Lassaw is one of the few, if not the only sculptor of our time to suggest that aeration is not enough in an age of expanding space, and that more ways and means, in art at least, must be found to cope with "emptiness" as if it were a thing, as we are beginning to suspect it is. We owe him a great deal for adding to our concrete visualization in this direction and for having helped us across this initial phase, so quietly, and so handsomely.

 

"The Club" Its First Three Years

by Al Copley
© 2005 A.L.Copley

After the war there was an exhibition of Paris artists at the Whitney Museum of American Art. when many of us younger New York artists saw it, we had the strong feeling that Paris had lost its predominance as the art capital of the world. There was a consensus that it was now up to us to make New York the world capital of art.

At that time, there were merely a few galleries that showed the works of our generation and the museum curators had no interest in our works. We painters and sculptors would meet in our studios to see each other 's work. There was , however, a desire to among us to meet in less personal environments to discuss art, which was our main concern. When the weather was favorable, we would meet on the benches in the northwest corner of Washington Square park, but otherwise at the Waldorf Cafeteria, located on the east side of Sixth Avenue between Eight Street and Waverly Place.

The Cafeteria was the most inexpensive place for us artists. For the price of a cup of coffee, we could meet for an entire evening. this was a constant irritation to the manager, but something he could do nothing about. We usually met after nine PM for a few hours. A major difficulty was that no more than four persons were allowed to sit at one table. When someone added a fifth or sixth chair, the manager would show up and insist that only four people could be at one table. We were often at several tables, but were not permitted to put them together. There was always tension between us and the manager, which disrupted our discussions when they became most intense or challenging. So we were thinking of a place where we could sit without any kind of interference.

"In the summer of 1949, Franz Kline learned about a loft that would soon become available. This led to an urgent meeting at the loft of Ibram and Ernestine Lassaw, where Kline told us that , a few days earlier at the Cedar Bar he had met a commercial artist from New Zealand who wanted to go back to his native country and had to give up his loft at Eight Street. He asked $500 "key money" an d, although he had another offer, gave Franz priority. There was a great deal of discussion about how to raise the key money but first of all, there was a need for us to see the place. Kline, Bill deKooning and a few others had already seen the loft and considered it most suitable. It was in the Village, where most of us lived at that time; close to the Cedar Bar, to which many of us went when we had the money, and near a hamburger joint that was the least expensive eating place in this part of town.

The meeting at Lassaw's was the only one of its kind. It included a discussion of the type of "organization" we were to have and our policy regarding membership. It was contended that members should not include women, Communists or homosexuals- a strange kind of package, with which some of us did not agree. A heated discussion ruled the evening, until Franz reminded us that we must make a decision about the loft no later than the following day.

About seven of us, as I recall- Ibram Lassaw, Milton Resnick, Jan Roelants and myself- went to see the loft, located on the north side of Eight Street, near the middle of the block between University Place and Broadway. it was the upper floor of a small factory building with creaking wooden stairways. The loft had a fireplace, three windows facing Eight street, and one window at the back. It was crowded with partitions and the many walls were covered with drawings of pin-up girls and pornography. The New Zealander wanted a decision the following day at the latest and made it very clear to us that could not let us have the place for less than $500. After inspecting the place, we went to a nearby cafeteria.

We all agreed that the loft was the proper place, but the problem was how to raise $500, for us a very large sum, within the deadline. Some thought we might find another place for much less key money, although none of us knew of one. Some, among whom were Bill and Franz, were so poor that could not advance any amount of money. This discussion lasted a few hours and when it looked as if we would lose the loft, I remembered that I had $22 in my pocket, of which I put 420 on the table, stating: "let us start the key money". Others followed my example, but we collected only about $50. We persuaded Philip Pavia to take the$50 and advance the remaining $450 by the following day. After some hesitation Philip agreed to do it and we were overjoyed.

The first thing we did was to take down the many partitions. we kept two small area in the back, one as a kitchen and the other as storage place for the folding chairs and a few tables we purchased. We painted the walls and ceilings white and Giorgio installed a loudspeaker system and a record player which provided us with music. we named this meeting place "The Club". The twelve charter members were Bill deKooning, Ibram Lassaw, Giorgio Cavallon, Philip Pavia, Franz kline, L. Alcopley, Milton Resnik, Joop Sanders, Landis Lewitin, Corrado Marca-Relli, James Rosati, Jan Roelants.

Our meetings usually started between nine and ten P.M. and often lasted to the early morning hours, when some of us went for breakfast to the nearby hamburger joint. I , therefore, suggested Friday as our main evening, since many of us had some kind of job during weekdays. Saturday evenings were reserved for social gatherings, at which we asked out women friends or wives to join us. Usually we had dances and some of our women collected money in baskets to buy hard liquor. In the beginning there was difficulty, because some of the people who went out for the liquor did not come back. We arranged that one or two of our charter members would go with them to make certain that they returned with the liquor.

Tuesday evenings we had the charter members meeting, where many discussions took place regarding the kind of organization we wanted The Club to be. none of us was for written rules. There was a need to increase membership, since we needed to pay back the money Philip had advanced, as well as pay fo r the monthly rent and other expenses. As Philip knew how to handle money, we entrusted him with collecting the membership dues, taking into consideration that some charter members could not pay them in the beginning. Thus, Philip became the Treasurer.

On Tuesday evenings it was also decided who among us had to clean the floor an dthe toilet, wash the coffee cups and drinking glasses, get the wood for thefireplace,address the announcements of our Friday evening lectures, take charge of opening and locking the doors etc. All this was done weekly ona rotating basis and each of us was assigned to do these jobs. No one was excluded and everyone did these chores without hesitation.

There was only one rule: If more than two charter members opposed an applicant, he was excluded. As Lewitan was always against adding any new member to The Club, it only took only one other opponent to reject an applicant. This made The Club highly exclusive. A charter member had to sponsor the person who applied. It so happened that if no other charter member knew the particular applicant, he had more chance of becoming a member. Soon we included two "voting members", Joseph Pollet and Lutz sander. From the very start, someof us disliked the efact that no women artists were permitted to join The Club. the majority fortunately prevailed and our first elected women artists were Elaine deKooning and Mercedes Matter. their inclusion opened the way for other women artists to become members. As many of us were deeply concerned with the McCarthy period of persecutions, we accepted members who may have been considered Communists at some time in their lives . we also accepted homosexuals. Thus , everyone could join The Club, provided that one person besides Lewitan was not against the applicant. The membership of The Club increased markedly during the year after its beginning in September. 1949.

There was one point we charter members were very jealous about: The Club's complete independence from any curator, art critic, collector, gallery owner or any kind of sponsor of the arts, public or private. No advertisements for gallery or museum shows were permitted at The Club. It went so far that when our Voting Member Pollet proposed tosecure funds for The Club from his personal sponsor, Mrs. McCormack, a wealthy Chicago art patron, it was unanimously rejected. After this, Joe proposed to approach Mrs. McCormack to pay for coffee and liquor. This was equally rejected. In The Club we, theartists, were the masters and nothing could "corrupt"us.

Soon museum directors , such as Alfred H. Barr, Jr. of the Museum of Modern Art, came to several of our Friday evenings, as well as important collectors. None of them was given any special treatment and they were eager to be guests of the artists of The Club. One collector, introduced by Esteban Vicente, was Leo Castelli, who offered to do all kinds of work for the Club, such as addressing announcements for our meetings and other chores. As he was well-liked , he became the first non-artist member of the Club, many years before he started his gallery.

As Christmas 1949 approached, we decided to have a party for the children of the artists and (some ) of their friends. For a few evenings The Club became a workshop where most charter members made one or two giant collages, covering the walls and ceilings with them. I made two of them. Most collages were daring and dazzling. Nobody saved these unique works of art and to my knowledge, no photographs was taken of this display of pure joy. Johnny Myers who was a puppeteer at that time, gave a fine performance for the children.

We loved to have parties' which often lasted through the night, at The Club. They were considered the main social events in the growing New York art world. We gave Joop and isca Sanders a wedding party during Christmas time in 1950. when Sandy and Louisa Calder left for France, we had a party for them the night before their departure. Sandy was a passionate dancer and could move about with a partner for hours without stopping. When Louisa was exhausted, he grabbed me and we, a rather bulky pair of barrel-chested men, swirled around incessantly until, I , too, became exhausted. The evenings of opening of exhibitions by members of the Club were favorite occasions for grand parties.

During the first year of The Club's existence we started to have lectures by prominent speakers who were introduced by a member. Although the speakers did not receive honoraria, every one considered it a great to be invited. These lectures were not limited to painting, sculpture or the graphic arts, but included architecture, music, poetry, choreography, photography, film making, philosophy, sociology, psychology, urban planning, etc. Our speakers included many of the best minds in America and from abroad. Among my personal friends, whom I introduced, were the composer Edgar Varese, the architect and sculptor Fredrick Kiesler, as well as the philosopher Heinrich Bluecher and his wife Hannah Arendt.

The following episode is vivid in my memory: Bluecher, who at the time was entirely unknown, often came to my place on Charles Street in the Village to view my latest paintings and drawings. One evening I asked him to come along to the Club, where he had not been previously, to listen to appraisals , by three speakers of Andre Malraux's new book, The Voices of Silence, which he had read. It so happened that none of the speakers and none of the sponsors showed up . There were some eighty people waiting for them. Philip Pavia came to me after nearly an hour and asked what I thought could be done about the dilemma- it had never happened before.

When I asked my friend Heinrich whether he would give the lecture, he became very angry, saying that I first dragged him to this place, that he had already waited nearly an hour for the speakers to show up and now I had the impertinence to ask him to give the lecture.! He refused and wanted to leave. I then told Philip that I believed Heinrich could give the lecture and Philip asked him to do us this favor, but had no success. I asked Heirich again, offering to make very clear to the audience that he had read the book, come along with me to listen to the three speakers, and that I thought he could give the lecture, but he considered my asking him to do so impertinent. My introduction was greeted with applause,... which prompted Heinrich to give what was probably the best lecture ever given at The Club. He followed this with three more lectures on successive Friday evenings.

The word spread quickly among members and friends of The Club. we had never before had such large audiences and there were not enough chairs. Some of us were afraid that the floor would cave in. About a year later, when Edgard Varese spoke on contemporary music and his work as a composer, again The Club was so overcrowded that some people present, among them Sidney Janis who was a volunteer fireman, were scared stiff that the entire building would collapse.

The Club had become an American "institution". Famous artists and poets such as Dylan Thomas, considered it a great privilege to be invited to The Club. A tremendous cultural force emanated from The Club. This force contributed to the vitality of art in America and created the basis on which New York ultimately became "Art Center of the World".

This is an account of what happened from1949 to October 1959, when I left for Paris. A party was given for me at The Club and at the party I was asked to start a branch of The Club in Paris. Together with Michel Seuphor, the French art writer, artist and poet, and my late wife Nina Tryggvadottir, I did this. It was an entirely different kind of meeting place, adapted to conditions in Paris and called "Le Club."

 

Ibram Lassaw's Life and Art: a personal account

By Denise Lassaw

Childhood

My grandparents Philip and Bertha Lassaw were married in the Crimea around 1911 and shortly after traveled to Alexandria , Egypt, to live with Bertha's aunt. Philip‘s elder brother Max Lassaw had already immigrated to New York and the couple intended to join him as soon as they could. Ibram Lassaw was born in Alexandria on May 4 th , 1913. The outbreak of World War I delayed their travel to New York until 1921, when Ibram was eight years old.

From his childhood onward, Ibram was an explorer of space and materials. In 1921 the family traveled by ship to Constantinople, Malta and Marseilles where they borded the SS to America. While staying for a while in Constantinople, he was fascinated by the twisted bronze casing of exploded bombs that he found in the rubble of a building near their hotel. In Brooklyn he loved to play with clay and once made a dinosaur that he used to scare two little girls. They screamed, and Ibram claims ‚”that was when I realized that art was powerful" (or so the story goes). As a boy, he also read science fiction and dreamed of becoming an airplane pilot. I am sure that had space travel been a possibility at the time, he would have dreamed of becoming an astronaut. His curiosity about nature in all her forms was boundless. As a Boy Scout, Ibram went on camping trips where he learned about wild nature firsthand (and when I was small, he passed this on to me by teaching me the names of all the trees, as well as how to find where the fairies danced in the grass).

According to the stories he told me he fearlessly explored new territories, parks, neighborhoods, and the subway system. One day when he was about 12 he discovered a clay class for children in the Brooklyn Children's Museum. He signed up immediately and sealed his "fate" as a sculptor. The class was taught by a lively and serious young sculptor named Dorthea Denslow who inspired my father, and a whole generation of young sculptors, to learn everything he could about the craft of sculpture and art history.

He soon began to read art history books and French art magazines. As the class outgrew the room at the Museum they moved to the empty Carriage House just behind it. This became The Clay Club. Through the Clay Club Ibram became grounded in the techniques of classical sculpture; clay modeling, plaster casting, armatures, life masks, etc. skills that later came in handy when he made a death masks of labor organizer V. Jabotinsky, around 1937, and Dylan Thomas in 1953. He also developed close friendships with other young sculptors with whom he shared days of sculpture-making picnics in the clay pits of Staten Island and lively discussions of art. The Clay Club outgrew the Carriage House and moved to 8 th street in Greenwich Village. Later it became the Sculpture Center.

Early Development in Art

Although his father, Philip Lassaw, hoped that Ibram would become an engineer and sent him to a special high school for engineering it seems that once Ibram decided that sculpture was his "work," he never wavered. Ibram studied art history from books and by going to museums and galleries, and even created his own 33 volume encyclopedia of art history from pictures cut out of magazines. From these studies he saw that there was a progression in the forms art took that was dependent on available materials and technology, and that these influenced (and were influenced by) philosophical and scientific trends. In the 1930s, Ibram attended some classes at the City College of New York, where, he told me that the art history classes were a waste of his time because he already knew more than his professors were teaching.

He came to the conviction that the sculpture of the future, his sculpture, had to move into three dimensional open space. Simply to continue doing what had already been done so well by other sculptors was not very interesting to him. Although his primary interest was sculpture, he has also worked with pencil, inks and (later) acrylic on paper. One of his first pure abstractions was a color oil-pastel that he made in 1927 at age 14. He ground and mixed the oil pastel medium himself. Over the years Ibram made hundreds of drawings as independent art works. He did not, however, make drawings as studies for sculpture, except in the case of commissions.

Struggles in the 1930s and 1940s

By 1933, Ibram had moved to a cold water flat in Greenwich Village. Although the rent for the flat was only ten dollars a month, he was evicted for nonpayment. He spent the night on a park bench in Washington Square, with all his possessions, including a small sculpture (Dancing Figure, 1929), under the bench. In the morning he met a girl he knew who lent him ten dollars with which he rented another flat. All through the difficult thirties he moved from loft to loft, just making-ends-meet in the most creative ways.

Living in places without electricity he learned wiring. Needing shelves and tables he learned carpentry. He was not alone in this enchanted poverty but belonged to a growing group of young artists who knew each other from the Clay Club, the Art Students League, the Beaux Arts Institute or just from the Village neighborhood. Many of them, such as William de Kooning, Balcomb Green and Philip Pavia became friends for life.

During the Depression period Ibram was active in the formation of the Unemployed Artists Association that demonstrated at the Whitney Museum for jobs on the WPA. He worked on the Civil Works Authority cleaning and repairing public sculpture in the city; and under the WPA taught sculpture at the 92nd Street YMHA and as an independent artist. He also taught photography. He was one of the founders of the American Abstract Artists and later, The Club. (sometimes called the Eight Street artists club) Ibram began to keep notebooks in which he wrote ideas for future projects, ideas for materials not yet invented, quotations from interesting books and wish-lists of tools or materials he thought useful. These notebooks or "Day Books" number over 20, each one covers more than one year.

During World War II Ibram served in the army where his skills with sculpture got him the job of making three dimensional topographical maps. He also learned to weld.

In the summer of 1944 he went to Provincetown and met Ernestine Blumberg. They married in December of 1944 and moved into a large loft on the corner of 6 th avenue and 12 th street, where they lived for over 15 years, until the building was torn down. It was in this loft, around our home made dinning table that the first meeting for the Club took place.

In the mid forties he experimented with "projection paintings", a series of abstract hand-painted glass slides. These were painted with translucent dyes mixed with a "secret" chemical formula Ibram had developed. A favorite story goes that late one night walking home from a meeting of The Club, Ibram was telling Bill de Kooning about the projection paintings, and Bill decided to come up to the loft to see them. As they sat in the dark studio filling the room with brilliant luminous colored patterns, there came a hard pounding on the door. ‚"Open Up! This is the police!‚" Apparently, a policeman had seen the intense colors from the street and thought that either the place was on fire or that it was being robbed.

Science, Philosophy and Art

Along with his interest in the natural and physical sciences, my father read widely in philosophy and religion, especially the mystical branches of Christianity and Buddhism. He heard Buckminster Fuller speak in the Village, and was familiar with the writings of Carl Jung which intrigued him. He met Joseph Campbell and spend hours talking with him. In 1953 he joined a class on Zen Buddhism taught by D. T. Suzuki at Columbia University and attended classes for several years. Many of his Day Books are filled with class notes from this time. The study of Buddhism, mythology, and especially science had a great influence on the way Ibram thought about his sculpture and his own place in the cosmic organism which is how he began to understand existence. He wrote: "All that is, is Nature. That which you see before you is Nature. The "abstract" artist works from Nature as much as any other artist."(Jan.10, 1954 Day Book) and "The artist is a necessary gland in the organism which is human society."(June 13, 1955). The thought developed that human beings are not separate from nature and so the works of human beings are also the works of nature.

While Lassaw titled his works, he tried his best to be certain that the title would not interfere with the viewers experience of the work itself. He chose titles that almost certainly would mean nothing at all to anyone. He did this because he believed that a title with a conceptual or visual reference causes the viewer to try to see in the work what the title refers to. He wrote: "We are asked to work from Nature but at the same time we are asked for the meaning of our works. What kind of meaning does Nature have?"(1954) and "There seems to be an idea among most people (particularly critics) that the pleasures of seeing the color-form object / art is not so lofty an experience as the pleasures of the conscious reasoning intellectual variety. That things are not as important as the as the knowledge about them." (Feb.19, 1954 Day Book)

Lassaw wants his work seen as it was created, in its "thusness," its very presence, just as it is and nothing more or less. Titles are chosen from Lassaw's readings in philosophy or science, especially astronomy. Many of them are Sanskrit names from Buddhist texts, while others are named for galaxies, stars, processes of thought, or references to nonwestern mythology.

Many artists were exploring these same directions in philosophy and science within the context of their work. What Abstract Expressionist painters were doing in two dimensions, Lassaw was doing in three dimensions. This new way of understanding one's connection to, or actually interaction in the world was, "in the air" and creative people were the first to consciously or unconsciously manifest its influences. .

In a panel discussion held by the magazine IT IS in February 1965 Ibram made this statement-

"the idea that sculptors have been influenced by abstract expressionist painters is incorrect. It is not as though painters happened first and then some kind of abstract expressionism in sculpture came into being. We've been sitting together and talking for years. The ideas and movements were produced by both painters and sculptors. I mean we were all there. It is merely that critics and museum people are oriented early in life in the direction of the history of painting. All the college course are evolved from that point of view. They don't stop to think that sculpture and painting really come from the same world, the same environment, the same kind of people. It' only that you have about seven times as many painters as you have sculptors. Naturally the weight would fall in that direction of influence."

Metal Sculpture Techniques

Lassaw became best known for his metal sculptures, which drew patronage, as well as critical acclaim--especially from the early 1950s onward. However, in published statements about his art, I have sometimes encountered mistakes regarding his methods. It seems that once a writer misunderstands any aspect of Ibram's work and it gets into a book or an article, that misunderstanding is passed on by other writers.

Since I grew up in the studio and was welding alone from the age of eight, I personally know all the techniques I am describing below, as well as the philosophical angle as it applies to my father's work.

Direct-metal sculpture:

After 1951, when Ibram bought an oxyacetylene torch, his metal sculptures were made by a variety of welding techniques. Some were hand-manipulated copper sheet forms covered with molten bronze and other alloys (nickel silver, phos-bronze, silicon bronze, phos-copper). Other sculptures were galvanized wire forms coated with alloys, and some were created by a very direct technique often referred to by writers as "drip."

Drip method: This process, which Lassaw invented, involved a meditative process of moment-by-moment fusing of molten bronze (or another alloy) drops into each other. This is similar to the building of a stalactite in a cave, by the constant dripping of water carrying limestone sediment. The bronze does not actually "drip" but is laid down one molten puddle or mound at a time in a very controlled manner. The artist can control the diameter of the mound by the heat of the flame and the size of the rod, and by understanding the nature of each alloy. Some alloys melt in a very fluid manner, others are like a sticky, or a gritty lava. The process lends itself to an intuitive state of mind in which the variations in the way an alloy melts, the diameter of rod that is being used, the color of the metal, the shapes of the spaces between the welded forms; each aspect of the action is appreciated and minutely acted on by the artist. There may be some inspiration in the beginning, like a passage in contrapuntal music, or the shape of a passing cloud, but once the work is begun it is all direct-action sculpture. There is no planned outcome, no known size or shape to aim for, the work is aimless and creates or "suggests" itself, telling the artist when it is finished. This is a process in which the artist's technical abilities and meditative inspiration merge on the subconscious level.

Armatures: Armatures or supportive structures are not used in Lassaw's direct welding technique, he had used them in some pre-welding works such as Milky Way , 1950, in which a wire armature was covered with plastic-composition paste. The wire used in later welded works are coated with bronze to add strength, texture and color. In a few sculptures the wire structure is partially covered with copper shapes, partially exposed and bronze coated, but in sculptures that are all copper covered with bronze, the copper sheet itself supplies the strength of the work.

Self Color: Ibram prefers to work with the "self-color" of the natural material. He has used acids and alkaloids to create blue colors in the metal as seen in Counterpoint Castle , for example, but he prefers to use the metals own color. Bronze can be pale yellow or a smooth red golden, nickel silver is silver colored and very smooth, phos-copper has a rough brown reddish color. Steel is black and rough. Each metal adds to the palette of the sculptor. Ibram's sculptures are intended to be bright, colorful and reflect light.

Recognition

After 20 years of seriously following his artistic muse, Ibram hadn't sold any sculptures, but in 1951 after joining the Kootz Gallery he sold his first piece. Following the sale of a welded-metal sculpture to Nelson Rockefeller, purchases by the Museum of Modern Art, the Whitney Museum of American Art, and other museums followed. Along with other successes, he was also one of five artists to be included as representatives of America in the 1954 Venice Biennial. Ample evidence of the attainment of art-world recognition is provided by his exhibition record (which covers a period of nearly six highly active decades), inclusion of his work in numerous important public collections, and an extensive list of published sources on his art.

Although he appreciated his recognition by the art world, doing the work itself was more important to him. He rarely read reviews or art historians opinions and once told me that all that mattered was to follow one's own vision, no matter who said the work was good or the work was bad. Flattery by someone who didn't understand your work was useless as were critiques. When Buckminster Fuller said in 1983 he found Ibram's work interesting- that was a compliment worth it's salt.

Someone once called Ibram the "happiest sculptor" in New York and I think this might be true. For 70 years he pursued the exploration of space as it pleased him, through hard times and good times regardless of fame or fortune, remaining true to his own Muse. For an artist, I don't think you can ask for more than that.