A B O U T T H E A R T I S T
Bruce Johnson, Sculptor
by Sandy Thompson
If a tree falls in a forest
and no one's there to hear,
does it still make a sound?
Gone, except for large mounds of sawdust, and a few formative ideas scattered about, are much of the hundreds of tons of redwood woebegones that were dragged, hoisted and hauled by train, trailer, and truck to Johnson's Cazadero, California work yard and studio. Rescued from forests, riverbeds, and northern California's tempestuous coastal relationship with the Pacific Ocean, these orphans of Nature's primeval forests and the merciless realities of the lumbering business have had their dignity returned by Johnson's magical touch. From rejection, their majesty reincarnated as sculptures. Eight of which currently reside in Santa Rosa's Paradise Ridge Sculpturegrove as Johnson's exhibition Old Wood/New Life.
But Bruce Johnson is suffering of late. Suffering something of the Post-Part-With'em Blues. For his once-flush-with-materials condition, that demanded complete sensory attention‹ especially the physical--now tilts decidedly toward cognitive attention. Being called a "thinker" though an accurate appraisal of this man--is a characteristic he prefers to dismiss. To little avail, however, since thinking is how he identifies, and attaches, and worries to completion the various aspects in his life. It is how initially intuitive abstractions become intentional three dimensional objects in space.
Recently in a letter to me he wrote, "I would like to give voice to the opportunities that I seek. Like my work at the Sea Ranch Chapel, I long to devote myself to vision. My job (there) was to pay attention to spirit, form, and material. I was an anonymous contributor to a beautiful project Such projects are far too rare."
The redwood logs of Old Wood/New Life, now consumed and transformed by chainsaw and chisel, adz and drill bits, and other woodworking tools and implements of transformation, came to his studio eighteen months ago. Of their relationship to "projects . . . far too rare," he explained, "[this] has been a similar experience," allowing him to . . . "pay attention to spirit, form, and material. I had great assistants . . . wonderful material . . . financial backing . . . a commitment (from Paradise Ridge owner, Dr. Walter Byck) to show. . . transport and promote the (work.) I wore many hats . . . but the hands-on making was the job I really enjoyed most.
It's his phrase "anonymous contributor" that strikes as most poignant. Johnson nearly always lets his basic material exude its wood virtues. Its immensity, both in ancestry and size; its shapes, curvaceous and gnarled; its grain, subtle and aggressive; its flaws, delicate or raw. Its wood lyrics and wood music are the song. His task: to accompany the leads of his medium. The wood, the virtuoso; he, its passionate champion. He's been comfortable in that role.
But an irritation has accessed his considerable psyche. The exasperation [perhaps burden] of not having the work recognized in the extended marketplaces, critical and economic. So, to soothe this current vexation, he senses his work now needs an audition in realms outside the immediate.
The path of the contemporary artist, he continued, who creates and sells is one path for me to get to do my work. The commission process is another. . . or collaboration on something of larger significance.
Johnson often projects the aura of woodworking recluse, living and working in his far from the madding crowd lair. This choice [perception?] of persona, however, creates by definition audiences much less accessible. Creates fewer opportunities for the work to be viewed and purchased.
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Johnson is not a woodworking hermit, ascetic or loner. Despite his home and studio being off-road, in a woods, and miles from the cosmopolitan, and despite his Promethean talent, he is an incredibly engaging and eminently informed creative beast. But as a Wise Man once told me: Leaving the madding crowd can create an illusion as to who one really is. And the longer the illusion is lived the greater its prospects of becoming reality.
Not long ago Johnson posed a question regarding an existential dilemma. "Is it possible for an artist to exist, and exist successfully, outside the mainstream art world?" This query to Bonnie Anne Speed, then Director of Visual Arts, Mitchell Museum at Cedarhurst Sculpture Park, Mt. Vernon, Illinois, received affirmation, though with some not unexpected caveats. That the work is its own invitation to success. That unless the work is seen, it's little more than the product of an exercise in self-pleasing. And that there can be no compromise of the artist's being, their vision, technique and/or process.
Eventually, though, confronting these concerns creates that conundrum nearly every artist suffers, survival versus vanity. Or in Johnson's words, "exist successfully."
Though "exist" possesses several interpretations separated by subtle differences, it offers the least resistance to definitive meaning. "To be real . . . to have life . . . to live at a minimal level . . . to be present in a particular time and place."
"Successful", however, is more elusive. "A favorable outcome . . . obtained something desired or intended . . . achieved wealth or eminence." It is almost as slippery as "Beauty is . . . Still, successful is the fulcrum of which Johnson's query precariously rests.
Success for an artist--for anyone actually--encompasses, though rarely in equilibrium, some part of four elements: the material, the spiritual, the emotional, the physical. Success carries indigenously the weight of value and thus is prey to judgment. Any one element can determine an individual's perception of their success. The examples are legion, from the Dali Lama to Donald Trump.
For Johnson and most artists, success is primarily emotional, running from simple recognition to modest acclaim to wild adulation. It is, in the final analysis, validation. It is being acknowledged for having spilled their life's blood in some fashion, and then being thanked in whatever manner available to those observing their work.
With Old Wood/New Life, success of this stripe would have for Johnson large numbers of people coming to Paradise Ridge Sculpturegrove and experiencing the eight pieces in those ways open to their particular being. He asks for no more than recognition.
Yet, Johnson's question carries the tone of lament: "Can an artist be successful outside the mainstream art world." As my Wise Man also said, It's a matter of attitude, for the boonies are wherever you see them to be.
The ultimate resolution of existence mating with success, in each of their respective nuances, is contained in the perception of self. What in the artist's heart of hearts do they want? Do they want to create--play god in their own microcosm? Or do they want to expose their creations to the critical and economic risks and rewards of the judgmental world?
If it's the latter, then the journey begins with humility riding in tandem with presence.
Exist successfully? It is there for the artist who is present every moment in their craft. It is there for the artist who is present in the realization that there are things to accomplish. It is there for the artist who does not ask permission. It is there for the artist who gets out of the way of their own energy, letting that energy speak through the work.
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To exist, concluded the Wise Man, is to be here, now. Success, however, is a gift. A gift anonymously given, humbly accepted, passionately applied, and void of any judgment as to process, destination, or extrinsic worth.
Given time and materials, Bruce says he will make sculpture in his studio. Given interesting commissions he will feel blessed. Given collaborative opportunities he will engage them. But if none of these become realities, he says, "I will go back to work as a carpenter or teacher. In a way it is all energy. We are here, alive. I feel so fortunate and so hopeful.
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Sandy Thompson is a freelance writer for the arts of Northern California. His work appears in American Craft, ARTweek, Glass Art, Fiberarts, Ceramics Monthly, Stained Glass Quarterly, and other regional and national publications.
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