In windswept, granite-paved plazas throughout the world, metal sculptures by Alexander Calder preside like benevolent monsters. It’s a shame that these works possess so little of the charm that the sculptor’s smaller pieces have. That charm overpowers at the new exhibit at Pace on 57th Street, Calder 1941. The galleries are filled with pieces Calder completed that year, all with the signature wire arms and spinning medallions, but each one scaled more intimately than Calder’s outdoor works. The smallest are the size of water pitchers, and the largest just taller than a man. Each one is light in form and in spirit. Visiting the gallery was like walking through a garden.
These pieces, particularly the tabletop ones, have a toy-like quality that makes one want to get close to them. The guard issued three separate warnings to my friend and I, who were only looking, and seemed especially harried, as if he’d been overextended since the exhibit opened. What’s the appeal of these small pieces? From every angle, the sculptures have a different aspect, so that it’s almost criminal to show them in photographs. As one circles them, the experience is cinematic more than sculptural. And, from every angle, the pieces are strongly graphic. The thin wire and flat metal shapes look as if they have been drawn in the air, and their delicate asymmetries gives them a hand-drawn feeling. These sculptures are gracious, engaging three-dimensional drawings.
Everything was Calder and nothing hurt.