Mariah Nielson and Åbäke, editors, with contributions by Lucy R. Lippard, Louise Allison Cort, Fariba Bogzaran, Mariah Neilson, Isamu Noguchi, Rita Lawrence, Alyssa Ballard, Rick Yoshimoto, Rene Bustamente, and Glenn Adamson. JB Blunk. Inverness, Calif., and London: Blunk Books / Dent-De-Leone, 2020. 224 pp.; 71 color and 73 bw illus., chronology, bibliography, index. $55.00.
Brendan Bernhardt Gaffney. James Krenov: Leave Fingerprints. Covington, Ky.: Lost Art Press, 2020. 291 pp.; color and bw illus. $47.00.
Delving into the psyche of an artist is a common approach for writers looking to offer deeper understanding and empathy of popular artists like Vincent Van Gogh and Pablo Picasso. It is a less common subject for writers and researchers of American furniture. Yet two books published in 2020 offer just that—an intimate, often personal portrayal of two of the twentieth century’s most influential wood artists, JB Blunk (1926–2002) and James Krenov (1920–2009). Both books, beautifully illustrated with a range of images from historical, to personal, to studio, offer unique insight into the world of each artist.
Much has been written about Blunk’s affinity to nature and the almost spiritual aspects of his work. A prominent figure in the Northern California artistic and woodworking communities, Blunk is best known for the monumental pieces he sculpted from scavenged timber found near his home in Inverness, California. His most famous work, The Planet, is indicative of Blunk’s typical scale. Thirteen feet in diameter, the piece was carved from a single massive ring of redwood burl and installed in the first-floor lobby of the Oakland Museum of California during the building’s construction in 1969. It has remained there ever since, primarily because it is too large to move or fit through the doorways.
What makes JB Blunk different from other publications is its approach. Rather than a scholarly analysis of his work, the book comprises short essays and interviews by writers from a range of backgrounds. Each essayist explores the artist’s influences and experiences through a personal lens. Art critic Lucy Lippard ponders the artist’s thoughts on her book Overlay: Contemporary Arts and the Art of Prehistory (1983), which Blunk was known to have read and annotated. Ceramics curator Louise Allison Cort weaves an engaging tale of Blunk’s experience in Japan apprenticing with ceramic master Toyo Kaneshige. Artist and scientist Faribe Bogzarian describes Blunk’s relationship with surrealist artist Gordon Onslow Ford, a friend and later a neighbor, who was originally introduced through their mutual friend Isamu Noguchi. Historian Alyssa Ballard provides a snapshot of the logging industry and its impact on the terrain of Mendocino County, where Blunk lived. An interview with long-time assistant Rick Yoshimoto provides a warm, light-hearted reflection on what it takes to work alongside an artistic visionary such a Blunk. Other elements of the book include a historical interview of Blunk by Rita Lawrence at the opening of Blunk’s 1978 exhibition at the Craft and Folk Art Museum, Los Angeles, along with the exhibition’s opening statement by artist Isamu Noguchi. The book concludes with the profound words of cultural anthropologist René Bustamante: “There is no aesthetic without effort, no liberty without restriction . . . . In this way, JB transformed himself into the complete master of what his art expressed, and the messages that his work will continue to transit throughout time” (p. 208).
While all these essays are insightful, the most personal is by Blunk’s daughter, Mariah Nielson, who now serves as director of the JB Blunk Estate. Nielson’s essay and accompanying photos reveal an intimate view of the land and structure that would become their family home in Inverness, California. Described as “one big sculpture,” the house is arguably Blunk’s most important creation, filled with idiosyncrasies that speak to the artist’s playful dance between sculpture and utility. (When asked by interviewer Rita Lawrence which he preferred, he resolutely replied, “. . . they are both part of my work interchangeably . . . . It’s not something you can separate. In fact, I’m determined they should not be separated” [p. 84].) A scrap wall made of redwood falloffs from the making of The Planet reveals such a dance. Intricately puzzled together like an Incan monument, the wall is both a testament to Blunk’s craft and to his innovative and frugal use of waste material.
The photo essay that follows Nielson’s account includes a series of images depicting archival pictures held against the present-day landscape. Incredibly intimate (one can assume it is Nielson’s hand holding the original photos), the series provides a revealing look at both past and present. If there is but one complaint about the book, it is that, sadly, this is as far as we are allowed to see. Though Nielson’s essay is thoughtful, the reader is left longing to hear a more personal narrative from the author about the house and Blunk’s relationship to it. Still, the book offers multiple perspectives on Blunk’s enduring legacy.
In contrast, James Krenov: Leave Fingerprints offers a glimpse into the life of the master woodworker viewed through the lens of furniture maker Brendan Bernhardt Gaffney. The passionately researched narrative of Krenov’s epic life is told from a singular point of view, but done in a way that offers insight about, and compassion for, an artist who rarely revealed details of his personal history.
Krenov is a well-known and beloved figure among furniture enthusiasts. His many publications, including A Cabinetmaker’s Notebook (first published in 1986) and The Impractical Cabinetmaker (1979), espouse a philosophy of “honest” construction not unlike that of arts-and-crafts pioneers of the late nineteenth century. He later founded the fine woodworking program at the College of the Redwoods in Fort Bragg, California, which now bears his name. Krenov passed away in 2009 at the age of eighty-nine, still making furniture until just months before his death. Today, woodworkers continue to practice and teach Krenov’s methods and philosophy, advancing his legacy for generations to come.
That so few personal details were known of this influential figure creates a ready audience for Leave Fingerprints. Gaffney does an admirable job sussing out these details, conducting hundreds of interviews and spending thousands of hours over the course of three years to research the publication. The resulting volume is as much a psychological study as it is a biography. Indeed, the book defies easy classification and could as easily be shelved alongside sociology case studies as it could among books about the decorative arts.
Although this makes the book all the more engaging, it also makes it seem a bit confused at times. The story starts with the incredible life of Krenov’s mother, Julia Alexanderovna von Meier, born to Russian nobility before escaping to the wild, remote regions of Siberia and Alaska. A fascinating character (indeed, she led a life such as movies are made of), Julia remains the central figure until the start of Krenov’s teenage years in chapter 5. The book continues the biography, offering reflections on the personal stories that shaped the artist’s world view. Attached at the end is an appendix of his works, with detailed descriptions about the history, construction, and “Krenovian”-ness about each piece. All this leaves the reader wondering if this book is meant to be an epic story (and if so, it deserves a smaller, easier-to-handle trim size) or a scholarly text complete with historic photos, maps, and other documentary evidence. Indeed, it is both. It is doubtful that most readers of Leave Fingerprints will mind this confusion. It is, in truth, a book written for and by Krenov enthusiasts.
Although both JB Blunk and James Krenov were written for specific audiences, their content is rich enough to attract a variety of readers. One does not have to be a woodworker, furniture maker, or even furniture lover to appreciate the unique perspectives offered in both. Those who seek a deeper understanding of either artist will find satisfaction in these well-written and exquisitely illustrated monographs.
Julie Muñiz
Menlo Park, California