs, banners, tapestries, Danish modern furniture, fetish figures, as well as ancient calligraphy as a source of inspiration, providing his work with a sense of varied cultural eclecticism. Goldberg’s compositions, consciously devoid of a narrative context, allow for the discovery of layered visual references ranging from the decorative arts to childhood imagination. The works are charged with a web of multiple dotted lines that delineate the space in rhythmic waves. The embrace of handmade imperfections continues to play an important role in this body of work.

OP-2

Acrylic and ink on paper

2024

21 .” x 14 .”

What was the cultural or creative makeup of your family?

It was mostly based around music. My parents loved jazz singers and records were always playing in the apartment. I grew up listening to their favorites who were Ella Fitzgerald, Sara Vaughn, Joe Williams, Billy Eckstine, Johnny Hartman, Mel Torme, Dinah Washington, Lena Horne and Carmen McRae. Art really had no place in the home with just a couple of things on the walls bought to fill up space. The passion was in the music.

What part of the country did you grow up? (urban/rural) and how did that impact your childhood?

I grew up in The Bronx, New York. We hung out on the street corners and in playgrounds in the neighborhood. It was a concrete environment. There were many street games in those days like stickball, skully, punchball, Johnny on the pony, off the stoop and box ball. We would all show up in the park after school, often playing basketball. On the corner was “Jack’s”, the local luncheonette with a soda fountain, magazines and candy. Those were our two favorite spots to hang out and meet up, both boys and girls, maybe about 20 of us in total.

What’s your earliest memory of an encounter with art or design?

Music wise I loved Nick Drake, Eddie Kendricks  and a band called Poco. The film West Side Story was a favorite of mine as was the play Golden Boy with Sammy Davis Jr and Lola Falana. I also loved Dr Seuss books as a very young boy and the silly poetry of Ogden Nash…

“I work out of an interest in structure, related hierarchies and moods that exist in nature. My works are invented without viewing either nature or images of nature, but I feel that they are driven by what exists in nature. I can’t prove this, but that is the way that I feel. I am interested in art as a re-ordering of ‘what goes on.’” Jennifer Samet of Hyperallergic described Goldberg’s work as “about this meeting point of the ordinary and the other, regularity and refinement… Repetitive mark-making becomes a focused, meditative practice, and a basic indexical sign is transformed into a richly charged visual field.”

Other Place (65)

Acrylic and ink on Canvas

12’ x 9”

2024

When did you start making art, and what inspired you to pursue it as a vocation?

 I started drawing quite often when I dropped out of college and hitchhiked around Canada and the US for a year and a half. They were intricate ink drawings made from my imagination. They looked like very elaborate, intricate doodles. They were related to my hippie lifestyle. After that I finished college, took some art classes and then went to The NY Studio School in Manhattan for a year and a summer. That changed my life as it was a very serious place. I got very involved and caught up in drawing and painting. I got hooked and wanted to continue. I remembering thinking I might be able to do it.

You currently live in NYC, How did you end up there?   

I was born in The Bronx and have lived in New York most of my life with a couple of stints elsewhere. Over the years I’ve lived in four of the five boroughs in NY city.

What are your favorite neighborhoods or parks to walk in the city?

Central Park, Washington Square Park, Prospect Park and Forest Park. Neighborhoods that I don’t have a favorite neighborhood but I spend most of my time below 14 Street and in Brooklyn and Queens. I usually go uptown to see shows or go to the Met (Metropolitan Museum). Lots of people are downtown oriented.

Detail of Bronx River (2023) © Glenn Goldberg, NYCT E. 149th St. Station. Commissioned by MTA Arts & Design. Photo: John Berens.

Please share what it was like to create a piece for the MTA located at E 149th Street (6) in the Bronx, has your work ever been translated into glass before? It seems like such a beautiful and logical medium for your work.

 That was a very rewarding project as the station is close to where I went to high school. Working in that neighborhood brought back memories from my youth. I paid tribute to the Bronx River with a long, winding river theme and animals that lived there in its heyday. Mosaic does suit my work beautifully with its small increments and nuanced color.

Golderg’s daedal designs seem to float off the surfaces and recall outsider art, Tantric art, pointillism, and Aboriginal art, Goldberg cites many, often eclectic, affiliations that fuel his practice and his excitement around artmaking, including Shaker furniture, celadon bowls, Japanese screens, and African textiles.

OP-1

2024

21 x 14 inches

Do you surround yourself with reference materials or colors? What does your studio look like?

 I don’t have reference materials in the studio. I improvise on each work without a specific plan but do have a sense of the basic forms I might use. My studio has a bank of windows on one end that look out on trees and school buses. It is longer than it is wide. Ceilings are about 11 feet high. Most importantly, it is very quiet,

Do you keep a journal or sketchbook?  I draw frequently but usually not in a book, though I do have several sketchbooks dedicated to drawings of heads. I have a lot of paper and unfinished drawings in my midst at all times.

 Finally, What do you need in your surroundings to feel creative and productive?

Not much really…a room with good proportions, my materials and peace and quiet. There is always so much to do. I am blessed to rarely, if ever, feel blocked or unmotivated. I love to work and continue on immersed in the realm of the inexplicable and unpredictable.

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17 | Artist profile: Stuart Arends

Studio, Willard, New Mexico

Stuart Arends’ work appears here courtesy of Yoshii Gallery, NY

“When you take someone, put them in the desert, and make them live there for a year, they’ll never live anywhere else.” I found this quote from you, and felt like it was a good opening to this conversation. Even though place is not overt in the work, it seems fundamental to the work that you make. 

Living in relative isolation in wide open spaces is not just something I prefer, which I do, but something I need.  It feeds me in a way that is important, and not just for the work, but for me as a person.

 After learning that you enjoy collaborating with the real light of a room it seems inevitable that you would end up making work in aluminum, pigment and wax. There’s something to the juxtaposition of desert light that compels the soft waxy luminosity of your surfaces as well as that zing that metal requires. Can you speak to the evolution of materiality in your work?

My work is all intuitive. It’s not planned or thought out in advance. I don’t have sketch books full of ideas to be made at some point in the future.  One body of work leads to the next. If I’m working on wood for example, something towards the end of that work will suggest what the next material should be. The only things that have to be planned out and drawn in advance are the supports that need to be fabricated, like the aluminum or steel pieces. But once in the studio, the compositions and paint application on those is again, totally intuitive.

As far as the variety of materials and images I use; I started with a found cardboard box that was laying on my studio floor in 1980. With that first box I arrived at a neutral, cubical, support that has fed the work ever since. The transition of different material for the supports was just a natural, unplanned, evolution from one material to the next. 

The first steel pieces were 2 inches square and intended to be installed alone on a large wall. I thought that anything that would be that visually substantial needed to be physically substantial as well and steel was the heaviest material I could think of.  I came to wax from Joseph Beuys.  My first wax piece, titled, “Rabbit”, (1991) was a direct reference to Beuys’, “How To Explain Pictures To A Dead Hare”. Ed Ruscha gave me words and Jonathan Borofsky gave me numbers. Since that first box I have used only “generic” subject matter, ie: stripes, checkerboards, numbers, or words repeated continuously over the entire surface; anything that is not open to interpretation.

What is it like to make work in the distinct light of the desert and then see it in places like Italy and NYC? (and can you speak to the quality of light and its effect on your choices if at all?)

 I think the light in New Mexico is amazing.  A photographer friend of mine once described it as, “A spotlight on everything.”  I imagine the light has had an influence on the work, but it’s not something I’m aware of in any direct or specific way.

Stanza Dell’ Amore 23/4 2023. (Silver). Aluminum, ink, wax on wood. 5 X 5 X 1 3/4 inches

In your Colores interview for NM public television you describe art as a place. I love and agree with that, can you elaborate on what that means to you?

To me, art is about an exchange of energy between a person who makes or performs something and the person who comes into contact with it and has a meaningful experience as a result. There’s an energy in the Universe that drives all things.  I feel that if an artist, and by artist I mean writers, actors, painters, dancers, whatever, are so involved and concentrated on what they are doing, everything else goes away for them and they unconsciously draw on that source of energy and it transfers through them to whatever media they are involved with. When a person who is sensitive and open to experience encounters, and is engaged by that work, everything else for that person goes away too; all of their distractions or concerns, or whatever; then the energy contained in that work is transferred to them. And that person, after just a few moments, is ever so slightly altered and comes away with the feeling of being refreshed, or maybe, complete. I think of that as the aesthetic experience.  And to me, the arts are the only place where you can go to get that.

 What was the cultural or creative make up of your family?

I grew up in a very small farming community in Central Iowa. My family had no awareness of, or interested in the arts.  My father climbed telephone poles during lightning storms for the electrical coop, and my Mother was a Linotype operator in the local newspaper office. 

 Do you remember the first art that impacted your imagination?

When I was very young I saw a magazine article on the watercolors of Winslow Homer.   They blew me out. I think they are the first things I saw that made me aware of art and the idea of maybe even trying to be a painter.

 What initially strikes me about your objects is the scale and skin like surfaces - How have you arrived at the scale of your work? I love the series that use wooden blocks. How did this motif and series evolve?

The scale comes from the original cardboard box which measured; 15 X 11 X 4 1/2 inches. I worked with the cardboard boxes until 1982. I decided then that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life making little boxes so I let the work expand up to large scale installation paintings; oil on wood. The largest being 10 feet high by 40 feet long. I was awarded a residence with the Roswell Artist In Residence Program in 1983, and spent the year doing the larger works. After the grant I returned to Los Angeles, where I had attended graduate school, and moved into a small apartment in South Pasadena. The only studio I had was a small bedroom and a car port, so I returned to the small scale pieces out of necessity.  At one point those pieces went around a corner that I had not anticipated, and those smaller scale cubes have engaged me ever since. I discovered that works don’t necessarily have to be big to be good, you just have to follow your own inner voice and make the work that needs to be made rather than work you would like to make. I realized that the larger installation works I had done weren’t any better because they were bigger, they were just bigger; so I had all them all destroyed.

Re the small cubes: I found them in an antique store in Iowa. They’re the wooden letter blocks that kids used to play with and helped them learn to spell. They were really small and they kicked around my studio for a year before I could do anything with them. But I eventually covered them with wax and oil paint and they became the “Kid Blocks”.

 The lithographs have a gorgeous relationship to your works, can you share your experience at Tamarind?

 I was invited to work at Tamarind twice. Lithography is not something I ever studied or had any interest in before Tamarind, so the first time was a bit of a challenge. The second time I worked with the two Master Printers, Bill Lagatuda and Jill Graham. They were very knowledgeable, helpful, and responsive to my questions and ideas so we were able to get some good images. It was a good experience.

 What historic artist or movement do you return to, Or, simply put, how do you fill the well?

When I get to a place where I feel like I need to charge my batteries, I’ll go to New York for a week. Sometimes just the vibrancy of the city is enough, but usually I’ll go to the Met and take a hit off the Van Goghs or the Morandis, or if I can find some, Winslow Homer’s watercolors. Or I go to the Frick and spend time with the small Piero Della Francesca panel paintings. If I’m in Italy, I’ll go sit in one of the cathedrals and just absorb the ambiance of the centuries. To be in the presence of that stuff is pretty amazing and inspiring.

Road Trip

When you are getting ready to start a new piece, how do you begin? With materials? Color? A title?

To start a new piece, I just put the support on the wall and leave it alone. Eventually it will tell me what it needs; a mark or color. That mark suggests the next mark, or color, until the piece reaches a point of resolution. It takes a while; usually weeks; sometimes months and often requires tearing down and starting over several times.

 Do you listen to music in the studio? What have you been listening to recently, or what do you return to?

I don’t listen to music when I work. I find it to be a distraction. The studios I have had for the past thirty five years have been out in fairly isolated places so I just have the sound of the wind in the grass or bird songs when I work.

Do you surround yourself with reference materials or colors? What does your studio look like? Or what is the cycle of making for you? Beginning and ending with a road trip?

 Road trips on back country roads are one of my favorite things for sure. Not really certain what impact they have on the work, but they probably do. My studio is white and empty. Everything that I am working on is covered or put away so I can only see the piece I’m involved with.

 At the end of a studio day, how do you extract yourself? Any closing rituals or routines?

  don’t have a specific studio schedule or time to work. I have designed my spaces so that I can see whatever I’m working on from almost anywhere in the living space. The work is the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night so when a piece indicates something, I just go do it; could be anytime during the day.

 What books are on your nightstand right now?

 Louis L’Amore’s “Silver Canyon”.

Road Trip | High Desert

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