A material without weight
Stephen Antonson
“Plaster is like the guest at the party who doesn’t stand out but has the most interesting things to say and can express them in multiple ways. Its ghostly, fragile presence tends to leave an impression. There is a very direct relationship between the hand and the final form. Unlike wood, plaster is forgiving, unlike clay it pushes back, unlike glass or steel it requires no equipment. Once you add water the clock is ticking and an urgent dialogue begins.” — Stephen Antonson
With the advent of twentieth century modernism came the idea that the world had to be fundamentally rethought and reworked. This was part and parcel of a utopian fervour following the horrors of the First World War and Russian Revolution, and a belief that the human condition could be healed by new and innovative approaches to art and design. It’s perhaps important to keep in mind that this applied not only to grandiose architectural projects, such as Le Corbusier’s (1887-1965) sprawling Ville Radieuse (Radiant City), but also to the most basic elements of daily life — including everything from housing and furniture to domestic goods and clothing. Many artists and architects were intoxicated by the endless possibilities offered by science and technology; the house became a “machine for living in”, and under the banner of Constructivism, perhaps somewhat controversially, the task of art was “not to adorn life but to organise it”. Modernists, and in particular, members of the Union des Artistes Modernes (“French Union of Modern Artists”), led by architect Robert Mallet-Stevens (1886-1945), advocated sleek, clean lines and the elimination of the sort of frivolous frilly fripperies seen in pre-war styles, that were purely for the sake of embellishment and adornment. Motivated by a clean break from the past, it fiercely attacked the contemporaneous Art Deco style, which it saw as outmoded and irrelevant, proclaiming, “We must rise up against everything that looks rich, against whatever is well made, and against anything inherited from grandmother ... impose will where habit is not invoked ... overcome the habit of the eyes.” Such rapid advances led many designers to reassess fabrication and construction methods, and in turn there was a wholesale rejection of the hegemonic hierarchy of materials, with Bauhausler Josef Albers (1888-1976) declaring that anything could be interesting if only it was used properly. What became an almost insatiable desire for newness can be seen to great effect at the 1937 World’s Fair in Paris (also known as The Exposition Universelle), where Charlotte Perriand created a space-age star-shaped pavilion for the Ministry of Agriculture and Jean Prouvé (1901-1984) presented one of the first chairs ever constructed in Plexiglas. In tandem worked those designers of a more luxurious bent, the likes of Jean-Michel Frank (1895-1941), Marc du Plantier (1901-1975) and Paul Dupré-Lafon (1900-1971), producing elegant interiors for an elite roster of international clients, such as Marie-Laure de Noailles (1902-1970), Nelson Rockefeller (1908-1979) and Henri de Rothschild (1872-1947) — connoisseurs themselves, who appreciated what was an unapologetically modern, and often spartan design aesthetic.
For Frank, in particular, a fascination for materials was fundamental to his practice as a designer; he was one of the first to clad furniture in parchment and galuchat and had an innate talent for applying traditional materials in entirely new and novel ways, for e.g. covering walls in straw marquetry and upholstering with canvas. However, above all else, it was Frank’s collaboration with contemporary painters and sculptors that set him apart from the pack, and in particular, his collaboration with Alberto Giacometti (1901-1966), an artist who assigned equal importance to his decorative works as he did sculptures. In a 1962 interview with André Parinaud (1924-2006) Giacometti explained: “For my livelihood, I accepted to make anonymous utilitarian objects for a decorator at that time, Jean-Michel Frank ... It was considered a kind of decline. I nevertheless tried to make the best possible vases, for example, and I realized I was developing a vase exactly as I would a sculpture and that there was no difference between what I called a sculpture and what was an object, a vase!” Undeterred by naysayers, even following Frank’s suicide in 1941, Giacometti would continue to produce decorative objects in plaster, albeit only for very close friends and patrons, such as the art critic and publisher Tériade (1897-1983). As a result such pieces are comparatively rare and much sought after by collectors; a unique and spectacular conic chandelier (c.1954), originally installed in Tériade’s apartment on rue de Rennes in Paris, sold for just over £2,000,000 at Phillips in 2017. Those familiar with the higher echelons of contemporary design will be used to seeing Giacometti’s plaster works resplendent in the interiors of designers such as Jacques Grange (b. 1944), Peter Marino (b. 1949) and Stephen Sills (as well as numerous fakes and forgeries, or rather pieces “in the style of” XYZ, often used in the homes of those who lack such seemingly limitless budgets, yet still want the same “look” on a shoe-string), and as a result of their cult status, in recent years we’ve seen something of a renaissance in the use of plaster in interiors. We spoke to Brooklyn based artist and designer Stephen Antonson (b. 1966) about his love for the medium of plaster — “a material without weight,” as the existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980) once described, “the most ductile, the most perishable, the most spiritual to hand” — as well as comparisons to Giacometti and the divide between painting and “design as art”.
“Macklin” center table in bronze by Stephen Antonson
The London List: What was it that drew you to a career in design?
Stephen Antonson: I’ve always been attracted to objects. During the years I exhibited in art galleries I worked for art and antiques dealers. They introduced me to the world of design — particularly studio artisans such as Wharton Esherick and Toshiko Takazu and designer-craftsmen like Paul Evans. Having an appreciation of form and an ability to work with my hands, it was only a matter of time before I began to make my own lighting and furniture.
Whilst plaster has of course been used since antiquity, it was the work of twentieth century artists and designers like Diego Giacometti, Serge Roche and John Dickinson, that reignited the public’s interest in this poorest of materials. What was it that drew you to plaster as a primary medium?
I’ve worked in a variety of materials over the years — wood, glass, steel, ceramics, video, photography. You have to find the material that best suits your temperament. Plaster is like the guest at the party who doesn’t stand out but has the most interesting things to say and can express them in multiple ways. Its ghostly, fragile presence tends to leave an impression. There is a very direct relationship between the hand and the final form. Unlike wood, plaster is forgiving, unlike clay it pushes back, unlike glass or steel it requires no equipment. Once you add water the clock is ticking and an urgent dialogue begins.
As a result of artists like Wendell Castle, the unofficial “father of the art furniture movement”, Vincenzo De Cotiis and Eric Schmitt, the divide between painting and “design as art” is becoming increasingly blurred, and more frequently museums are displaying furniture along with paintings and sculpture. Do you think there should be any distinction?
My inclination is to say yes but it’s really the dialogue between the two that keeps things interesting. Do I think Wendell Castle’s work is art? The answer is no. But it’s obvious from what we are seeing online and in galleries that the lines become more blurred every day. This is exciting. But why does good design have to aspire to be great art? Why can’t great design just be great design? Often times this seems nakedly market driven. Just read an auction catalogue featuring twentieth century design. Is it really a better object if it occupies an art position versus an exclusively design position? I think of Esherick or Du Plantier who began as artists but found their success with furniture. Should their furniture be considered art? Does it matter? You can certainly charge more. We celebrate their individual achievements because they created something powerful and idiosyncratic. That’s enough for me. Did they care if their work was ultimately received as art? Does their intention matter? In the end I don’t think it does. Art and design have historically been like two siblings that speak the same language but one tends to be messy and is often vague in conversation. The other dresses better and does the dishes after every meal. The two used to live in separate rooms but are now living in the same room and are beginning to finish each others’ sentences.
“Harlequin” pendant in plaster by Stephen Antonson
Isabelle Dubern-Mallevays, co-founder of the Invisible Collection, has referred to you as “a Giacometti in Brooklyn”. To what extent, if at all, are you inspired by Giacometti, and what do you think of the comparison?
I’m flattered but not worthy of the comparison. We share a material and our shoes look the same at the end of the day but Giacometti was primarily concerned with portraiture. My concern is form. Giacometti was a creative giant in a miniscule studio and had the incredible luxury to have a monumental commitment to failure. It also helped that his mother sent him a check every month.
The work of the great twentieth century designers is becoming increasingly expensive; for example a plaster “Spirale” light fitting by Alberto Giacometti recently sold at Christie’s Paris for €550,000. Do you think such record prices are a reason for a good many decorators and designers turning to fakes, forgeries and reproductions?
Conversations about fakes and forgeries used to primarily revolve around wine, manuscripts, and fine art. Now it includes design. Follow the money. I think of the endless supply of Jeanneret pieces coming out of Chandigarh — it’s like a clown car that keeps on giving. These days, there are a lot of unpleasant conversions between restorers and buyers who thought they were getting something “for a good price”. Unfortunately these pieces are often put back on the market as authentic, auction houses don’t look too hard and the cycle continues. Then there are those who want the look but can’t afford, say, the Ours Polaire and their designer (and a workroom) is happy to produce one or two. I guess the conversation thus becomes about the perception of value. Value used to be linked to authenticity and I think this is true, but a voracious demand created by legions of unimaginative online influencers enabled by designers for whatever reason — ignorance, laziness, greed — has led to a party where everyone is dressed the same and thought what they said was clever only to wake up the following day with a bad hangover.
After the sale of Eileen Gray’s Fauteuil aux Dragons for €21,905,000 at Christie’s in 2009, establishing a new record for a piece of twentieth century decorative art, there seems to be record after record in the realms of Art Deco and mid-century modern furniture, especially when we look at artists and designers like Giacometti, Royère and Perriand. Why do you think people are so fascinated by this genre of design?
The answer is Paris. Paris was ground zero for the avant-garde. There was so much talent flowing into Paris and cross pollinating during those aptly named Banquet Years that the wattage created was blinding. Every field was impacted — painting, sculpture, design, dance, literature, fashion. So when we think of Giacometti’s lamps we also think of Frank, Berard, Picasso, Pierre Matisse, Maeght, etc. When you are buying something from this hot and heavy time you are embracing a singular, never-to-be-recreated era.
“Honore” lamp in plaster by Stephen Antonson
Ambition or talent: which matters more to success?
I live in a city built on ambition. I find I distrust the word ambition but I firmly believe in passion. I suspect the answer is you can’t have one without the other or as the saying goes — “Ambition without talent is sad. Talent without ambition is a tragedy.”
Which artist or designer has had the biggest impact on your work and why?
For endless invention give me Picasso and Royere; for creative play, Rauschenburg and Guillerme et Chambron; for rigor, Richter and Frank, for poetry give me Brassai and les Lalannes; for passion give me Krasner and Zanine; for virtuosity give me Oehlen and Du Plantier; for the unexpected give me Harrison and Ponti; for mischieviousness give me Polke and Schanck; and for a powerful palette, Sillman and Sheila Hicks.
On that note, what’s your favourite work of art?
I don’t go in for the epic achievement. I like the sketches, the ancillary work leading up to the big production. For example, I consider Les Desmoiselles d’Avignon a masterwork that changed the course of painting but what really interests me is the work that led up to that breakthrough. The struggles are laid bare. The Barnes foundation has a little Picasso, Tete de Femme 1907, tucked into a small room that is radiant in its restlessness. Here we see the outlines of radical stylization of human physiognomy that would serve as not only the shot across the bow to Matisse — a response to his Joi de Vivre — but a whole new conception of pictoral space.
What was the first important piece of art you ever owned?
I bought a black and white photo by Adam Fuss at a benefit in SoHo. It was $300. It looks like a night sky but is in fact a photogram. My other option that night was a black and white Cindy Sherman open edition. She said to buy the Fuss so I did. It’s pure poetry made with the most common of materials — dust.
Which artists would you collect if you could?
I used to install art for collectors and was fortunate to see incredible collections. There were those who had things on their wall that they thought they ought to have — the usual suspects , Picasso, Warhol, Twombley, etc. and then there were the real collectors such Richard Brown Baker who were so completely obsessed with owning and being surrounded by work that they had to install walls that moved to accommodate the layers and layers of work . Things like this rub off. I’d like to have a room and put pictures together the way Jack Shear does with his enormous drawing collection, side by side, on top of one another etc. An Amy Sillman cheek by jowl with a Vanessa Bell next to an Elizabeth Murray or an Oehlen next to a Forest Bess next to a Gorky.
An object you would never part with?
My son Finn took a small cardboard box and made a “museum” with it when he was about six. He painted it white, cut two eye holes and made very small but colorful abstract paintings on foam core and mounted them on the interior walls. Duchamp’s Etonne Donne has nothing on this masterpiece! It’s an incredible example of how we interpret information. Adults have to complicate things with knowing justifications. Children just have this purity whereby there is a beautiful short line between input and output. “A museum is a container with things inside to look at.” So why not a cardboard box?!
What was the last thing you bought and loved?
My wife hired someone to clean the windows. What a difference. We bought light.
What would you like to own that you currently don’t possess?
A studio in the country with a massive skylight.
What’s the best gift you’ve been given?
Art school. My parents were open to the idea. As my father put it, “If you choose another field, nothing will be lost”. He’s a wise man.
What’s your biggest extravagance?
Taking time.
The site that most inspires you?
I like to walk. Wherever I am I walk. It is the best way to take in that which surrounds you.
Where’s the most unforgettable place you’ve travelled?
I spent time in Death Valley this past summer. I was surprised by its extreme beauty. It is so completely indifferent to man and our sense of time and purpose.
“Finn” lantern in plaster by Stephen Antonson
Where would you like to go next?
Antartica or somewhere outside of our notion of time.
What’s the best souvenir you’ve brought home?
I’ve brought a lot of things home from various flea markets around the world but the best thing is the memory of the experience. That is priceless.
Tell us about a recent “find”?
While staying in a small village in France I was introduced to an American who had inherited a house full of paintings and needed to unload them in order to sell the house. I volunteered to help. The owner had no interest in art. His uncle had been a celebrated author, writer, lecturer and diplomat who also painted. He is also said to have driven around DC in a convertible Rolls Royce wearing a fur coat. The entire attic was full of typewriters and portraits of diplomats through the ages. Some were bad, others were incredible. Most had been exhibited in Paris over the years. I bought almost every one.
If you didn’t live in Brooklyn, New York, where would you live?
Martin Kippenburger had several studios. I like the idea of having different spaces and therefore having different responses to them that come out in the work.
If you had to limit your shopping to one neighbourhood, in one city, which would you choose?
Saint Germain des Pres in Paris. I will never forget stumbling across Galerie Vallois late one summer night. The gallery was lit up and it just pulled me in. There was a powerful magic happening between the objects in that room and it has always stayed with me.
What’s your favourite room at home?
My dining room also serves as our library. My wife writes books on design and the culinary arts. She is an excellent cook. This is a place for the mind and the body to be fed.
What’s your biggest indulgence?
Naiveté. It allows me to be open to all possibilities.
What’s the best book you’ve read in the past year?
Ninth Street Women by Mary Gabriel. I read a lot of artist biographiess and this one focuses on four women — Hartigan, Krasner, Frankenthaler and Mitchell — who paved the way for other female artists to be taken as seriously as men but paid a heavy price.
What would you do if you didn’t work in art?
I’ve always been interested in taking things that existed and transforming them somehow. I played in bands for years — guitar, base, vocals whatever was called for. I also restored furniture which was just another way of staying intimate with interesting things.
What ambition do you still have?
Keeping the fire alive.
What’s the greatest challenge of our time?
Climate change. This is the result of one of the other great challenges, or societal ills — reckless greed.
What’s next?
I’ve been developing a body of work over the last few years that I haven’t really shared fully with the public. The artists I’ve showed it to have been enthusiastically supportive. On the other hand, the designers who have seen it generally scratch their heads! The artist Peter Lane was one of the first to get behind the work and subsequently commissioned two pieces for his booth at Salon Art and Design in New York in November. They will each consist of three flattened cardboard boxes layered on top of each other in graduated sizes. These prosaic cast offs were designed and used for produce and therefore have multiple apertures. My only alteration is to flatten them, plaster them and have each silver leafed . This is just one example from the series. Some will no doubt turn into lights and wall reliefs. It’s always interesting to see how objects that blur boundaries are read by those in the art and design communities. There are very few who speak both languages fluently as well as the various dialects. These are the people who keep me going.