A Bit About Bronze

"Ferdinando I de Medici" 1608.
Giambologna and Pietro Tacca
(Piazza of the Annunziata, Florence, Italy)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Not all that glitters is gold. Sometimes it’s bronze.

I learned a bit about bronze while working on a recent project. Having previous experience in small-scale casting for a jewelry class, I decided in this case to use an art foundry’s services. The latest project was above my experience and pay grade, and I simply didn’t have any blast furnaces hanging about. Partially to keep costs down and partially to get my hands dirty, I decided to finish the piece myself. So it was that I drove to Ann Arbor to collect my [cut up] original wax model, its master mold, and three raw casts.

The color of the fresh bronze castings was a little surprising. It was a bright color that could have easily passed for gold, even though the alloy is mostly copper with a bit of tin.

To modern eyes, that is not what we expect of bronze. It is a peculiar thing that, unlike other art media, our perception of bronze is based solely on antiquity. The fine art world, for example, lauds the restoration and cleaning of old oil paintings. Not so with bronze. Even our language supports this skewed view of the alloy. To have “bronzed skin” is to have spent many hours in the sun. No one, on the other hand, wants to be as sparkly as an engagement ring. That’s just silly.

What would otherwise be simple corrosion or rust is known as “patina” in the bronze world. Bronze sculptures that have been sitting around for hundreds of years all have a patina of brown and/or green and, for some odd reason, this oxidation is desirable for even the newest of bronze pieces.

Natural oxidation, however, takes eons. Enter chemical patinas. There are various ways of quickly producing a patina, but I used a traditional method for my project – ferric oxide applied on the heated piece, with a later application of colored buffing wax. What would otherwise have taken a century or more was accomplished in less than an hour.

Bronze has long been a popular sculpting medium, in part because the heated metal expands when in the mold, thus filling every detail, and because the same metal shrinks when cooling, making it easy to remove from the mold.

In antiquity, however, bronze was also a favorite material for producing military hardware. Hence, many ancient bronze sculptures were lost forever to invading armies, who melted down the bronze and re-cast it into cannons.

Two, however, can play that game. The equestrian monument of Ferdinando I de Medici in Florence, for example, is said to have been produced with Turkish cannons captured by the Knights of San Stefano. Stories like that are golden.

ArtPrize and the ArtCurmudgeon

Copyright © Edward Riojas

ArtPrize, it seems, is an ever-changing thing. Forget the official rules that change yearly. Forget the official boundaries that are ignored by the event itself.  Simply viewing the art entries can be a challenge, especially when venues change entirely.

One may expect, for example, to see some cutting edge pieces at the Kendall Gallery or the UICA, but Kendall has but one entry this year and it’s outside. The UICA, on the other hand, has apparently spread like a virus and is this year at multiple locations – except at the UICA.

Some venues may decide to limit the number of entries so that, in the case of DeVos Place Convention Center, an individual piece needing 150 feet of wall space can be accommodated. Other venues vanish altogether, while yet others add more space. While this makes for a very organic event, it can be slightly frustrating to patrons who may discover these changes on the fly when seriously pounding the pavement.

Being ever the helpful sort of curmudgeon that I am, what follows are a few pieces worth hunting down. They are stylistically all over the map. They may not make anyone’s top list, but if you want a little direction while wading neck-deep through mediocrity and welded, scrap-metal dragons [I know I am being redundant here], then check these out...

(Photo courtesy artprize.org)

Daniel Wurtzel’s “Air Fountain,” showing at the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Museum, will indeed make it to the top. [Well, maybe. At this writing the piece seems to be a no-show. See what I mean about change?] “AirFountain” is the sort of piece that is mesmerizingly simple, devoid of any controversy, and oozing with elegance. Check out a video of the Brooklyn-based artist’s piece when it was installed in the Copernicus Science Center in Warsaw.

(Photo courtesy artprize.org)

Eric Freitas’ “Twisted Twelve,” hosted by Divani/Gallery Divani, is a combination of precision machinery and disturbing perception all wrapped up in a series of unfortunate events. The working clock – well, sort of – makes no mention of Happy Hour.

(Photo courtesy artprize.org)

“Pacific Quilt,” by Sarah FitzSimons and shown at the GRAM, takes the concept of quilting and blows it out of the water. Using underwater topography and ocean currents, the artist shows what can happen when craft and concept collide.

(Photo courtesy artprize.org)

“Madonna Muerte” is just weird enough to make us want to look at it. That may not exactly be high praise, but in some corners that is high praise, indeed. It is showing at PaLatte Coffee & Art. Bob Doucette, the creator of the piece, is director of many children’s television shows, including PBS’s “Clifford’s Puppy Days.” Knowing that just makes “Madonna Muerte” all the more weird.

(Photo courtesy artprize.org)

John Krout’s “Mid-West Coast” uses a technique more often seen on boxcars and barrios and applies it to the sights of Holland, Michigan. The fresh take on landscape is being hosted by Grand Rapids Brewing Company.

Of course, this is not exactly a well-rounded list of all that you should see. I’m sure some artists may take umbrage that I didn’t include their piece, but then again I refrained from touting my own entry. If you can make the trip to downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan, in the coming days, I’m sure you’ll find a piece that puts all these to shame, and plenty more that are simply, hmm, shameful.

An ArtPrize Retrospective

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Once upon a time, I refused to enter art competitions. But we must begin long before that time.

During my youth I entered a local art contest, The Festival of the Arts Visual Arts Competition. My two entries were rejected. Thinking those pieces were of undeniable merit, I scouted the resulting show to see what the judges considered worthy. I became disgruntled. I was, after all, a youth. A year passed.

The next year, I again entered two pieces. One was, in my estimation, certainly worthy of the judges. The other was quickly fashioned along trendy lines, closely mirroring the sort of thing seen in Art News. It was cutting edge, and I didn’t care for it.

True to form, the judges accepted the trendy piece, and rejected the other. I remained disgruntled. Another year passed.

When the contest returned the next year, I did not want to enter. At the last moment, however, I emptied a glass and metal frame of its contents, and stuffed trash behind the glass in a disgruntled sort of way. I gave it a nonsensical title, and entered it in the competition. Days passed.

My ugly piece, “Ibid, so what?” apparently was the stuff of which cutting edges are made. It took two awards, and the county bought it for a hideous sum. After that, I decided I would not enter art competitions ever again. Decades passed.

Then ArtPrize was born.

It took two years of badgering and shaming from colleagues, an old art teacher, and my own conscience before I decided to enter the fledgling art competition. I became hooked.

ArtPrize is the sort of thing one reviles and loves at the same time. It can be so annoying, yet no one wants it to go away. It can be horrendously ghastly. It can be exquisitely beautiful.

Above all, it demands much. Miniatures are decidedly unwelcome. Copious amounts of labor are enthusiastically embraced. Size matters. Patrons, who cannot possibly see every entry during the given time, don’t simply want a wow factor – they want to be knocked out of their socks, thrown barefoot on their backsides, and left completely dumbfounded.

Working with such expectations year after year is wearying, and takes its toll on even the most seasoned artist. I would be lying if I did not say ArtPrize has worn me thin. To that end, the organizers’ recent announcement that ArtPrize will become a biennial event came as a strange relief. And still I don’t want it to go away.

I thought it might be interesting to see the labor this competition has thus far managed to squeeze out of me. Below are my yearly entries, some of which slipped from labor-intensive into the insane...

“Owashtanong.” I did not like playing the Native American maiden card, especially with my first entry, so I pushed hard to be faithful to detail and the history of regional Ojibways. Tens of thousands of beads were included in the painting – each with its own shadow and highlight. And, no, it was not painted on velvet.

“Adoremus.” Among the comments this painting evoked was, “I don’t think religious artwork should be included in ArtPrize.” Troglodyte. Apparently, the fact that the Church single-handedly fostered fine art during the Dark Ages is no longer of consequence.

“Förtrollade Skogen.” I was definitely on a roll – if not with commanding size, then certainly with non-English titles. This Swedish-entitled piece left folks speechless – many didn’t even know what they were looking at.

“Ecce Homo.” I waffled seemingly every year between sacred pieces and the urge to create fanciful entries. This one demanded close consideration and, occasionally, tears.

“Under Slottet Bron.” I went through 10,000 business/voting cards and could have used a few thousand more at the venue that hosted me that year. The 13 feet-wide gargantuan had a perpetual audience. Many thought it would make a lovely headboard. Perhaps for a troll.

“Fridur.” Still no English title. Artists sometimes do the most daring things, like using Google to translate the Collect for Peace into Icelandic and slap it on a painting. I prayed that no one from Iceland would visit, but come they did.

“Ambrei As Potamiaena.” Finally, an English title, but it doesn’t even read like English. I strayed out of the 2-dimensional category and into the time-based category. Using a database of thousands of names of Christian martyrs, the names slowly “bled” down the frame and onto the floor.

“O That My Words Were Written.” Being noticeably smaller than previous entries, this year's piece is simplistic, but is still heavy with detail. “Heavy” is perhaps the operative word for the theme and treatment, as well.

After cranking out these paintings year after year, the idea of ArtPrize going on holiday for a year sounds so relaxing. Of course, images of the next entry are already swirling in my head. ArtPrize, it seems, will not go away after all.
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The Art Curmudgeon, aka Edward Riojas, will be showing his piece, “O That My Words Were Written,” at Cornerstone Church - Heritage Hill Campus, 48 Lafayette Ave. SE, during ArtPrize. The venue hours are noon - 6 p.m. on Sunday, 5 p.m. - 8 p.m. on Monday and Tuesday, and noon - 8 p.m. Wednesday through Saturday.

Ruminating in Church

"Apse Mosaic" [detail]. Masolina da Panicale. 12th Century A.D. (Church of San Clemente, Rome)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

It’s good to ponder things in church. If everything was as expected and there was nothing new to learn, then surely we must be dead. That is why I rather enjoy the unexpected – even where the steadfast Church is concerned.

A few months ago I was meandering through the modest Haehn Museum at the College of St. Benedict in Minnesota and spotted an odd, little embroidery of a cross with deer. No, it wasn’t a symbol of St. Eustace or St. Hubert of Liege, and it certainly wasn’t on a bottle of Jägermeister, which strangely has, as its logo, a symbol of one of those saints [or both]. The embroidery was a pair of deer at the base of a cross.

I soon realized, however, that the cross and deer motif is not at all odd. The imagery has been used in Roman Catholicism for hundreds of years, and probably other areas of Christendom, as well. While it isn’t necessarily among the first images one would pick for a church sanctuary, it is certainly fitting. The deer – nearly always shown drinking from a stream – point directly to the opening verse of Psalm 42: “As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God.”

Of all people, I suppose I should be the least surprised to find a ruminant in church. The “Te Deum Polyptic," which surrounds the sanctuary of Our Savior Lutheran Church, Grand Rapids, Mich., was created by my own hand, and it contains a small menagerie.

Supporting the textual phrase, “All the earth doth worship Thee,” is a vignette of all sorts of animals. Intentionally, many of them are “unclean.” There are swine and a praying mantis [see what I did there?]. Also included are bison and, to my recollection, a kudu, or some other ruminant. Had I known the liturgical connection with deer, however, I would have included one – with a very conspicuous tongue hanging out.

I will have a second chance to include a panting deer in an upcoming project. As a companion piece to an altarpiece I created for them a few years ago, Zion Lutheran Church, Wausau, Wis., has commissioned a set of paintings showing all of creation praising the Lord, including local flora and fauna. Yes, that means deer. No, that does not mean cheese.