Carol Bove appreciation post
An artist to inspire
Carol who?
Carol Bove creates large-scale creations, often with a team of skilled artisans. A lot of her work involves crushing metal with the use of a crane and a hydraulic press.
The great force required to achieve these results begs the viewer to take mental steps back to figure how the raw metal must’ve initially looked and the pressures necessary to wrinkle it in such a way.
I was able to relish in her own sense of “relief in crushing and suspending something so heavy and strong.”
How I got into her work
Some (most?) art you can walk away from without thinking of again. But occasionally a piece gets stuck in your brain. You try to re-experiencing it, you get interested in the artist and search for more of their work.
The latter was my experience with Carol Bove’s “From the Sun to Zurich” sculpture at Laguna Gloria, the Contemporary on a visit to Austin.
The power of perspective
I walked maybe three-quarters of the way around it, snapped a picture of the sculpture (and another of the placard) and walked away. This sculpture was painted white, like multiple of my own, but at a larger-than-life scale. The lines were so smooth, suspended and looped as if pulling either end would squeeze the piece into a perfect bowline knot.
It begged your eye to follow its curves and reconcile such smoothness with an understanding of its true rigidity.
I sent the picture to my father and he pointed out a detail I hadn’t noticed. From the angle I took the picture, the sculpture spelled the word ‘soul’. He inquired whether it was intentional, which sent us both down a Carol Bove rabbit hole.
We weren’t able to find anything specific about the appearance of the word ‘soul’. The work was however intended to represent “glyphs”. “The curvilinear shapes operate as mystic symbols that relate to language but disrupt understanding.” (Curvilinear? wow). Perhaps its relation to language got closer than the artist ever really intended.
Bove poses the question, “is there a right or wrong perspective? Does the artist leave clues of the ‘correct’ way to view?”
Walking around a piece, viewing it from multiple angles, is part of the inherent beauty of sculpture. I don’t believe there’s a “correct” angle to view. One angle might reveal a divine message written out just for you, but the bystander ten feet away sees a scramble of lines. That doesn’t diminish the beauty of the scramble. It’s boring if everyone were to see the same thing, take away the same message.
“The Seances Aren’t Helping” I & III — The Facade Commission at the MET
Art + productivity
Ms. Bove’s perspective toward artmaking align in many ways to my own. She has chosen to uncouple the term “work” with art creation.
Time in her studio is time to create, experiment and play, not to work. She talks about the importance of art creation with no viewership. When she feels unwatched, she’s free to go down paths that feel right, not necessarily the most aesthetic or “shareable”.
(In 2024, when so much art is shared digitally, and we ask folks to join us on our journeys, it’s too easy to fall into trap of focusing too much on the final product. Will people like this? Is not the right question to be asking yourself mid-creation. Otherwise, you’re never going to really challenge yourself.)
Ms. Bove thinks, "Creating a free space in which to play and have fun is essential. You can tell when you’re looking at art that was a drag to make: it’s a drag to look at. On the other hand, it’s thrilling to watch someone work through a problem that’s exciting for [them], even if the subject matter wouldn’t normally move you.”
I’ve said this myself. That art is imbued with energy that’s felt by the viewer in the final piece. Unless my piece is specifically about frustration or negative emotions, I want to make sure I’m approaching my artmaking in the right headspace. I’ve learned, with time, to not bother going out there when I’m in a funky mood. It’s better to take a break and care for myself in other ways, than take it out on my art.
Check out more from Carol
The Four-Hour Art Week? Read Carol Bove's Self-Help Guide for Artists