
Photo by Ellen Labenski, courtesy PaceWildenstein, New York
Installation view of "Joel Shapiro: New Sculpture," November 2, 2007, through January 19, 2008, PaceWildenstein, 545 W 22nd Street, NYC

Photograph by Ellen Page Wilson, courtesy PaceWildenstein, New York
Joel Shapiro, 2003
NEW YORK—
Joel Shapiro first came to widespread public attention in the early 1970s at a time when it seemed sculpture needed to redefine itself after the Minimalist and Conceptual extremes of high modernism. His small, simplified, representational sculptures of everyday objects such as houses, chairs, and ladders struck an immediate sympathetic note, and he had his first solo show in 1970. His work was exhibited in a solo show at Chicago's
Museum of Contemporary Art in 1976, at the
Venice Biennial in 1976, and at
Documenta in 1977, and by 1982 he’d had his first survey at the
Whitney Museum of American Art.
Since then Shapiro has become one of the most widely exhibited American sculptors, and he has spent decades patiently exploring a geometrical sculptural language that sits almost precisely at the intersection of abstraction and figuration. His latest exhibition is at PaceWildenstein 22nd Street until January 19.
Joel, you entered the art world at a very dynamic time. What was it like?
The late 60s were remarkably active and exciting, and everyone was experimenting with form and getting rid of assumptions about how to make art. Painters were investigating the bridge between painting and sculpture—by using shaped canvases and making painting less illusionistic and more real—and sculptors were trying to make sculpture that was more painterly. There was this active crossover that was very fertile. I think to some extent it was a big reaction against Pop art, and very much fired by the political climate of the time. We were in the throes of the Vietnam War; there was a lot of protest, and radicality was valorized. People were expected to challenge and question.
It seems that your work is better able to connect with a history of sculpture now than at the beginning of your career. When your very small pieces were first shown, they were understood as Conceptual art.
That’s true, but I was always involved with the historic notion of making sculpture. And I think all sculpture has a conceptual basis—essentially it’s the projection of thought into the world. Even my early work—the small chair and the small house—was exploring what sculpture could be. The scale was radical, but what was interesting about it was its insistence on intimacy, in public. That is still the driving force behind my work; without it, the work would have no life. Vitality of form is still something that I pursue.
Your work walks a fine line between representation and abstraction.
Well, it’s very hard to figure out what pure abstraction is. The most abstract work is work that is just the material itself, like Carl Andre’s—and essentially that’s not abstract, it’s just literal. It is what it is.
Real abstraction is extremely difficult. Russian Constructivism had an extreme level of abstraction, but it was politically supported. I know very few artists who can sustain the faith to make abstract work. There has to be a collective notion or a collective aspiration. That’s why there were so many manifestos of abstraction: They had to have them. Otherwise it just melts down.
Don’t you think that the artists slightly preceding you were making truly abstract work? I’m thinking of people who were influenced by Clement Greenberg or became Minimalists.
I think Greenberg’s literalization of abstraction so that it became flat was very peculiar. But there was an inevitable deductive logic to it, and I think it manifested itself in a lot of sculpture. On the other hand I see the history of Minimalism as a history of relief: It’s all about the wall and the presumption that the wall is a plane, or a page. It doesn’t really challenge a lot of notions about space. There are more expansive possibilities that I’m interested in investigating.
Such as?
I’m interested in form. Form is a surrogate for the individual artist, and form as a reflection of the artist is always there, even in the most abstract work. There is a figural component in all work, even the most arch-Minimalism. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. I see it as a metaphor for the artist’s mind and body and sense of self.