Associated with the advances of the industrial revolution, steel has evolved into a material with a deep conceptual con-
nection to the ambition of western culture. With it, we have constructed bridges and ships to carry us across previously
impassable waters, we have erected monolithic edifices that seem to reach the sky, we have constructed vast mechanized
armies with terrible destructive capabilities which have been used both to wage war, and to ensure peace, for the better part
of a century.
Artists, too—Calder, Smith, Caro, Serra, and others—have used this modern miracle material as their creative medium.
Concerning Eduardo Chillida’s use of iron in his sculpture, French Philosopher Gaston Bachalard observed, “The world of
iron is all muscles. Iron is the straight, the certain, the essential force” (Selz, Peter. Chillida. Harry N. Abrams, Inc. New
York. 1986, 11). Ironically, however permanent and indestructible this material may have seemed at the dawn of the era,
still, when exposed to the elements of water, air, and time, it cankers, weakens, and eventually returns to the earth from
which it was once extracted. Emphasising this inevitable return to the dust, sculptor Robert Smithson writes,
Steel may be alloyed with other metals, nickel, chromium, etc. to
produce specific properties such as hardness and resistance to rusting.
Yet, the more I think about steel itself, devoid of the technological
refinements, the more rust becomes the fundamental property of steel…
[it] evokes a fear of disuse, inactivity, entropy, and ruin.
(Harrison, Charles and Paul Wood. Art in Theory 1900-2000: An Anthology of Changing Ideas. Blackwell publishing Ltd. 1992. Pg. 879)
In this sense, steel acts as metaphor, illuminating by its most basic qualities our own mortal dilemma, the temporary nature
of our own physicality.
The work of artist James Turrell has influenced my work a great deal. I first encountered it as an undergraduate when I
had the opportunity to hear him lecture as a visiting artist. During my course work as a graduate student at Brigham Young
University, much of my research surrounded Turrell’s work and his fascination with light. Throughout the development of
the Accumulation series, I have often returned to something the artist said as part of an interview on the PBS series Art: 21
Art in the Twenty First Century:
Most spiritual experiences…are described with a vocabulary of light...
This idea…to find that light within, literally, as well as figuratively,
was something that really propelled me at the time.
(Art:21, Artists. Public Broadcasting Service. 15 Feb. 2006. <http://www.pbs.org/art21/artists/turrell/index.html>)
Fueled by an interest in ideas surrounding light and spirituality, I am drawn to the visual simplicity of glass. This material,
with such close ties to light, starkly contradicts the rough, oxidized steel surfaces setting up a metaphorical dichotomy
relative to the precarious balance, which exists between our own immortal and mortal components.
nection to the ambition of western culture. With it, we have constructed bridges and ships to carry us across previously
impassable waters, we have erected monolithic edifices that seem to reach the sky, we have constructed vast mechanized
armies with terrible destructive capabilities which have been used both to wage war, and to ensure peace, for the better part
of a century.
Artists, too—Calder, Smith, Caro, Serra, and others—have used this modern miracle material as their creative medium.
Concerning Eduardo Chillida’s use of iron in his sculpture, French Philosopher Gaston Bachalard observed, “The world of
iron is all muscles. Iron is the straight, the certain, the essential force” (Selz, Peter. Chillida. Harry N. Abrams, Inc. New
York. 1986, 11). Ironically, however permanent and indestructible this material may have seemed at the dawn of the era,
still, when exposed to the elements of water, air, and time, it cankers, weakens, and eventually returns to the earth from
which it was once extracted. Emphasising this inevitable return to the dust, sculptor Robert Smithson writes,
Steel may be alloyed with other metals, nickel, chromium, etc. to
produce specific properties such as hardness and resistance to rusting.
Yet, the more I think about steel itself, devoid of the technological
refinements, the more rust becomes the fundamental property of steel…
[it] evokes a fear of disuse, inactivity, entropy, and ruin.
(Harrison, Charles and Paul Wood. Art in Theory 1900-2000: An Anthology of Changing Ideas. Blackwell publishing Ltd. 1992. Pg. 879)
In this sense, steel acts as metaphor, illuminating by its most basic qualities our own mortal dilemma, the temporary nature
of our own physicality.
The work of artist James Turrell has influenced my work a great deal. I first encountered it as an undergraduate when I
had the opportunity to hear him lecture as a visiting artist. During my course work as a graduate student at Brigham Young
University, much of my research surrounded Turrell’s work and his fascination with light. Throughout the development of
the Accumulation series, I have often returned to something the artist said as part of an interview on the PBS series Art: 21
Art in the Twenty First Century:
Most spiritual experiences…are described with a vocabulary of light...
This idea…to find that light within, literally, as well as figuratively,
was something that really propelled me at the time.
(Art:21, Artists. Public Broadcasting Service. 15 Feb. 2006. <http://www.pbs.org/art21/artists/turrell/index.html>)
Fueled by an interest in ideas surrounding light and spirituality, I am drawn to the visual simplicity of glass. This material,
with such close ties to light, starkly contradicts the rough, oxidized steel surfaces setting up a metaphorical dichotomy
relative to the precarious balance, which exists between our own immortal and mortal components.
Tyler Meadows Davis
materials and process
materials and process
| materials |
Artist Colin Nesbit, whose subtle prints and sculpture have often dealt with issues involving history and ghosts, commented
after seeing a large group of these pieces that the exhibition seemed like a “sort of cemetery.” In the sense that these pieces
resemble grave markers, homage to the experiences, choices, and even mistakes of some unspecified group of individuals, I
would agree with Colin’s observations. This probably reflects my personal religious beliefs concerning the profound
significance of the time we each have in mortality, that in fact, now is the time to:
Prepare to meet God; yea the day of this life is the day for men to
perform their labors…after this day of life, which is given us to prepare for
eternity…cometh the night wherein there can be no labor performed.
(The Book of Mormon, 295)
The act of stacking the glass is significant in this respect, as it has direct associations with the way we make choices and
accumulate life experiences, one by one, over time. Encasing the stacks within openings in the steel forms, suspended
motionless, suggests a completed sentence, a experiential documentation of sorts that cannot be added to or taken from.
There is also something of a meditative nature in the process itself, the consistent repetition of stacking similar objects, with
each piece leaving an emerging pattern below while filling an increasingly narrow void of possibility. An integral part of this
process, I have become interested in the slight variations that unavoidably occur as a result of my own inconsistencies.
Artist Magdalena Abakanowicz has dealt with minute variations in her work and suggests “unrepeatability” is as inevitable
in art making as it is in nature, she elaborates:
A crowd of people or birds, insects or leaves, is a mysterious
assemblage of variants of a certain prototype, a riddle of nature
abhorrent to exact repetition or inability to produce it, just as a human
hand can not repeat its own gesture.
(Magdalena Abakanowicz. Marlboro Gallery. 17 Feb. 2006. <http://www.abakanowicz.art.pl/documentation.html>)
Likewise, rather than attempting to mask the variations that inevitably occur in repeated forms, the Accumulation series
explores their subtleties. However similar in visual parameter, each piece is made unique, though sometimes only slightly,
through variation in scale and composition, as well as through a variety of surface treatments as to both steel and glass,
including cold lamination, sand blasting, kiln fusing and casting at extreme temperatures, painting, sanding, and of course,
oxidation.
after seeing a large group of these pieces that the exhibition seemed like a “sort of cemetery.” In the sense that these pieces
resemble grave markers, homage to the experiences, choices, and even mistakes of some unspecified group of individuals, I
would agree with Colin’s observations. This probably reflects my personal religious beliefs concerning the profound
significance of the time we each have in mortality, that in fact, now is the time to:
Prepare to meet God; yea the day of this life is the day for men to
perform their labors…after this day of life, which is given us to prepare for
eternity…cometh the night wherein there can be no labor performed.
(The Book of Mormon, 295)
The act of stacking the glass is significant in this respect, as it has direct associations with the way we make choices and
accumulate life experiences, one by one, over time. Encasing the stacks within openings in the steel forms, suspended
motionless, suggests a completed sentence, a experiential documentation of sorts that cannot be added to or taken from.
There is also something of a meditative nature in the process itself, the consistent repetition of stacking similar objects, with
each piece leaving an emerging pattern below while filling an increasingly narrow void of possibility. An integral part of this
process, I have become interested in the slight variations that unavoidably occur as a result of my own inconsistencies.
Artist Magdalena Abakanowicz has dealt with minute variations in her work and suggests “unrepeatability” is as inevitable
in art making as it is in nature, she elaborates:
A crowd of people or birds, insects or leaves, is a mysterious
assemblage of variants of a certain prototype, a riddle of nature
abhorrent to exact repetition or inability to produce it, just as a human
hand can not repeat its own gesture.
(Magdalena Abakanowicz. Marlboro Gallery. 17 Feb. 2006. <http://www.abakanowicz.art.pl/documentation.html>)
Likewise, rather than attempting to mask the variations that inevitably occur in repeated forms, the Accumulation series
explores their subtleties. However similar in visual parameter, each piece is made unique, though sometimes only slightly,
through variation in scale and composition, as well as through a variety of surface treatments as to both steel and glass,
including cold lamination, sand blasting, kiln fusing and casting at extreme temperatures, painting, sanding, and of course,
oxidation.
| process |
| disclaimer |
The information and ideas below are included only in an effort to provide a glimpse into some of the thoughts the artist has
experienced while interacting with the work over the past several years. It is in no way intended to direct or prevent
additional interpretation on the part of the viewer.
experienced while interacting with the work over the past several years. It is in no way intended to direct or prevent
additional interpretation on the part of the viewer.