Satan's Socks

Hannah Fink's shoe sculpture, in RAW BEAUTY exhibition, photo©JKreves

Last evening I attended Miriam Mill's directed play, "The Last Days of Judas Iscariot" at Rider University's Yvonne Theater.  David Spadora, the talented actor who played Satan, was costumed brilliantly, in a contemporary, collared white shirt, black jacket, black pants, and red socks. (seen at center of photo, in different clothing if you click on the link above) The socks really did it for Satan.  I don't think he could have been as convincingly dark without them.  The red socks screamed DANGER even when the actor was portraying the "I'm just another ordinary guy" side of Satan's act.  

Somewhere is an old photograph of our family with the cousins from my mother's side.  Although it seems to be lost, I remember it clearly.  We are all gathered on, beneath, and around a metal swingset on a summer day. Everyone is nicely smiling, but as usual my father is goofing. He is wearing bright orange socks, and is lifting his knee and pointing to the socks.  As if they might be missed without the special attention!  I was in high school then, and appreciated my father's socks as a fashion rebellion.  Those attention-grabbing socks were kind of a statement of his unorthodox thinking, and I was pretty sure that most dad's were not wearing anything like them just as most dad's were not thinking anything controversial in those Midwestern summer days.  I never could figure out where he GOT the orange socks, since white or black were the only colors that seemed to be sold.  In those days my dad was using his pulpit at The DuPage Unitarian Universalist Church to preach humanistic sermons about the environment and peace, sermons against the Vietnam war.   Someone upset by those beliefs had written into the local newspaper that it was clear that my father was "the devil", and they could "see it in his eyes" from his picture in the newspaper.  I'll bet if they ever saw him wearing those orange socks they'd have been even more sure of the Satan within him.  Anytime a bright color seeps through banality it hints of revolution, and it gets your attention.

Recently I was fortunate to have viewed "Raw Beauty", a mixed media sculpture exhibition at the Arts Council of Princeton curated by Rebecca Kelly.  The photos in this post are ones I took in that exhibition. One of my favorite sculptures was "Raw Suffering of a Woman", a dress by Lesley Haas incorporating handmade paper flax, shredded strips of New York Times and Women's Wear Daily.

Lesley Haas sculpture, photo ©Jkreves

Although mostly subdued colors, the bits of bright red on the shredded paper skirt suggest that life is still there and the suffering is still going on.

Another remarkable piece in the show was Miriam Schaer's 20 ft.long "No Ornament as Precious as Their Hands", made of Embroidery, beads, gloves and paint. Again, the overall neutral tone of the piece was enlivened by slices of red here and there, and the turquoise beading.

Miriam Schaer sculpture, photo ©Joy Kreves

detail of Miriam Schaer sculpture, photo ©Joy Kreves

Leslie Pontz, "Pregnant", photo © Joy Kreves

 As I write this the people of Libya are in a roiling turbulence trying to rid themselves of their oppressive leadership.  I hope that, like the Egyptians and Tunisians, they will soon feel the brilliant sparks of freedom burst into full bloom.  According to Sheryl Gay Stolberg's reporting in The New York Times, the writings of "a shy intellectual" provided some of the strategy for the Middle East revolutions.  Well-written ideas can be those brilliant colors that make instigating political action possible.


This is not a deep insight, that glimpses of brilliance amidst conformity brings vitality to our lives, but it is something worth noticing, remembering, and appreciating whether in fashion, thinking, politics or visual stimuli.  Such visual stimuli is not simple.  It is based on a gut-level recognition that there is something alive there, stirring or smouldering, something to watch out for, something possibly dangerous.  What color socks do you wear?

Becoming the Bug

On the morning following two days of shoveling a heavy, wet snow, I awoke on my back.  I wanted to turn over, but my arms felt little and weak and sore.  With some struggle, I managed to turn over but I thought, "That must be the way a beetle feels when it's flipped over..."

New Jersey Winter, photo ©Joy Kreves 2011

I've been thinking about beetles lately, because I have a new sculpture project.  I'm making the JUNE BUG sculpture for Metuchen's annual June Bug ArtFest.  Although I embraced this project enthusiastically, I ran into problems immediately.

First and most challenging for me is how to create a sculpture that will sit unharmed by weather, in the sun, wind and rain.  All of my sculptures have been made for indoor environments.  Creating for the outdoors is a whole different ballpark.  My previous mixed media works have been constructed with glue guns and other strong glues, using fiber, paper, balsa wood etc.  Suddenly, "mixed media" seems limited!  I contacted a sculpture supply company about two of their products which sounded promising for outside artworks. I asked if the products would hold up in the weather.   The email response I received suggested that I find somewhere warm and dry to create, because these outdoor conditions present challenges for any material that needs to cure!  How did I miscommunicate my question?  No, I had not intended to create the sculpture outside in this New Jersey winter!

Another problem was the subject matter itself.  Beetles had never captured my interest.  Knowledge breeds interest, though, and I researched June bugs, hoping they were at least the iridescent green ones I've admired as they lay flipped on their backs on the hot summer road.  Unfortunately, June bugs are no beauties.  They are just smooth brown beetles, a basic oval shape with a furry chest area and a somewhat gross-looking semi-transparent body.  Even their babies are on the disgusting side - those white, curled grubs that eat your plant roots.  No cuteness there. They stay underground for three years before making their appearance in May or June as the June Bug we know.  We hear their familiar razzing chorus in the summertime which I find quite pleasant. 

Okay, time for a big dose of artistic license!  MY June bug is going to have some color, some texture, some outsized "eyelashes" (they do have eyelash-like antennae beneath their eyes).  I am going to try to reference their natural transparency somehow though, and emphasize the geometry of their shape.

Blue Mtn. Lattice,©JKreves 2005

Landscape Lattice, ©Joy Kreves 2006

The sculpture base is always the hardest part for me to work out.  In reviewing my previous work I have realized that I most enjoy creating "relief sculptures" more than truly 3-Dimensional ones "in the round".  My entire hanging lattice series fits somewhere between 2 and 3 dimensional work, with some double-sided and some only one-sided pieces, yet they interact with their surrounding space and environment the way all dimensional works do.  As it turns out, I have one extra hanging lattice stand that is looking like a good option for my June Bug sculpture.  It is certainly stable enough for outside, not too heavy for me to manage, and made of steel which will rust in the rain if left unpainted as it is now, but that patina could be nice.

As for possible materials for the bug itself, I've looked at waxed cardstock, (used milk cartons), which I once created surprisingly durable birdhouses from, fiberglass reinforced plastic drop-cloths, wire screening, pellon, and I've made a small test bug from sculpture clay.  A size-able ceramic sculpture would be pretty heavy.  Maybe PART of it could be clay, the rest - metal?  The search continues, but at this point I think it will be mainly different metals with some ceramic parts.  I've already created the outline of a large leaf that my June bug will be clinging to.  As the thinking process moves along I am finding more interest in my subject.

Am I empathetic enough to truly understand my subject matter?  Like method acting, I wonder if method creating would be a helpful way to get in touch with my inner June Bug and thus lead to a stronger sculpture.  I already got a taste of how they feel when my exhausted arms could barely turn myself over in the bed; I've thought about them as I munch my salad leaves; I've spent so much time bundled up in layers and layers to keep warm this winter that I may have come as close as I could to experiencing the compact, inflexible shape the bugs have...perhaps I should reread Kafka's METAMORPHOSIS to  really get in touch with my inner bug.