Number 11, 2003
by Dorothy Ruddick
I have spent much of my cultural education wandering past/sitting before/staring at art, respecting its creators and the heartache and elation that went into each work. And always paying close attention to this rule: Do not touch.
I recently forced a roadtrip on a very hot day to Grounds For Sculpture in Hamilton, NJ, where I happily touched art. I touched a lot of it. I touched everything that had a green sign that said "You may touch this sculpture with care."
A lifetime of supressed impulse washed away as I moved from abstract metal boxes, to worn away Greek muses, to paintings brought to life ( the very fun Seward Johnson's Were you invited? based on Renoir's masterpiece The Boating Party), to a frightening King Lear, shown below (Johnson again).
A special meadow exhibit of Steve Tobin's work let me wander through metal plant roots that swirled two stories up and swooped back down again. Some were dancing duos and some cast shadows that danced. I touched them all.
It was magical for a person who follows the rules and is never comfortable, even when the piece asks you to add yarn to the spiderweb or write on the wall.
Plus peacocks wander the front grounds and you are asked not to chase them. This one stood next to me, this close, for 10 minutes preening. I felt we had something special.
So, go visit if you can. It was the most fun I've had in a while.
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