There was a large metal sculpture at a museum I grew up visiting on school field trips. A black geometric form sitting stark in an otherwise traditional courtyard. I doubt I thought much of it then. It probably just seemed heavy, silent, and permanent.
It was a sculpture by Tony Smith. Years later, now after moving and living in different parts of the country, I came across that same piece again. Here too, in another city, at another museum. This one… again… practically in my current backyard. The coincidence of that feels wild.
Something about this specific piece catches me. Its form feels alive, like it is holding its own kind of tension. His work does that for me. From a distance, everything looks exact, modular, measured, deliberate. Moving around it, I notice the shifts, one edge a little longer, a plane that doesn't quite meet. Breathing.
That resonates with me. I've only found two books that pull at his process… but it seems clear he was not breaking form just to be clever. He talks about space, light, balance, and adjusting everything just enough to make it all work his way.
I think about that when deep in my own work… it's hard to stay aware enough to hear what the work is asking for. Sometimes that means tightening things up. Other times it means widening the frame so something new can move through.
The systems I'm currently working on sit on top of powerful models… allowing the ability to analyze, generate, and adapt data in ways that still feel eye-opening. But even with that capability, core decisions are needed on what belongs, what stays at the center.
Making good calls comes from presence. Listening helps. Being engaged in the work helps. Slowing down helps. Every project has something to say if I am paying attention.
I am still trying to get better at this… staying tuned, noticing what holds and what gives, finding the structure that keeps the whole thing honest.
Maybe that is why that sculpture keeps crossing my path. A reminder of what I am after… to build things that feel exact/ modular/ measured, but that also bend in the right ways. Systems that respond, not just repeat. Details that become impossible to ignore once you see them. Built to breathe. That's the flavor of work I'm interested in.
Addendum
Tony Smith’s origin story is an interesting read. When he was young, he spent long stretches confined to a small backyard studio while being treated for tuberculosis. The space was empty except for a small black iron stove in the corner, sharp-edged and silent.
I think about that when I see his works. It is easy to imagine that early image still living somewhere in his mind, shaping what he'd build later.
