‘B. Wurtz’s art is accessible—it’s buoyant and colorful, not given to the hoarding of deep secrets, and generally made of relatively cheap things like grocery store bags, buttons, and plastic lids. But that doesn’t mean his work is for everyone. It takes a certain perspective to value a sculpture whose proudest plumage is a rainbow-colored feather duster, and it takes a certain boldness to qualify such a thing as art in the first place.
‘“What can you put on a pedestal and call a sculpture?” he asked, rhetorically, when I went to visit him at his home on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. “Does it have to be cast bronze, or can it be something like that?” Wurtz motioned to a simple work in his third-floor studio space, in which a sock extends tumescently from a bare aluminum can. What is art, he wondered: “An oil painting of an important historical scene, or an AbEx work that now has its place in art history? Or is it just whatever I decide to put on the wall and say: ‘I know it relates to the history of painting and…well…take it or leave it?’”
‘Wurtz—the B. stands for Bill—has, in person, an almost uncanny resonance with the work he’s made for the better part of four decades. Thin and lanky, with a white-grey beard and distinctly round, red eyeglasses, he could be mistaken for a particularly sympathetic Jungian psychologist. There’s a gentleness about his bearing that’s in keeping with the joyous, light touch of his sculpture, in which odds and ends are collected, mulled over, and then spun out into a delicate dance. Netting originally used to contain oranges becomes a lo-fi shade or chandelier; cups and shoelaces are imbued with a jazzy, kinetic energy.
‘Like many great artists, Wurtz possesses a passion for his chosen materials and objects that is contagious, even if their appeal is not obvious. His work encourages a slowing-down, an appreciation for the overlooked. “There are some amazing plastic bags,” Wurtz told me, with an enthusiasm greater than what one might expect. “Beautiful colors and interesting designs on them. But they’re also the most ordinary, ubiquitous things I could think of.” He might speak with the same admiration regarding the manufacturing stamps printed on a length of wood, or the retro design of supermarket flyers. Spend an hour in his company and you, too, will be appraising yogurt containers for their hidden aesthetic value.
‘Wurtz started making art in his home state of California where, after some time off post-college, he enrolled in the California Institute of the Arts (a.k.a. CalArts) almost by accident. As Wurtz tells the story, he went to tour the school at the age of 30, and brought along with him a small container of his modest works. Improbably, someone reviewed his sculptures while he was wandering the campus; he returned to find that he’d been accepted, despite having yet to apply. Such is life. Wurtz was excited to study with John Baldessari, whose The Pencil Story (1972–73) had thrilled him when he first saw it. The conceptual piece features two photographs: one of an unsharpened pencil, the other of the same pencil, sharpened. Underneath it runs a handwritten narrative that concludes: “I’m not sure, but I think that this has something to do with art.”
‘At CalArts, Wurtz was slightly allergic to the Marxist-heavy reading curriculum, but he was enamored with the seminar format, in which artworks were endlessly dissected. His teachers included Douglas Huebler and Barbara Kruger, among others, and now-established artists like John Miller, Stephen Prina, and Tony Oursler were his classmates. A course led by conceptual star Michael Asher was particularly fruitful, and deeply rooted in the nitty-gritty aspects of craft. “What we talked about, all day long, was: ‘Why did you make it out of that?’ ‘Why did you choose that color?’ Art is always visual, no matter how conceptual,” Wurtz said.
‘Early pieces found the artist putting common things to new uses: croquet balls, hula hoops, keys, little chunks of wood. He also made sculptures and drawings that expressed an almost fanboy appreciation for Baldessari’s winking style. For one work, Wurtz affixed a piece of styrofoam to a rectangle of cardboard, and wrote “I didn’t make this” beneath it. In another, he paired a moody photo of a staircase with an offbeat admonition: “Do not think of Led Zeppelin.” Not every idea was a winner. Wurtz recalled two unrealized concepts—stretching printed fabric and presenting it as a readymade painting; installing a working bird bath inside a gallery, without any birds around—that were perhaps best left unrealized.
‘Grad school didn’t reinvent the way Wurtz made art, but it did lead to some minor breakthroughs. He remembered a text-based piece he presented to his classmates: hand-drawn sentences that had been compiled by chance, via pointing blindly at various magazines and books, and then using the words that his finger fell upon. I’m not going to say how I made these was Wurtz’s attitude at the time. It’s a secret. His peers weren’t having it. “I learned a huge lesson,” the artist admitted. “It doesn’t have to be a secret—that’s silly. I had this idea that if you talked about art too much it would destroy it. That’s not true at all.”
‘At CalArts, Wurtz met his wife, Ann Bobco—now a graphic designer—and the two settled in Hollywood. The artist felt out of step with the artistic tastes of the city. In 1985, the couple relocated to New York. Success came swiftly, with inclusion in “Six Sculptors,” a survey show at the critically influential Artists Space. That exhibition led to Wurtz’s first sales, as well as a phone call from the gallerist Hudson, who was interested in showing Wurtz at his Chicago-based gallery, Feature. (Feature would later open a location in New York, exhibiting Wurtz frequently through the mid-2000s. The dealer, a beloved art-world fixture, died in 2014.)
‘As his career got up to speed, Wurtz moonlighted at various jobs, including one that had him hand-assembling slides for corporate meetings in the days before PowerPoint. Cast-offs from that gig, including a trove of fashion slides, would later find their way into his sculpture. But mostly, it seems, he paid the rent and proceeded apace, hewing to the style that had always moved him—something between Marcel Duchamp and Alexander Calder. Much of his output fell within what Wurtz called his chosen “themes”: food, clothing, shelter. “There are endless found objects,” he said, “but these really ordinary things naturally go with the basics of survival—going to the grocery store, putting your socks on. By limiting it, I made freedom for myself.”
‘Now, in 2018, at the age of 70, Wurtz is more than surviving. This month alone is something of a watershed moment for the artist. First, there’s “Domestic Space,” an exhibition at Metro Pictures in New York, on view through October 20th. That show includes new sculptures, as well as a series from 1987 that pairs small objects—“electrical parts, lamp shades, kitchen things, cement fragments”—with photographs of the objects themselves. Wurtz angled and shot them in such a way that they have an imposing presence, akin to the water towers in the work of Bernd and Hilla Becher.
‘Then there’s “This Has No Name,” a museum survey opening at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles on September 30th; and another concurrent solo show in L.A., at Richard Telles Fine Art, on view from September 22nd through November 3rd. Meanwhile, Kitchen Trees, the largest work Wurtz has ever made—a series of five “trees” composed of kitchen equipment and plastic fruits and vegetables, commissioned by Public Art Fund—is installed in Manhattan’s City Hall Park until December. That piece presented a unique opportunity for Wurtz to transpose his tinkerer-at-the-table aesthetic into epic dimensions, partnering with a foundry in Brooklyn to construct the roughly 17-foot-tall structures.
‘Mild and modest as he can be, Wurtz cherishes the wave of recognition. While he’s had faith in these ordinary things for a long time, everyone else may just be catching up. “I find it fascinating to think that they were invented by human beings,” he said, talking about the found objects he employs, though he might as well have been discussing his own finished sculptures. “How humans evolved in the world and came up with these ideas—that’s so much a part of them. That human inventiveness.”
‘I asked him what he thinks of the word “whimsical,” a loaded adjective that—along with “simple,” or “playful”—seems basically unavoidable when discussing his work. Does that make his sculpture appear light, trifling, insubstantial? “I like that it’s on that edge of, ‘Oh, let’s dismiss this work because it’s too whimsical,’” he explained. “Humor is a powerful thing. Play is a powerful thing. As an artist, when I’m sitting on the floor in the studio, I feel like I’m three years old again, playing. Human life—without humor or play or whimsy—would be intolerable.”’ — Scott Indrisek
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Further
B. Wurtz Site
B. Wurtz @ instagram
B. Wurtz @ Metro Pictures
B. Wurtz @ Garth Greenan Gallery
B. Wurtz @ Kate MacGarry Gallery
Book: B. WURTZ ‘PHILOSOPHY FROM B TO Z’
B. Wurtz: This Has No Name
B. Wurtz – Drawing Room Play
Monuments: B. Wurtz
The Immaculate Pan Paintings of B Wurtz
B. Wurtz: how to rule over readymades and help art students
B. Wurtz “I don’t want to get obsessive”
A CONVERSATION: B. WURTZ
Making an Understatement: B. Wurtz
B Wurtz: Selected works 1970-2015
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Extras
B. Wurtz: Talks at The New School
Subjective Histories of Sculpture: B. Wurtz
Monuments: B. Wurtz
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His songs
‘New York-based artist B. Wurtz, born in Pasadena, California in 1948, has made a name for himself over the past four decades by transforming the minutiae of daily life into poetic sculptures, drawings, and assemblages. Yet the renowned visual artist is also a musician who began studying piano as a child and taught himself guitar as a teen. A piano teacher once urged him to consider a musical career, but instead he felt compelled to focus intently on his art practice. His interest in listening to music never flagged, but performing did not become a part of his life again until a few years ago, in 2016, when his wife Ann gifted him a guitar for their anniversary. After some initial struggles with re-learning, his mind – sharpened by conceptual art work – quickly formed its own refined songwriting approach. He produced demos in Garageband, later adding lyrics that blended philosophical thought with direct observation. These songs make up Some Songs, B. Wurtz’s debut album, produced by Harlan Steinberger at Hen House Studios in Venice.’ — Kristy Edmunds
Start Here
The Song We Sing
The Shady Road
The Clock
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Interview
from CFA
What different ways have you employed these kinds of household things in your work?
Some of the first sculptures that I made using common household items were my plastic bag works. Now plastic bags are a whole other thing, because they’re polluting the oceans and should be recycled. When I started working with them they were just the most ubiquitous thing that I saw in front of me—and, of course, they’re in the kitchen because we bring home groceries in them. I was attracted to them for their colors and patterns.
Are you interested in recycling or just fascinated by everyday items?
My work is not about the environment. However, I’m personally a rather militant environmentalist. I’m extremely concerned about recycling. I like the fact that the objects I use come with their own kind of subject matter, but I prefer to keep the meaning a little more open ended.
Had you previously used objects in tree-like forms?
Yes, I’ve made large tree-like forms with plastic bags—some using bags with cool graphics on them and others made with blue, recycling bags. These trees definitely come out of those kind of works, where I used wire to create branch-like structures.
Do these new, public pieces have a relationship to the site?
They totally do. When Daniel Palmer, the Public Art Fund curator, mentioned City Hall Park as a possible location I knew it would be my choice, if I got to choose. I absolutely love the fountain. The spray-type arrangement of the wires in my tree sculptures comes from looking at fountains. I did a sketch of my idea for the Kitchen Trees around the fountain and we pretty much stuck to it. Now that they are installed I see even more fascinating formal connections.
Why are there red, yellow, green, blue and orange tree trunks?
Those were the natural colors of the colanders, which compose the trunks. We didn’t paint them; they came like that. In the beginning, we talked about the fabrication of the trees, but I was pretty adamant about using objects just the way they came from the store. My challenge was to keep them true to my work, which is very lo-tech, not over-produced and not too slick. Daniel actually owned one of these colanders. We contacted the company that produced them and I chose the colors I liked best.
Why did you decide to use readymade, plastic fruits and vegetables, as opposed to more metal objects or more durable cast food items?
That’s something we went back and forth on. The original sketch had pots with food coming out and because I’m a heath nut the food that came to mind was produce. The question that came up was what form that should take. I considered casting fruits and vegetables and then the idea of scanning and digitally printing the produce arose, but it seemed too expensive and too over-produced. Thanks to a suggestion from my gallery, we used store-bought plastic produce, UV-coated it to protect the colors from fading and displayed it on metal rods with a steel nut on the end, which is exactly my aesthetic of revealing how things are simply put together.
Do you have a fascination with plastic?
I do. I really do. I remember thinking in the early-’70s that plastic is the most incredible material, the most incredible human invention. In my mind, it was more valuable than a diamond—at least as far as what you could do with it. Yes, you can make beautiful jewelry with diamonds, but look at all of the magnificent things that are made with plastics.
Do you choose objects for their aesthetic appeal or utilitarian use?
Both, I like the utilitarian thing, and as I previously said, I don’t hide that fact, but every time I look at an object I’m looking at it aesthetically.
Does the cost of the item you use have an influence?
I think it has been a consideration—partly because I never had a lot of money. It’s not like a grew up in a poor family, but I knew right away that if I was going to be an artist I wasn’t going to make much money. I learned to live really frugally, which isn’t the worst thing in the world. That said, it is fun to make art out of inexpensive things.
Are you transforming the objects or just re-presenting them?
That’s a really good question. I am just re-presenting them, but hopefully I’m transforming them for the viewer, and only transforming it so that they look at it a bit differently. I don’t want to hide what it is; I don’t want to hide its use value.
What role does play have in the making of your work?
It’s a huge part of it. Sometimes when I’m working on something on my studio floor I think back to sitting on the floor and gluing together little blocks in my dad’s hobby shop in our garage. Play implies fun, and I really have fun being an artist. It also implies humor and I like it if I can get some humor into my work—it’s a good thing to put out into the world.
Is the resulting work more conceptual or formal?
Again, I think it’s both, and I’m not just being wishy-washy. I do some teaching and when I do I often talk to students about a scale. At one end of the scale is pure formalism and at the other end is pure subject matter. Anything at either end will fail completely, because pure formalism gives you nothing to think about, and pure subject matter is also really boring and didactic, because art ultimately is visual, no matter how conceptual. I think I kind of fall right in the middle. But there are exceptions; there are artists who can be so far on either end and it still works. It just depends on the person doing it and how they do what they do.
Is your work more related to Marcel Duchamp or Richard Tuttle?
I need to think about it. Those are both people to whom I get compared, especially Tuttle, although we’re quite different. It might sound like a copout, but I almost think its equal.
Is there an element of tension that you are seeking?
Yes, I feel that I make people wonder what it is. Does that really need to exist? Why would some make that thing? I think tension is a very good word for it.
Since these are the largest works you made to date, does it motivate you to think even bigger or do you prefer to go back to working small?
This has certainly opened a door for me. Given the public aspect and the scale, I’ve never done anything like it. But I’m just going to wait and see. It’s not like I feel I should go out and make more big things right away. I’m still interested in small, intimate objects and then once in a while I make something larger. It’s not going to change my approach. I’m interested in the play between the two sizes, especially because there are always little details, as with the Kitchen Trees. It’s not like they are large in every way.
Do you make all of your works yourself or do you have assistants?
I have no assistants. I never have. I make all of the work myself. In a way I’m not so different from what they call Outsider artists. I sit by myself and make my work by hand, which I think is a huge part of the work. Even though it’s not especially labor intensive, it’s still very handmade. The Kitchen Trees were not handmade and that was part of the challenge for me. I needed to have someone else make it, but I had to keep it in relation to my handmade things.
Could a computer program make your work?
Oh, how funny, that would be fascinating, but I have the feeling it would get it wrong.
If you were to invent a digital program or app to make your work what might it be called?
It could be called Complicated Object.
What about Wurtzbau?
Wurtzbau would be good. I think it’s a road I don’t want to go down, but it’s quite funny to consider.
Since we are talking about a name, why B. Wurtz instead of Bill, Bob or Ben Wurtz?
When I was young I made paintings that I would sign Billy Wurtz. I could have stuck with it, but as I got older I thought I should get serious, so Billy became Bill. Even though I was a little uncomfortable with it I decided Bill Wurtz was fine. Then one day I decided to write B. Wurtz because it was quicker. I liked it and saw it as a persona, but a very vague one because there’s no sex attached to it. I thought let people look at the work and learn about me through it. I’ve been mistaken for a female over the years and that’s fine, because it’s about the work. But I’m also not hiding who I am.
Do you make a living off of your work?
I do now, but I don’t rake in the dough. I’m getting by, which is all that matters. For years I had to do day jobs—various freelance jobs, which wasn’t such a bad thing. It got me out into the world and around people. Ultimately, it was all educational. I even used items from various jobs in my art. As long as I’m surviving, I’m fine. I feel lucky.
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Show
Untitled (blue frisbee), 1984
Wood, metal, blue plastic frisbee
Untitled (tie rack and portraits), 1987
Acrylic on canvas, wood, tie rack
Untitled, 1997
Wood, wire, linen, acrylic paint, plastic bags
Untitled, 2014
Acrylic on canvas, wood, metal wire
Smiley, 2012
Untitled (7945), 2015
Pigmented cotton, wood, string, and screw
Octave, 2018
Piano parts, speaker, metal, bottle caps, wood, show buttons, buttons
Why was I born? Don’t ever leave me, 1984
Mixed media
Untitled, 2015
Untitled (Silver Lampshade), 1987
metal lampshade, wood, dye sublimation print
Untitled (East Village), 1987
found object, wood, dye sublimation print
Untitled (British Design), 1987
metal and rubber cheese grater, wood, dye sublimation print
Untitled, 2016
Untitled, 2001
Wood, wire, mesh netting
Untitled, 1990
mixed media
Untitled (prototype for a multiple), 1993
White Flag, 2012
Untitled, 2017
35mm slide in a cardboard mount, ink, wire, thread, wood
Untitled (Striped Dish Towel), 2018
photograph on Polyester silk, wood, metal, staples
Green Basket #2, 1994
Pan Painting 26, 2018
aluminium, acrylic paint
Untitled (pan painting), 1992
(l. to r.) Untitled (pan painting), 1996; Untitled (pan painting), 2002
Pan Painting 21, 2018
aluminium, acrylic paint
Untitled (pan painting), 2002
Untitled (bread quilt), 2012
plastic bread bags, wood, string, thread, T-shirt, shoelace, caution tape
This has no name, 2013
Untitled, 2016
Untitled, 2002
Lock, wood
Know Thyself (socks), 1992
mixed media
Untitled, 2015
paper, styrofoam
Untitled (relic), 1974
Untitled, 1980
ink on paper
Formal Garden, 1973
wood, acrylic paint, nails
Untitled, 1973
plastic, metal, ink on paper
House, 1989
wood, pencil, nails
Untitled, 2013
acrylic, plastic, wood
Drawing, 1980
wood, wire, safety pins, pencil
Unpleasant Private Thoughts and Secret Words, 1973
mixed media
*
p.s. Hey. ** Dominik, Hi!!! Thanks, pal. Consider the cinnamon roll bakery to be on your Paris agenda, assuming it’s a hit and lasts. It probably will. There’s a bakery here that sells American style donuts — which you can’t get here — and it has lines down the block. Yes, you should come to Paris, especially now that I think, at least, we’re a handful of minutes closer to you. We’re confident that the film will be fine, but we’re going to have to do some creative thinking, and we’ve already had to work so hard on every aspect of the film that we were hoping it could just fit in, albeit oddly. Nausea is definitely vomiting’s flaw. Thank you to yesterday’s love. My dream come true. I promise to use my eternality responsibly. Love delivering a large piping hot Chicago style four cheese pizza to my door, G. ** _Black_Acrylic, I can’t even remember the last time I vomited. I’m one of those people who can’t vomit even if I shove my fingers down my throat. ** Damien Ark, Paypal sucks. I can’t use it either. Every time I try, it tells me the address I enter, which is mine, is invalid. Wow, body part removal and replacement is big. Me too: I eat okay and never exercise except walking, and I’m fit as a fiddle. Which is a strange saying. May your December live up to December’s vaunted reputation. Mine too. ** T, Hi! Oh, I do two different kinds of thematic posts. One type is an everything but the kitchen sink type where poems and whatever stuff are game, and the other type is where I just apply the theme to visual art plus maybe a video or movie like yesterday’s. Although Martin Wong’s thing was writing, I guess. That was deep. Not stupid. I know depth when I read it. Never heard of Strongbow Dark Fruits, but it’s possible I drank it unknowingly because I usually try to drink cider when I’m in the UK because it’s easy peasy to get there and I don’t like beer very much. A boy I was insanely attracted to in high school threw up at a party we were both at once, and I was so into him that it was like getting secret special knowledge about him, and I took, like, 50 photos of it, and I think I still have them somewhere. Yes, let’s eat something with sugar in it as soon as you’re back in the fold, and hopefully blab with you here in the meantime. xo, me. ** Steve Erickson, Nice. Everyone, if you’re not over vomit yet, there’s a lucrative find from helpful Steve: ‘From Instagram, here’s a special effects artist’s extended bout of puking green vomit.’ Um, no, neither of those are our shares. I’d tell you, but it’s tomorrow. I think maybe it’s an out of left field share? ** Nick Toti, Hi! Why in the world didn’t I remember to ensconce you and yours in that post is a question I am scratching my noggin about this morning. ** Goutful, Thanks! Yeah, you probably have a big insider insight into vomiting and how it works and why and stuff. No, I don’t think I feel nauseous when emotional. Do I? No, I don’t think so. Is that common? Do you? I often say I’m disgusted by someone or something, but it’s just a purely verbal indicator of my dislike’s extremity. Can you be my doctor someday? You have a ‘bedside’ manner that I totally relate to. Big up the quiz passing! Assuming your weekends are study/work free, what are your plans for this one? ** Darby 🦇🦇, Like I told _Black_Acrylic, I don’t how to vomit. I’m sure I have, but I literally can’t remember ever having vomited. You’re so not gloomy. Whoever tells you that must be a Swiftie or something. Bad habits? I smoke cigarettes. That’s bad. Zac says that when I feel strongly about something I sometimes express myself in too adamant a fashion. Is that a habit? I have lots of habits, but it’s hard for me to see their dark side. I do bite my nails, but that’s a good habit, isn’t it? I think you’re right about Tyke the Elephant. I can’t even explain why I think you’re right, but I think you are. No, I don’t think self-harming is art, no. We’re in agreement. Rambunctious is such a good word. I’m going to use it more. Coffee is another of my habits, but there’s no way that’s a bad one. ** Jeff J, Thanks. Me either until I went on a search. I thought ‘vomit’ will never fly as a post thematic, but then, whoa, surprise. There was a big ugly thread on Facebook yesterday about ‘Molly’ too, same deal. It was a most unlovely combination of infuriating and pathetic. I think Monday or Tuesday will definitely work. Hit me up, and we’ll sort the time. ** Audrey, Hi, Audrey. It took me a while to find enough related stuff for a full sized post but yes. The vomit (post) is in the bag. I will, about the Fireflies books. Maybe this weekend. ‘Notes of the Cinematographer’ is obviously super major for me. Frampton’s films are hard to see. I think the only method other than extremely rare screenings is an excellent Criterion Collection box set — ‘A Hollis Frampton Odyssey’ — but then you have to buy a lot of his work when you don’t even know if it’s of interest to you. I did a Hollis Frampton Day on the blog. Here. I will, about the Rohrwacher films, hopefully this weekend. I haven’t seen the Sundance line up yet. Our film got rejected by them, although they said very positive things about the film in their rejection. Arguably the main star of our film is played by a trans person (FtM). He plays a boy. People told us we should push that as a selling point, but we want people to watch the film and believe in the character as presented and not think about the person playing the character, and that’s the performer’s preference too. I don’t think pushing that angle would have made a difference, but who knows. I really want to see Louise Weard’s ‘Untitled Castration Movie’. Is there any way to see it, do you know? That Elizabeth Malaska painting looks great. I’ll look up her work. Thank you. What does your weekend look like? I’m going to a reading tonight by Robert Gluck, an amazing writer, and maybe seeing ‘Godzilla Minus Zero’ today because I need some escapism. Love, Dennis. ** Okay. Today my galerie is giving a show to one of my very favorite contemporary artists, B. Wurtz, and I hope you’ll enjoy it. See you tomorrow.
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