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The American artist Jim Dine discusses the large-scale wooden sculptures of Pinocchio he has been making for eight years.
Jim Dine emerged on the New York art scene in the 1960s with his performance-based happenings. Now, he shares his thoughts on how a troubled and mischievous fictional character has informed his work.
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Walt Disney's cartoon adaptation of "The Adventures of Pinocchio" by Carlo Collodi fascinated and terrified Jim Dine when he was a child growing up in Ohio. Decades later, he came across a puppet of Pinocchio that eventually led him to create paintings and wooden sculptures about the naughty but affectionate marionette who dreams of becoming a boy. It's a subject that has dominated his art for eight years. This spring, some of his Pinocchio sculptures and a series of prints that were made to illustrate Carlo Collodi's book are being exhibited at Galerie Daniel Templon in Paris.
Dine has also been busy working on a site-specific art commission for Sweden. His most ambitious sculpture to date is "Walking to Borås," a nine-meter-high sculpture of a walking Pinocchio commissioned by a group of private patrons in the Swedish town of Borås, near Gothenburg. The monumental sculpture, costing $1 million, has been donated to the town and will be unveiled in May.
What impression did the story of Pinocchio make on you as a child?
My first experience was seeing Walt Disney's movie in 1941, when I was six years old. I had no idea it was Collodi's story. Back then, Disney was always making frightening stories like Bambi and Snow White, and the way he tried to sanitize them with a cute drawing did not stop the fear that could be put into kids. So psychologically, it was a mark on my psyche, on my soul.
Then in 1964, I found in a flea market a little charming, touching doll made at the time of Disney's movie. It was beautifully done, with articulated arms and legs that you put into different positions. It had real clothes and a papier-mâché head. And the eyes were painted in the way that they say about the Mona Lisa, that she's always looking at you. I put it on a bookshelf and put it in my pocket when I traveled.
When was the first time you depicted Pinocchio?
In about 1994, an executive at Disney Studios commissioned me to make a painting for their office. I thought, "This is a good time to start using Pinocchio." It was almost serendipitous, as if somebody had handed me a gift that I hadn't asked for. So I made this big painting of Pinocchio, but the man found it too dark, too troubling, and didn't want it. I took it back to my studio and added two more panels, and it became 20 feet long. I showed it at the Venice Biennale in 1997. Unconsciously, I seemed to have depicted this boy in a very, very frightened place. I was in a very, very dark, lonesome place myself in my life, and it seemed to reflect my troubled psyche and sadness. People could see that it was a difficult subject for me and one that struck at my heart.
What does Pinocchio represent for you?
Fear of being alone, fear of strangers, fear of being stopped in your intentions, the thought that maybe you are not going to be able to become human. It's about human relations and of turning shit into gold, like an alchemist. It's a story of how people create.
What inspired you to start making painted wooden sculptures of Pinocchio?
For the past 25 years, I've been living part of the year on a farm in a town in the state of Washington where there's a bronze casting foundry. I thought about carving a small figure of Pinocchio and casting it in bronze. But then I didn't cast it, because it seemed so appropriate in wood. The wood is very receptive to my painting, and I found I could change the boy's moods.
When I first began making the sculptures, I identified with Pinocchio, this boy who is trying to come to consciousness. After all, he started out as a talking stick before becoming a marionette and eventually a human being. Through the years, I realized I had left him behind and had become Geppetto, the puppet-maker. I had exorcised Pinocchio, and now I was helping him become human. So it's very satisfying for me to work with this guy, because each time I carve it's a new emotion.
Do these sculptures at Galerie Daniel Templon signify the culmination of your journey with Pinocchio?
When you're an artist, you never know what's coming next. But I'm presuming he's in my pocket now, with other icons of mine. Still, I can use him when I feel like it. He's there for me.
Two years ago you illustrated Collodi's book for Steidl. How did you approach this?
We took it chapter by chapter. The drawings are literal illustrations, but I feel each one stands by itself as a picture.
Long before your work on Pinocchio, you became known in New York for pioneering happenings along with Allan Kaprow, Claes Oldenburg, Robert Whitman and Red Grooms. What are your strongest memories from then?
When we first started to make performances, it was a very sweet, pure time when we were essentially children. It turned me sour as it became popular; the popularity got in the way of my solitary quest to continue down the road as an artist. But some people said to me the other day that they had never seen anything since then as interesting as what we did.
But my strongest memories from that period are about trying to grow up in the New York art world. It sucked. It was very unfriendly. I really wasn't ready for it. I'm still not. I'm like Pinocchio; I'm on a very singular voyage. The art world and the gallery openings don't interest me in the least. It pisses a lot of people off that I don't come, but that's too bad. But if somebody wants to look at my pictures and sculptures, I'm delighted. I was put here to be an artist, not a celebrity. I'm a magician with one trick.
What led you to sculpture some years after the happenings?
I followed my nose. I went to where my romance was. I didn't sit down and think, "I'm going to do this to get over to there." I lead a very intuitive life. Nothing's been calculated. I'm not like a general.
Is being an artist a vocation for you?
It's a calling. I've known since I was two years old. It was the only time when I felt safe and comfortable: looking, and being thrilled at looking, being able to connect your hand with your eyes and your heart. The sacred thing of being an artist is something I hold within me.
What do you think about the explosion of the art market?
It's repulsive and pathetic. It's become like the bourse [stock exchange]. But if young artists make a lot of money, then that's great with me. I'm happy for them. But it's not the reason I became an artist. It's turned into a sad place to be an artist, while being an artist used to be something heroic. I'll be 73 this summer and during my life I've heard about a lot of successes and now they're all forgotten. I'm not socially concerned enough to go on the picket line, but it's too bad. Who decides who is an artist and who isn't? An elite group of museum directors, gallerists and curators making little Frankensteins.
Which artists have influenced you?
Artists of the so-called ancient world, anonymous sculptors who have made beautiful works. I've been inspired by Rembrandt, Cézanne and sometimes by Picasso and Matisse.
Do you collect art?
I used to collect drawings and prints by Matisse and Picasso a long time ago, but I gave them away. I'm not interested in collecting any more.
You divide your time between Paris and your farm in Walla Walla in the state of Washington. How do the two places inspire you?
I've been coming and going from Paris for 40 years. I appreciate the ability to walk freely in this city. Everywhere I look, it's just so beautiful, and it's about something quite abstract, which is the light and the air. I'm just so pleased to be here. I love it in the winter and I love it in the summer. I print a lot in Paris, but I don't paint here because I can't quite find the right studio. I also have a studio in Germany where I can paint, so that's nice. The other place [in Walla Walla] is where I can do anything, because of the tools – and sometimes the tools are human. I produce more there because I have the possibility.
You've also created a nine-meter-tall sculpture of Pinocchio, "Walking to Borås," which is a private commission for the Swedish town of Borås near Gothenburg. How did this come about?
Twenty years ago, a wonderful young museum director asked me to do a full-scale exhibition in Borås. It was the last thing he did before he died; he was terminally ill. I made friends there, and then in the summer of 2003 I was contacted and asked to do this. But I never thought it was going to happen.
The town's residents are in an uproar about it. Half of them want it and half of them don't. There have been 300 articles in the newspapers. One of them reads, "Why do we want 10 rich people to decide what we will show in our town?" Another one says, "Why would a Swedish town want a nine-meter-high statue of an Italian folk hero?" They're both pretty good questions, actually. I'm not so happy about the controversy. At one point I said, "Listen, I don't want to go to any party I'm not invited to."
But for me, it's just a good opportunity to make a great sculpture. It's an amazing adventure, technically. I've had vertigo as I've been up on cranes, modeling this stuff. The sculpture is like Frankenstein. It'll be in a beautiful open setting, and I wanted him to be walking. But it's difficult to make sculpture outside because trees are so much greater than sculpture. But if you take that leap, you try and do it.
Definition of Luxury:
To have the freedom to do what I want to do.
An object:
I'm not interested in objects.
A person:
I guess it's a luxury to have a good friend.
A moment:
It's a great luxury to work.
A place:
It's a luxury to be in Paris. I'm in Paris now for a couple of months, so that's great.
"Jim Dine: Pinocchio" is at Galerie Daniel Templon, 30 rue Beaubourg, 75003 Paris, from April 12 through May 27, 2008. "Jim Dine: Pinocchio Prints" is at Impasse Beaubourg in the gallery's second space during the same dates. T. +33 (0) 1 42 72 14 10. www.danieltemplon.com.
"Walking to Borås" is being unveiled on May 16, 2008, on the eve of the Borås International Sculpture Festival, running from May 17 through September 21, 2008. For more information: www.boras.se/kultur
"Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi, Jim Dine" is published by Steidl. ISBN: 3-86521-264-6. Price: UK £28.00, US $50.00, EC €40.00. www.steidlville.com