MY TIME WITH TURRELL

Dr. Matthew McLendon, Associate Curator of Modern and Contemporary Art Art

I am not a fan of the clichéd expressions with which corporate culture has impoverished our language.

Chief among these ubiquitous, and therefore meaningless, exaggerations is “it takes a village.” However, as I try to explain the complex process involved in the building of Joseph’s Coat, the Skyspace created by James Turrell, more often than not I have found myself uttering apologies and explanations in preface to my defeat as I find myself saying, “it takes a...”. Yet, as I come to reflect on the last two years of my life which I have not marked in the passing of hours or even days, but have rather calculated as the space between Skyspace meetings, conference calls, and site visits, I find myself at least updating this trite phrase to, “The building of a Turrell Skyspace—it takes a city!”

All of this is my long-winded introduction to say in these last two years, I’ve actually only spent about 10 hours with James Turrell—but in those 10 hours I learned more about Joseph’s Coat than in all the other hours of the two years. Please do not misunderstand, though I was not in direct conversation with James we spoke often to one another through architects, lighting designers, engineers, liaisons, studio managers, etc. The first realization I had on this project, and the one that continues to impress me, is just how “hands on” James Turrell is in every project. Not a decision was made that he himself did not approve. There is no question, as is so often the case in art, of how much the “master” was directly involved with the fabrication of the actual work. James knew every inch of the finished Skyspace before he walked through the door.

So, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have been the rather disheveled lump of nerves I was on that first evening as I waited in Joseph’s Coat for him to arrive and view his work, the largest to date. I should have known all would be well because there were no surprises—he knew exactly what to expect. In such situations, though, rational thought is rarely a worthy opponent to worry. All doubt quickly abated as a rather avuncular man with a larger, and whiter, beard than one expects, walked energetically through the door and immediately smiled. James was pleased!

In the hours I’ve spent with James Turrell I’ve found him to be as happy to talk about science as he is to talk about art. In fact, I’m rather awed by his mastery of both subjects. Ten minutes in to our first meeting, I learned that the good thing about the reclaimed cypress wood used for the benches in Joseph’s Coat was not only that cypress weathers to that lovely shimmering gray, but that in this cypress, because it was so old, much of the cellulose had been replaced by calcium making it far more durable. Later, I was informed the aperture was a ninth the surface of the overall ceiling—it is the central square, and that an eleventh of the light that originally flooded the courtyard was now allowed to shine in. Insights such as these quickly remind us of a complexity which is recessed from our immediate awareness in the Skyspace but that is essential for its success.

Spending time with James, you can easily forget you are in the presence of one of the greatest living contemporary artists. He shares funny stories about his ranch and his cattle; he asks for your recommendation on the best place to get a good breakfast; then he tells you about testifying in front of the FAA on behalf of Sam Walton, the founder of Wal-Mart and like James an avid pilot, twice assuring the regulatory board that the plane Mr. Walton insisted on landing in Wal-Mart parking lots during openings was indeed safe, and then you remember, you’re not just having dinner with anyone...