Ceramic art often feels utilitarianism, not works of art. That is, until it reaches a certain scale, at this point it is undoubtedly sculptured. American ceramicist Chris Gustin has long been a key figure in contemporary ceramics, and it works on that threshold. His huge form is rooted in function, but to transcend it, occupying a space in which utility gives way to something more mysterious and elemental. In the “lift” of Donzella Project Space, some of Gustin's organic, bulbs, body forms five feet high. They are abstract, but seem to be frozen in the behavior of Eclosion, unrecognizable, but are ready to take some mysterious final form.
This is the first lecture by a New York City artist ever Spiritual Series (2023-2025) relate to an article by curator Glenn Adamson, talking with iconic works of five decades of careers, from creating real functional commodities to sculptural forms that suggest the tactile and sensual qualities of transformative human figures.
Transformation-awkish, unwavering, and sometimes radical-is not only a subject in Gustin’s work, but his life as an artist. In addition to serving at several universities, he also co-founded the Watershed Ceramic Art Center with Margaret Griggs, George Mason and Lynn Duryea and established the Gustin Ceramic Tile Production. One constant is clay. Gustin came from a ceramic family, his parents jointly owned several commercial ceramic factories and founded Franciscan pottery. After high school, Gustin worked for them before pursuing BFA, then MFA, and finally devoted himself to his studio practice.
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Today, his work is in several major public collections, including Lacma, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Fine Arts Museum, Boston, Shigaraki Ceramic Culture Park in Japan, and Victoria and Albert Museum in London. His work was soon on display in the American “Ascendence”, but observers caught up with Gustin to understand the power behind his powerful sculpture work and his lasting relationship with the medium of choice.
First, let's talk about the process. You have described the process as instinct or intuitive. Can you guide us through the way we start a single sculpture – physically and physically?
Process is an interesting term because it is the driver that implements how it works. I think this is the road I am traveling and if I am traveling somewhere, I will do something before leaving. But if the trip will be fun, then I hope there are some surprises along the way. I started drawing and sketching from the studio and just drew a lot of ideas of graffiti, instead of really editing anything, just letting one drawing lead to another. This is the roadmap, after doing enough drawings, I have a look at the starting point of the next series of works and where I want to start.
I always start by creating a set of boundaries, with the sense of scale of the series I'm working on, whether I'm in a vertical or horizontal form, the size range of pieces I want to make, something like that. I create various limitations and play in it. I start a set of pieces at the same time, usually acting in three to six pieces at a time, depending on their size. From there, I move between pieces while working, build on one piece, and then move to another if the clay needs to set some to continue. These works work with each other, each telling its own story, but somehow connected as a group.
I'm very interested in the production moments, the time elements of the process, and how to guide the results. I'm very slow in my work, try not to direct the results to the predetermined results, build the table in a very similar way (make a mark, and then respond). I put down some clay coils, moved them, and responded with the next set of coils. Just let it flow, if something doesn't work, then go back and find out why.
The process is how I get there, so it's a lot like driving to my destination on the way. If I were too focused on when and when I arrived, I would miss everything I saw along the way. So, there is a mindful part of this all trying to stay with the clay for a moment while keeping the boundaries I set. It is the boundary or the imposed limitation (i.e., two feet or four) that defines the space of invention.
You have been working in clay for decades and you come from a pottery artist. Have your relationship with the material changed over time?
My family works in gift software, focusing on production and product. I grew up in a ceramic factory, so my early understanding of clay centered on mass production, and although there are high skills in mass-making objects inside the factory, I remove them for most of the process.
But I grew up in the 50s and 60s when kids built a lot of things they played with. I love making things, so when I was a teenager I was doing something different about how my phone informed my personal work throughout the process than what could happen in the factory. So when I went to art school, I was attracted by the studio pottery movement of the 70s. Over the years, the change in clay as a material is the confidence that will be given when trying to achieve an idea over the years. I used to have had to adapt to an idea due to lack of skills or inability to see solutions with the skills I had. Things have changed over the past few decades and I feel like I can build anything my eyes can see.
There is a tendency to see clay as a home. How do you negotiate this connection while working on a large scale and on topics like human experience?
Flower pots bring connections between use and family through history. It's a blessing and a curse. One blessing is that there is such a rich history of metaphor and analogy in clay history, but the curse is because it prevents the view of clay as a contemporary art art. Things have changed a lot over the past few years, but this conversation has been going on for generations. When building a ship, the scale of the work moves it from the table to the floor and then asks the audience/user what the ship might be.
But whether I exercise a ship in the narrative or dig out large sculptures, my form is organic and the connection to the human body is organic. How I move these forms create an emotional sense of “body language” that people can interact with based on their own experience. These metaphors have the potential to connect. I have always wanted my work to be quiet and more reflective in mind than loud or fanatic. This is a quiet space to discover this mystery.
Your work stems from functionality, but what does “function” mean in the context of existing organic and abstract forms?
I started out as a functional potter, so the use of pottery in China is crucial to understanding the power of objects in daily use. There is a difference between features and utility because the utility meets strict requirements while the functionality is more open and subtle and not limited to use. An object can exist in two worlds. That is, teapots can serve tea and carry communities and beautiful meanings beyond their utilitarian purposes. My work uses the function's “memory” as the starting point for the conversation. How we strive to provide context for something is crucial to how we interpret the world. Without context, we may lose our understanding of “meaning.” So we search for it in the case of what we see and contact. I used ceramics and their long history as a springboard to get people to start finding a door, a place to find enough understanding so that they can connect to the emotional space of formation, color and shape.
Do you want Laypeople to perceive or get rid of your work?
First, I want people to be emotionally connected to my work. That is, I want them to “feel” the work in the gut first, rather than experience it through intellectual observation. This work requires your historical connection to the body, not your mind, and only after the first emotional reaction can the mind focus and then provide space for the analogy. My best job can do this without pretending, and since the door in the door is non-intelligent, its potential ability to connect with people is based on human connection.
You have participated in over fifty museum performances and have helped shape the field through your practice and educators. What does the accreditation of an organization mean to you – not only your work, but more broadly for ceramics?
Recognizing that one will always be affirmed and in many ways can keep the work moving forward and changing over the years. I am very lucky that what I do and the teaching I do touched people in ways that I could not imagine in art school years ago. I am proud that my voice on the field still resonates, and my work has helped the field move forward. Whether it is an individual artist or a field, recognition opens doors and opportunities. What is happening in the art world today is the game changer of ceramics, galleries, museums, collectors and institutions that see materials as true art forms. Being a part of it is both humble and exciting. But I also know that awareness kills creative risks, so when I’m in the studio, I try very hard to put all of this behind me. Someone once told me the motto “Don’t believe in your own news” and I think it’s a very healthy place to work.
You have spent many years teaching and coaching. Do you think the young artists working in Clay are bringing new areas? Do you think the observer's readers should focus on any artist?
Over the past decade, the number of artists working at Clay has exploded, with young artists entering the field from multiple communities, with a sense of history and reference unlike the history and reference of my time. We all study ceramic history, taking the culture of the past as a reference point and inspiring work. Now, culture itself is the source material, it undermines bias and opens up the dialogue that ceramics can not only provide for functional works, but also for performance, installation and sculpture. There is a very powerful energy out there, it is young, energetic and unapologetically. The clay has a sound, it screams. It was a very exciting time, full of experimentation, politics, social commentary and the breaking of boundaries. How we ultimately evaluate today’s work is another time, as the importance of the work in a larger conversation will fade away over time, or the legs go beyond a moment. But it’s not the power of longevity, but creativity can inspire innovation and rethink how value is attributed to an idea.
As for the people who are looking at: Natalia Arbelaez, Isaac Scott, George Rodriguez, Janina Myronowa, Colby Charpentier and Paul Briggs.
