Maker to Market: Ruth Asawa Reappraised

Transcription

The Journal of
Modern Craft
Volume 8—Issue 2
July 2015
pp. 141–154
DOI:
10.1080/17496772.2015.1054707
Downloaded by [Temple University Libraries] at 16:13 07 November 2015
Reprints available directly
from the publishers
Photocopying permitted by
license only
© 2015 Taylor & Francis
Maker to Market: Ruth
Asawa Reappraised
Sarah Archer
Sarah Archer is a writer and independent curator based in
Philadelphia. Her articles and reviews have appeared in Hyperallergic, the Journal of Modern Craft, Ceramics: Art and Perception, Hand/Eye, Modern Magazine, Studio Potter, The Huffington
Post, Slate, and the New Yorker, as well as numerous exhibition
catalogs and the forthcoming anthologies including Shows and
Tales (Art Jewelry Forum) and The Ceramic Reader (Bloomsbury). She has recently curated exhibitions at the Philadelphia
Art Alliance where she was formerly the senior curator, Pratt
Manhattan Gallery, and Urban Glass.
Abstract This essay considers the recent emergence of sculptor
Ruth Asawa as a posthumous star on the secondary
art market, and the attendant efforts by Christie’s to
portray her as a bohemian gamine. Although Asawa was
best known towards the end of her life as a public artist
in San Francisco and an activist whose work on behalf
of the visual arts in public school was partly fueled by
her devotion to her own children, her earlier works
were discrete sculptural objects, and thus have access
to second lives as collector’s items. This essay makes the
case that it was not only the “hobbyist” associations with
Asawa’s chosen material and technique of crocheting
wire that prevented her from wider acclaim in contemporary art circles during her lifetime, but also the public
and collectivist nature of both her teaching and commissioned artworks. Keywords: Japanese-American, sculpture, feminist art,
fiber, crochet, weaving, auction
When Ruth Asawa (1926–2013) (Figures 1 and 2) died in
August, 2013, the obituaries that appeared in newspapers
and magazines across the US characterized her life’s work
with a diverse array of descriptors. In the pages of the New
The Journal of Modern Craft Volume 8—Issue 2—July 2015, pp. 141–154
142 Ruth Asawa Reappraised
Sara Archer
Fig 1 Imogen Cunningham, Ruth Holding a Form-Within-Form Sculpture, 1952.
© Imogen Cunningham Trust.
York Times, she was an “artist who wove
wire.”1 In the Los Angeles Times, a “California sculptor.”2 In an article appearing in the
SFGate, she was “overlooked.”3 And according to Art+Auction, she had enjoyed a “late,
meteoric rise from obscurity.”4 Reading the
story of Asawa’s career from these headlines
alone, one might suppose that she was an
under-recognized artist using a traditionally
feminine technique to create objects from
humble material, and that by some fluke,
she had been bestowed with a late-life spike
in recognition, even celebrity. However,
evidence of a flourishing career in the 1950s,
which included commissions, solo exhibitions in New York, and an acquisition by the
Whitney Museum of American Art, appears
to contradict the notion that Asawa toiled
for decades in anonymity.
In the latter part of her career, Asawa
focused her energies on education and
public art projects in San Francisco, teaching
hands-on workshops at the museum of art
and science in the city, the Exploratorium,
and creating sculptures and fountains in an
accessible, even sentimental style. During
this period she found the demands of a
full-time gallery relationship too demanding,
and participated less and less in exhibitions
of contemporary art. So, rather than
simple obscurity, what Asawa may have
had by the end of her life instead was
Ruth Asawa Reappraised 143
Sara Archer
Fig 2 Untitled, 1960, copper wire, 22 ×
14 ½ × 8ʹʹ. Courtesy of Michael Rosenfeld Gallery, LLC, New York, NY.
the wrong kind of renown, at least in the
view of contemporary art circles (then,
as now). The 2013 catalog Ruth Asawa:
Objects and Apparitions that accompanied
the sale of some of her wire sculptures
at Christie’s positions Asawa as a sculptor
whose aesthetic could be misunderstood
owing to its visual and technical similarity
to traditional handicraft. What the catalog
leaves out, however, is more telling: while
the essays address the issue of her gender
and the “craft question” head on, they
sidestep her public work and teaching
career almost entirely. This suggests that, at
least in the case of Asawa, there is a more
complex reason for her on–off relationship
with the marketplace than her use of craft
techniques and materials, and that the
now-familiar narrative of the “overlooked
craft artist” is too reductive an account for
the reception of her oeuvre. A shift in the
perception of her practice and identity as
an artist may account for her recent success
on the secondary market for postwar
sculpture, where she is now, posthumously,
a rising star.
There are two distinct concerns that
shaped Asawa’s reception while she was
alive: first, the confluence of her formal
style and her gender led to her early
typecasting as a craftsperson whose artistic
intentions were subsumed by a meditative
and repetitive working method. Second,
by moving away from the creation of
discrete objects for gallery and museum
exhibitions towards a focus on public art,
Asawa’s output aligned with an aesthetic
point of view, well-loved and understood
by the general public, but decidedly out of
step with contemporary sculpture. Two of
her best-known public works are fountains
created in a representational style bordering
on the sentimental—the aesthetic and
conceptual antithesis of her hanging works
in wire.
Prices for Asawa’s work have blossomed,
starting with her 2006 retrospective (her
first at the age of 80) The Sculpture of Ruth
Asawa: Contours in the Air at the DeYoung
Museum in San Francisco, and culminating
with a blockbuster exhibition and the private
sale of her sculpture at Christie’s in 2013.
If critics, curators, and a circle of collectors
that included the likes of the Rockefellers
and Philip Johnson saw fit to give Asawa’s
work kudos as early as the 1950s, the
sudden recent spike in sales nearly sixty
years later demands a nuanced explanation.
The passions of Asawa’s life—her family,
her art, and her activism—are explored to
greater or lesser extents in both Contours in
the Air and the Christie’s catalog, but the way
in which she is portrayed as an artist who
made sculpture, rather than as a mother and
art teacher who “wove wire” (or indeed,
Sara Archer
crocheted), moves her career and output
into a much more highly valued category on
the auction block.
In his 2013 article in Art+Auction
exploring the surging interest in Asawa’s
work, writer Ashton Cooper notes that her
first solo exhibition in New York occurred at
the Peridot Gallery in 1954, which happens
to be the same venue that presented a
young Louise Bourgeois’ first solo show in
1949.5 In 1955, Asawa’s work was included
in the Whitney Museum’s annual “Survey
of New Art,” the exhibition known today
as the Whitney Biennial. Asawa was also
invited to take part in the 1955 São Paulo
Art Biennial, quickly expanding her growing
reputation into the Southern hemisphere.
Yet, “despite these early successes,”
Cooper writes, “many critics were quick to
characterize Asawa’s output as ‘women’s
work’ or ‘craft’.”6 It goes without saying, we
can only assume that this was a negative
characterization.
There is an oft-repeated narrative
about women in the postwar period
working in materials like fiber, or clay, toiling
in the shadows of the major figures in
contemporary art movements of their day
by dint of their gender and their choice
of material and form: women performing
women’s work. The argument follows that
it is natural for women, and thus intuitive
rather than inventive or ingenious, to weave,
knit, twist, crochet, or embroider her work
into existence. In her classic text from
1984, The Subversive Stitch: Embroidery and
the Making of the Feminine, Rozsika Parker
would argue that this supposed naturalness
is socially constructed. In addition to the
long-established traditional hierarchy
separating the fine from the decorative
Sara Archer
arts, the special domestic and care-taking
associations with textiles, from bed linens
to clothing, have made the practice of
fiber sculpture a hotly contested area. As
Elissa Auther demonstrates in String, Felt,
Thread: the Hierarchy of Art and Craft in
American Art, women artists such as Eva
Hesse and Sheila Hicks destabilized this
categorization from the mid-twentieth
century onward, particularly through their
use of monumentally scaled works and offloom technique.7
In her catalog essay “Critiquing the
Critique: Ruth Asawa’s Early Reception”
from the 2006 exhibition Contours in the Air
at the DeYoung Museum, Emily K. Doman
Jennings closely examines the reception of
Asawa’s first exhibitions through a close
reading of contemporary reviews and
articles. Reactions to Asawa’s work were
often shaped by a preoccupation with her
ethnicity, which seems to have been assigned
an importance out of proportion with its
real significance to Asawa’s own practice. As
cited by Jennings, art historian Bert WintherTamaki has termed this point of view
“typecasting by nationality,” and it was not
uncommon in the 1950s art world.8 Jennings
notes that reaction to Asawa’s work in the
1950s demonstrated a fascination with both
her gender and her Japanese heritage (not
always in tandem) and that these concerns
seemed to shape critics’ understanding of
what they were looking at.
A 1955 article in Time Magazine entitled
“Eastern Yeast” paired Asawa with fellow
Japanese-American (and native Californian)
Isamu Noguchi. In the review, Asawa is
identified as a “housewife and mother of
three,” although in the very next sentence,
the author notes that she studied with Josef
Albers at Black Mountain College. The work
of both artists is praised, if essentialized:
“Noguchi and Asawa share one quality of
Oriental art that Western artists often lack:
economy of means.”9 Although Noguchi
could be fairly described as having been
influenced by Japanese aesthetics (he lived
for a time in Japan), Asawa was raised in
the US by vegetable farmers with little
formal education of their own, and she was
educated herself in American schools. If
she was aware of or intrigued by Japanese
aesthetics in particular or East Asian art in
general, it was more likely that she had been
introduced to these topics in the course
of her studies with Albers and Buckminster
Fuller at Black Mountain.10
Japanese aesthetics were a source
of fascination in the worlds of American
art and design in the years following the
Second World War. Yuko Kikuchi has shown
that there was a rich (if at times muddled)
exchange of ideas between the two
countries characterized by what she terms
the “Orientalist” reception of the Japanese
Mingei movement in the West. Mingei
espoused an idealized notion of authenticity
in the folk crafts, but like all retrospective
movements, it was not a pure specimen
unearthed from pre-modern Japan; rather,
it was a hybrid of old and new ideas woven
together by founder Yanagi Soetsu, who
was an avid student of the Western Arts
and Crafts movement.11 During the war,
the notions of ethnicity and nationality had
been dangerously blurred by the decision to
intern American citizens of Japanese descent.
It is not surprising, then, that in the years
that followed, even art world cognoscenti
fell into the logic of essentialism with regard
to Japanese ethnicity.
More damning from a fine art point
of view than the curious attention to her
ethnic background was the notion that
Asawa’s work was little more than a form
of elaborate basket-weaving that truly
belonged in the realm of the domestic
and the decorative. These perceptions
were probably not unrelated, however: if
the handicraft of the East was ahistorical,
preindustrial and eternal, positioned as
simpler and even primitive relative to the
art of the West, then “women’s work”
can be read as a kind of gendered analog
to “Oriental art.” The reviews of Asawa’s
1956 solo exhibition at the Peridot Gallery
were generally complimentary of her skill
and aesthetic sense, but dismissive of her
work with regard to the larger context of
contemporary art practice. The review in
ArtNews left little room for interpretation:
“These are ‘domestic’ sculptures in a
feminine handiwork mode.”12 The New
York Times review described her work
as “beautiful, if primarily only decorative
objects in space.”13 The harshest words
came from Otis Gage, who reviewed the
exhibition for Arts & Architecture: “[T]he
repeated, unvarying, interlocking loops of
wire give an inevitable look of craftwork
that relates these objects uncomfortably
to baskets and fish traps and other
mechanically made objects.”14 That Gage
knew “baskets” and “craftwork” were
grounds for categorical dismissal without
needing to explain why confirms that the
art world of the 1950s was, at least in
male-dominated commercial centers like
New York City, not quite ready for works
that explored the layered meanings of
techniques like knitting and crochet, even in
non-traditional materials.
Sara Archer
If Asawa was stung by these critiques,
she did not show it, nor did she make
much of an effort to downplay her roles as
wife and mother. She had had a tough but
remarkably resilient childhood, spending her
teenage years in two internment camps,
first in California and later in Arkansas, and
witnessed her father being arrested after
the attack on Pearl Harbor. Supported in
part by Quaker charities, she traveled to
Mexico with her sister and was inspired
by the techniques she observed there of
basket-weavers who used inexpensive wire
to make their vessels.15 In 1946, with little
money and an incomplete teaching degree
from Milwaukee State Teachers College
(she could not complete the required hours
of classroom time because schools would
not hire a Japanese-American teacher), she
found herself in North Carolina studying
with some of the most renowned artists and
thinkers of the time. She met her husband
Albert Lanier at Black Mountain College,
married young, and had her first child at the
age of 24. So if she was to be a “mother
and housewife” on top of everything else
she wanted to do, her remarkable ability
to work in unpredictable and challenging
circumstances with limited resources would
serve her art-making practice well.
The photographer Imogen
Cunningham—whose atmospheric portraits
of Asawa with her wire sculptures capture
the artist in moments of bohemian
glamour—advised Ruth to “make sculpture
and not babies.”16 But make them she did,
eventually having six children between 1950
and 1959. In an image from 1952 (Figure 1),
a young Asawa poses with one of her wire
sculptures, sporting dark lipstick, her face
geometrically framed by long, straight bangs.
Sara Archer
Fig 3 Imogen Cunningham, Ruth and Her Children at Home, 1957. © Imogen Cunningham Trust.
In another Cunningham portrait from 1958
(Figure 3), Asawa works on a wire sculpture
as four of her children play beside her, the
smallest of whom is naked and enjoying a
bottle as he watches his mother work.
As her children became school-aged,
Asawa, who remembered how important
her own art education had been during her
tumultuous childhood, became increasingly
involved with art in the public sphere. In
1968, she joined the San Francisco Arts
Commission, where she worked doggedly
for arts education reform. She also helped
establish the Alvarado Arts Workshop,
a visiting artist program that brought
professionals in the visual and performing
arts to dozens of San Francisco public
schools.17 This work, along with her studio
practice, appears to have been where her
heart was, and she increasingly found the
demands of active gallery representation too
distracting.
One moniker Asawa earned during
this period appears in the headline for
the obituary that ran in the San Francisco
Examiner: “the Fountain Lady.”18 It is
perhaps this association more than anything,
including her decision to “weave” her early
sculptural work, that may have alienated
her from the contemporary commercial
art world. Not only was Asawa a wife and
mother who made work using traditionally
feminine techniques, as an arts activist
she was committed to working with two
populations not especially well-loved in
the more elite corridors of the art world:
school children and the general public. She
served for eight years on the San Francisco
Arts Commission, and became a member
of the National Endowment for the Arts’
Sara Archer
Task Force on the education and training
of artists, among numerous other civic
appointments.
Asawa began working on commissions
for civic projects in the early 1970s, the
most famous of which is the Hyatt on
Union Square Fountain in San Francisco
(Figures. 4–6). She became involved with the
fountain project by chance: architect Chuck
Bassett of the firm Skidmore, Owings and
Merrill happened to see an exhibition at
the California Redwood Association that
featured sculpture by Asawa as well as work
by some of the children who attended the
Alvarado Elementary School. Bassett was
part of the design team for the new Grand
Hyatt San Francisco, and wanted to find an
artist to help realize an engaging design for
Fig 4 Ruth Asawa, Hyatt on Union Square Fountain, San Francisco, 1973. Cast bronze, 13ʹ3ʹʹ diameter × 7ʹ
high. Photo: Aiko Cuneo © Ruth Asawa.
Sara Archer
Fig 5 Ruth Asawa, Hyatt on Union Square Fountain, San Francisco, 1973, detail of surface relief of “Gate to
Chinatown.” Photo: Aiko Cuneo © Ruth Asawa.
the fountain that was to sit just in front of
the hotel’s entrance. The children’s work in
the Redwood Association exhibition had
been crafted from a substance Ruth called
“baker’s clay,” an inedible mixture of flour,
salt, and water, which could be worked like
real ceramic and then “fired” in an ordinary
oven. The children’s works depicted scenes
from daily life at Alvarado. (A photograph
by Rondal Patridge of Asawa’s living room—
Figure 7—shows a group of baked dough
sculptures on a table in the foreground.)
Charmed, Bassett suggested that Asawa
work with children from different parts of
the city to create a large, low-relief for the
fountain’s exterior.19 The cast bronze cylinder
that resulted bore the efforts of children
and friends of Asawa’s, including leaves
fashioned by Ruth’s mother, Haru Asawa.
The fountain resembles a
monochromatic, sculptural Breugel painting
touched with the relentless energy of
Richard Scarry’s Busytown: jolly, stylized,
and densely packed with detail. Its greenish
patina and rough surface read from afar
a bit like a Harry Bertoia sculpture, or an
enormous Paul Evans coffee table. It is also
very literal: building facades and human
figures are rendered sweetly and accurately.
It is not abstract or even impressionistic.
It is the sort of public art that passers-by
might not especially like, but could not
Sara Archer
Fig 6 Ruth Asawa, Hyatt on Union
Square Fountain, San Francisco, 1973,
detail of surface relief of “Conservatory of Flowers.” Photo: Aiko Cuneo ©
Ruth Asawa.
misunderstand if they tried. Asawa’s role
in the creation of the fountain (which did
come to be well-loved by San Franciscans)
seems to align much more strongly with
her role as educator and artistically inclined
mother. The work itself is not hers per se;
rather, it is the result of her art direction
and community organizing. When the hotel’s
owner, Donald Pritzker, was presented with
Asawa’s concept for the fountain, he was
generally supportive, but expressed concern
that the finished product would look like
a giant cookie. “That’s what I want it to
look like,” Asawa said.20 During this period
in her career, Asawa knew her audience.
When she was commissioned to create a
fountain sculpture for Ghirardelli Square
(Figure 8), her first instinct was to make
the central figure a mermaid, because the
Square is not far from the ocean.21 Recalling
the 1913 bronze statue in Copenhagen,
“The Little Mermaid” by Edvard Erikson
commemorating Hans Christian Andersen’s
fairytale, Asawa felt that the fountain should
be something that appealed to children:
Ghirardelli Square had been named after a
former chocolate factory.
A 1974 photograph of Asawa
leading a workshop at the San Francisco
Exploratorium (Figure 9) shows her holding
a flexible, modular structure made from milk
cartons. She wears thick-rimmed glasses, a
cozy pullover, and a wide-collared shirt.22
Nearby, children assemble spheres and
domes from cartons, using the angles at
the top and the squared off bases to create
miniature structures. Unseen, but evident,
is the invisible hand of Buckminster Fuller.
This image of Ruth Asawa, as an inspired
educator who was more interested in
creating table-top geodesic domes with
elementary school children than in, say,
Sara Archer
Fig 7 Rondal Partridge, Ruth Asawa’s Living Room, 1969. © Rondal Partridge Archive.
working with MFA candidates at a top art
school or preparing for a New York gallery
show, is in keeping with the woman that
the San Franciscans came to adore, the
“Fountain Lady” who was all but invisible to
the contemporary art world.
The 2006 exhibition catalog that
accompanied Contours in the Air is a complex
and thorough account of Asawa’s life and
practice, including the community-based
works and art education activism, her early
reception in the art press, and her time
at Black Mountain College. It includes a
thoughtful essay, “The Art of Space: Ruth
Asawa’s Sculptural Installations” by the
exhibition’s curator, Daniell Cornell, which
makes the case that Asawa’s works presage
installation art in their layered, dimensional
relationship with line, light, and space.
Photographs from Asawa’s life are plentiful
in the catalog, and include the glamorous
Cunningham portraits of her youth, along
with pictures of Asawa enjoying time with
her family, and a bit rounder, in old age.
The Christie’s catalog “Ruth Asawa:
Objects and Apparitions,” which has the
sheen and polish of an art book, includes no
such images. The meat of the catalog is the
wire sculptures, and indeed these were the
bulk of the works for sale. Although derided
in their own time as “fish traps” by Otis
Gage, in 2013, they had just the right look for
Sara Archer
Fig 8 Ruth Asawa, Andrea Mermaid Fountain, Ghirardelli Square, San Francisco, 1969, cast bronze, 16 ft
diameter × 5 ft high. Photo: Aiko Cuneo © Ruth Asawa.
a collector enamored of postwar, biomorphic
sculpture, and especially when shown with
people for context and scale. The catalog
also includes three substantive essays: “Ruth
Asawa: Shifting the Terms of Sculpture”
by poet and critic John Yau, “Ruth Asawa:
Objects and Apparitions,” by Jonathan Laib
who organized the Christie’s sale, and “Ruth
Asawa and Anni and Josef Albers: Splendid
Soulmates,” by Nicholas Fox Weber, Director
of the Josef and Anni Albers Foundation.
Reproduced towards the end of Yau’s
essay in a double-page spread is a 1953
Clifford Coffin photograph originally
appearing in Vogue, which shows a model
sporting a New Look-style skirt suit standing
next to a similarly curvy wire sculpture by
Asawa. Although Laib’s essay describes her
public works and includes reproductions
of his own photographs of the Alvarado
Elementary School’s Playground and Mural
Mosaic, these projects are presented as a
chapter of Asawa’s life that is connected to
but distinct from the subject at hand—her
sculptures. Both Yau’s and Weber’s essays
include extensive information about Asawa’s
early years, as well as moving visual details
such as her internment identification card. In
Weber’s essay in particular, much is made of
her relationship with the Alberses and with
Buckminster Fuller; letters to and from each
are reproduced in high resolution.
Sara Archer
Fig 9 Ruth Asawa leading a workshop
at the San Francisco Exploratorium. ©
Exploratorium. www.exploratorium.com
Of course, it was a sale, so Asawa’s public
work would not logically have been part
of the program. However, would a similar
downplaying have occurred were the sale
comprised of a lot of Calder sculptures,
or Claes Oldenbergs? It is a complex
convergence of factors, including an art
and design zeitgeist, and a reassessment
within today’s art world of works made
with and of fiber, or using fiber-specific
techniques. Between 1955 and 2013, the art
world pivoted to embrace artists like Judy
Chicago and Lenore Tawney, and younger
practitioners like Sabrina Gschwandtner,
Sheila Pepe, and Liz Collins, all of whom
have had important and well-received
exhibitions at world-class institutions. So it
seems the current vision of Asawa and her
work is likely not a denial of her “fiber-ness”;
on the contrary, the vogue for mid-twentieth
century studio craft aesthetics in recent
years has probably worked in her favor.
What appears to have been quietly left out
of Christie’s presentation is the persona of
the “Fountain Lady.” The photographs of the
artist in the 2013 catalog are primarily from
the 1950s and 1960s. She does not appear
to sport glasses, gain weight, or work with
small children. She does not stand smiling
broadly next to any outdoor, public works.
In her educational, public art, and activist
work, her “collector” was the anonymous,
ordinary person: a passerby, a fifth grader
with a penchant for baker’s clay, a crafty
neighbor. Unvetted, uncurated, and perhaps
rather unglamorous. Not elite or collectible,
but collective.
Sara Archer
9
10
11
12
Notes
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Douglas Martin, “Ruth Asawa, an Artist
Who Wove Wire, Dies at 87,” New York
Times (August 17, 2013).
Lee Romney, “Ruth Asawa, Artist Known
for Intricate Wire Sculptures, Dies at 87,”
Los Angeles Times (August 6, 2013).
Kenneth Baker, “California Sculptor Ruth
Asawa Dies,” SFGate (August 6, 2013).
Ashton Cooper, “Artist Dossier: Ruth
Asawa’s Late, Meteoric Rise From Obscurity,” Art+Auction (November 2013).
Displays at the Peridot, ACA and Heller,”
New York Times (March 14, 1956), p. 36.
Cooper, “Artist Dossier.”
Elissa Auther, String, Felt, Thread: the Heirarchy of Art and Craft in American Art (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota
Press, 2010), p. 7.
Emily K. Doman Jennings, “Critiquing the
Critique: Ruth Asawa’s Early Reception,”
in Daniell Cornell, ed. The Sculpture of
Ruth Asawa: Contours in the Air (Berkeley,
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
CA: Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco,
2006), p. 130.
“Eastern Yeast,” Time Magazine (February
10, 1955), p. 54.
Jennings, “Critiquing the Critique,” p. 131.
Yuko Kikuchi, “Hybridity and the Oriental Orientalism of ‘Mingei’ Theory,” The
Journal of Design History 10(4), Special
Issue “Craft, Culture and Identity” (1997),
p. 343.
Eleanor C. Munro, “Globe Within a Cup
Within a Sphere,” ArtNews 55 (April
1956), p. 26.
“Displays at the Peridot, ACA and Heller,”
New York Times (March 14, 1956), p. 36.
Otis Gage, “Sculpturama,” Art & Architecture (February 1955), p. 9.
Personal communication with Addie Lanier,
daughter of Ruth Asawa (November 2015).
Jacqueline Hoefer, “Ruth Asawa: A Working Life,” in The Sculpture of Ruth Asawa.
Ibid., p. 24.
Janos Gereben, “San Francisco ‘Fountain
Lady’ Sculptor Ruth Asawa Dies at 87,”
San Francisco Examiner (August 7, 2013).
Sally B. Woodbridge, Ruth Asawa’s San
Francisco Fountain, Hyatt on Union Square,
self-published printed catalog (1973), p. 3.
Hoefer, “Ruth Asawa: A Working Life,” p.
26.
Ibid., p. 24.
Amy Ogata, Designing the Creative Child:
Playthings and Places in Midcentury
America (Minneapolis, MN: University of
Minnesota Press, 2013), p. 178.

Maker to Market: Ruth Asawa Reappraised

Transcription

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