Published: March 18, 2008 06:15 pm      

RANDOM THOUGHTS: In Lansing there is no Oldenburg

Easter is to the year what dawn is to a day – an awakening, a brief, still time to contemplate, a preparation for what lies ahead. Each year Easter fulfills an age-old promise of life renewed. Flowers that shriveled and died months ago live again. The stark leafless trees sprout fresh green leaves. May you and yours be blessed by Easter’s promise.

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Last week, this column focused on public art and how many projects in cities and towns were chosen for their humor. Alexander Calder, one of the most famous sculptors, would have approved because he was the first serious sculptor to introduce fun in his work. Until Calder, fun was pretty much taboo in the art world.

In 1998, I was in Washington, D.C. at the time the National Gallery of Art was exhibiting a Centenary of Calder, 1898-1976. I spent an afternoon enjoying his mobiles, delicately balanced as they hung from the ceilings. Several of his giant, colorful, metal stabiles located out-of-doors in large cities I had seen in pictures, but these smaller sculptures, a total of 260, were new to me.

Then just last week I learned this multi-talented 20th century artist also did tapestries. One of his last works in 1975, the year before his death, was a 5-foot by 8-foot tapestry he named “Zebra.” It is four half circles of alternating black and white bands and is on loan to the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga. It is displayed at their Lupton Library.

In the 1960s along came Andy Warhol and pop art became the rage. Acclaimed as one of the founders of pop art was Swedish-born Claes Oldenburg. Born in 1929 his family moved to Chicago in 1935 and he became an American citizen in 1953. He graduated from Yale and studied at the Art Institute of Chicago. Before he turned to art full time he was a reporter for a Chicago newspaper.

I knew none of these facts or even his name until 1972. At that time we lived in Lansing, MI and Oldenburg was commissioned to do a sculpture for the city. He visited to explore doing one of his “Large Scale Projects.” These were huge sculptures of household objects.

Today many cities feature these sculptures which show the significance of the ordinary. Philadelphia has a 45-ft. clothespin; Kansas City, MO has four 18-ft. badminton birdies; San Francisco, a 41-ft. bow and arrow; New York, a 41-ft. trowel; and the Sculpture Garden of the National Gallery of Art in Washington, a typewriter erasure as tall as a school bus. Oldenburg was quoted, “I am for art that is political-erotic-mystical, that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.”

This vast array of works all came after Lansing. During his short visit my husband and I attended a reception in his honor. It was held at the Michigan State University’s president’s home. Everyone was well dressed and it was easy to spot Oldenburg, dressed very informally and uncomfortable, surrounded by so much artificiality.

I spoke with him for a few minutes and the next week I wrote him a letter telling him about a local art attraction from the New Deal days that he might find interesting.

It was a shock when he replied. His bold, hand written in black ink, scrawled message, though short, filled the entire lined 8 by 11 school tablet. It was signed Claes O and the O was distinctive for the extra loop that was added at the top of the O. Along the side he added Dec. 8,’72. It is one of my treasures.

The Lansing project never materialized. I believe he suggested a baseball mitt that was rejected. Today there is an Oldenburg baseball mitt in San Francisco. In Lansing there is no Oldenburg.