46 | JUNE 23 • 2022
fostering at the gardens?
AS: I see a discussion
as open-ended, a start of
a journey really. I can say
something about how it
stands straight and tall
but holds in its hands and
fingers sharp shattered glass,
memories and ideas that seem
to reflect pain on it.
Another person can
respond with their
interpretation. I can’t control
what they see in it. I think
that’s the beauty of it. But I
might learn something from
them and maybe see it as
well. We might even change
each other’s perspective and
hopefully learn something
from the other. I think that’s
the great power of looking
and hearing.
RF: Just as your joining
of two trees outside the
Frankfurt Jewish Museum
was a provocative gesture,
the entangling of glass in
the Meijer Gardens tree
seems equally compelling,
particularly in a lush
outdoor setting.
AS: That’s very much a
sculptural kind of decision.
I always approach my work
from two directions: one
is the conceptual, but the
other is very much about
the material. I put as much
importance into each of
them. I’m not somebody
whose ideas overcome the
form because I also very
much enjoy experiencing
art through the materials,
through the human, physical
connection that it makes.
A lot of times I feel that
one can say the material
overtakes the concept; but
sometimes those two worlds
come together and actually
help each other and make the
experience of the sculpture
stronger and bigger.
I feel that happens with the
combination of the glass and
the tree. The tree is made out
of aluminum and, therefore,
nothing is actually alive or
flexible or dynamic about it,
other than the shape. And
since it took almost the exact
shape of the fig tree, with the
surface and shape, maybe
that’s when the movement
happens.
It’s so similar to a real
tree one almost loses the
recognition that it’s a dead
object. The glass, then,
the way it is trapped in
the branches, also brings
questions: What came first,
was it in the tree from the
start? Or was it glass that fell
into the tree?
Once you see this tree
up close, you will find that
the joints between the glass
and the aluminum cast are
perfectly made. It almost feels
as if the glass is cut into the
branches. Or that over the
years the tree grew around
it, the way trees surround
obstacles, such as a fence.
RF: We have a tree in our
yard that has grown around
a metal post. I’ve thought
about trying to pull it out
but realize I can’t. The two
have become one object.
AS: That’s the reason,
maybe, why this piece makes
me think about memories
and about experiences, and
about catastrophes or even
intentionally inflicted harm
the tree may have felt in the
past. And, as we discussed
earlier, those human pasts.
That’s why I think this
sculpture can function as a
memorial very well because
it’s a tree that is there, it’s
standing, but it doesn’t try to
hide. It tries to live together
with the catastrophe that it
went through or the problem
that it encountered.
Even though it’s very
intimidating, because the
glass is suspended in a very
fragile way over our heads, it
can also be optimistic because
the tree stands with a lot of
pride.
RF: Trees also figure
prominently in certain
Holocaust memorials
where a lost community
is represented by one that
has been cut down. I have
also seen photographs of
trees growing through ruins
of synagogues in Eastern
Europe, images that temper
the optimism of growth
with an abject sense of loss
and abandonment. And I
have already heard some
comments regarding the
glass in Ways to Say Goodbye
as perhaps representing
Kristallnacht.
AS: Yes, working with
glass actually started with
me, interestingly enough,
through a series of works
based on Kristallnacht. I
think that’s why I arrived at
using glass a few years earlier
before making this particular
sculpture.
I was working a lot with
shattered windows, breaking
them, gluing them together
and then photographing
them. This was a response
to art history in a way, being
about the object and then
the representation of the
object. The way I worked
was that after breaking the
glass, putting it back together,
Trees grow tall
in the ruins of
many Jewish
synagogues in
Eastern Europe.
ROB FRANCIOSI
Ways to Say
Goodbye
at Meijer
Gardens
DVIR GALLERY
ARTS&LIFE
SCULPTURE
continued from page 45