[ saw buzzing ]
DAVID ALTMEJD: I don't need to make sketches of the sculptures I make
because I don't think that there's a lot of difference
Between putting ink on a piece of paper
and gluing little pieces of crystal
on plexiglas in space.
I don't do drawings,
because I have other materials that I find interesting.
95% of the relationship I have to my work
is through process.
It's not as a distant object. It's a made object.
I like the idea of trusting the work,
trusting the material, and trusting
that every little step is gonna dictate the next one.
I have to give it a structure. That's on me.
But then at a certain point,
the material behaves in such unpredictable ways
that I find beautiful.
[ sighs ]
I'm interested in science
the same way I'm interested in art,
with a sort of childlike fascination.
I realized very early in my studies in science
that I wasn't interested in learning a language.
I was really interested in inventing languages.
I figured out that art would be the perfect place for me
because what's encouraged is the invention of languages.
Even when I was a kid and was making drawing,
what I found fascinating is that I was able
to make whatever I want exist in this world
and have people react to it.
I've always felt different, I mean, for many reasons.
My father comes from eastern Europe,
I'm Jewish, and I'm gay.
But when you're young and you realize
that you have an ease at something
or a talent for something,
it gives you confidence.
It's minty. It smells like mint.
It's true, because they use– that's what they use
at the dentist to take the imprint of your–
It's not toxic, you know?
[ exhales ]
When I make a sculpture, I deal with the material first.
Then I try to inject my sensibility in it.
I try to give a certain flavor to the sculpture.
That's how I make color choices, for example.
I see the importance of the choice of colors
as changing everything inside the sculpture.
I'm extremely attracted to pastel colors,
but they have to be dirty in some way.
I like the combination of lavender and pink
and maybe mint green,
but then there has to be
some kind of dirty brown green in it...
Just to kind of infect the prettiness.
Then I feel like I've found exactly the right balance.
I don't want the sculpture that I make
to be a mere illustration.
I try to build an object
that's gonna become complex enough, have enough layers,
have enough references and energy
to start feeling like it's alive...
That it's developing the capacity
of generating its own meaning.
And then I can look at it from a distance
and learn from it,
because I can almost see it say or hear it say
things that I never thought.
These are meant to resemble bees.
Actually, in that piece,
what I'm gonna try to be doing is
accumulate a lot of small elements
that are sort of referential, figurative elements–
bees, insects, needles–
and accumulate them to the point
where that swarm that I'm going to create
is going to become a sort of abstract shape.
So I want to start
by figurative, recognizable, small, detailed elements
and combine them to make something that becomes abstract.
Very often, it's the other way around.
The more you zoom in, the more abstract it becomes.
In that case, I want to start with a large abstract shape,
and when you zoom in,
you actually start recognizing things more and more.
[train rumbling on tracks]
[ saw buzzing ]
When I make sculpture, what I'm trying to do is
make an object that's going to feel like it's alive.
I'm not interested in re-presenting life.
I'm more interested in making objects
that sort of function like living things,
so they'll feel like they're alive.
When I put my hands on it or when I make holes in it
and drag plaster through that hole,
it's really to inject an energy in it.
So I kind of like that contrast
between the fact that a hole through the chest
might be interpreted as meaning death,
but in my mind, it's actually the opposite
it should not even, like, be flush.
it should be lower,
Because, if you can imagine,
if I put plaster on it and it's flush with the surface,
then I–that means there will be such a thin layer of plaster
that, like, just that is gonna make it crack.
- Yeah.
- Take it down, like, at least 1/8 inch.
- All right. - Right?
- Yeah. - Thanks.
[ scraping sounds ]
[scraping sounds]
This one is part of a series that I started a year ago
called "The Watchers."
[ saw buzzing ]
"The Watchers" are some kind of angel figures.
they're not necessarily winged figure,
like the cliche of the angel,
but the ears have something a little bit winglike.
[ saw buzzing ]
I'm also interested in openings, orifices.
a body that would be filled with orifices
that usually have the purpose of hearing sound
was interesting as well.
The idea of senses.
Sometimes their bodies are covered in hands;
that's the idea of the touch.
And if they're covered in ears,
I like the idea that they're–
become like a body that would be ultrasensitive with sound.
[sighs]
I think faster than I can speak.
My brain is not the best when it comes to verbal language.
but it seems like I'm very comfortable
using matter and placing things.
It feels like my brain is totally in sync.
Sometimes I feel like there's brains in my hands.
"The Vessel," there's something almost religious about it,
and it's really making a very strong reference to the body
in its symmetrical shape.
The way it's radiating feels almost Catholic in some way.
I can see it going in that direction,
the idea of a center of energy
and radiation of that energy and the body,
something that wasn't as clear before in my work.
Because of the fact that it's not symmetrical,
I feel like the swarm becomes more like a landscape
and less like a body.
That shape floating in space is very soft.
That almost looks like a cloud somehow.
But they're, at the same time, aggressive.
Every element in that swarm has the potential to sting you.
I found that combination
of the softness of that abstract cloud shape
and that aggressive potential to be really nice, that balance.
The vessel and the swarm are big enough
to be considered like laboratories
inside of which I try things, I combine materials in new ways,
I make mistakes, I come up with new ideas.
The work has developed enough complexity and layers
and intelligence and independence
that it's able to generate itself and transform itself.
[ ANNOUNCER ] To learn more about "Art in the Twenty-First Century"
and its educational resources,
please visit us online at: PBS.org/Art21
“Art in the Twenty-First Century” is available on DVD.
The companion book is also available.
To order, visit us online at: shopPBS.org
or call PBS Home Video at: 1-800-PLAY-PBS