Spanish artist Jaume Plensa, whose 24-foot-tall sculpture “Chloe” was officially revealed Thursday afternoon on the grounds of the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, recalled earlier in the day that, at the age of 3 or 4, he hid in his father’s upright piano. “The piano is shaped like a triangle, and on the right side was the space for me at that moment,” he said. “I felt this amazing vibration though me and through everything. And I did not realize, of course, until much later how art isn’t just about sitting there, but how it fills the space; it shoots out energy.” He quoted the poet William Blake: “One thought fills immensity.”
Spanish artist Jaume Plensa on the terrace of the VMFA, as his “Chloe” looks on (Photo by Harry Kollatz Jr.)
Some days ago, toward dusk, on the way home from the office I came upon “Chloe” and saw first her visage in the water, reflecting around the museum’s back terrace. I followed the wavering image up to her immense, mysterious, alabaster features and stopped in my tracks. Like the keys striking the wires of Plensa's dad's piano, “Chloe” hums; she resonates a meditative energy. Made of polyester resin and marble dust over a stainless-steel skeleton, she appears to glow. "Chloe" absorbs the color and light around her and exhibits a sense of solemnity and mediation.
Plensa has made colossal female heads before, but this is the first of his large works to be cast as one piece. He makes scans of his model's faces and, in this case, distorted the profile by compressing the depth, which gives the piece a living, photographic quality. In addition, the marble dust catches the light like glitter.
“My main interest is that the sculpture makes what’s around it more beautiful,” he said.
“Chloe” meditates on the VMFA grounds. (Photo by Harry Kollatz Jr.)
Plensa visited the site and undertook extensive studio tests for positioning and light. The museum suggested a few sites, but, because his work often is complemented by water, here “Chloe” stands. “I like it in relation to the trees and buildings, and the museum’s new addition,” Plensa says. Seeing “Chloe” shining in Richmond’s afternoon sun, he felt that the site and situation of the sculpture were successful. “In positioning, you know, it’s that last little bit,” — he pinches the air and chuckles — “If it’s not right, you lose the war.”
Referring to his childhood piano experience, Plensa noted how his father loved books, and he passed that passion along to his son.
“He was always reading and playing a little piano all the time,” Plensa remembers. “He was a very concentrating man. And thanks to him, I also fell completely in love with books. But, when I was young, it was mostly about the visuality of text, how words run across and fill pages, but, too, the feel and look of the covers of his old books, and the expression of materials.”
Some of these books concerned art history, and Plensa paged through works about Egyptian, Etruscan and Roman art. And, in Barcelona, his mother took him to the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya, where young Plensa marveled at the extensive Romanesque collection.
Words are invisible, but in conversation, they link us. “Music has that quality, text has that, and because of my father, I became very influenced by poetry. Shakespeare, Blake, Baudelaire, and later, William Carlos Williams." The minimalist and imagist poet worked full time as a physician. "I was completely fascinated by that man,” Plensa says.
Plensa wants visitors to feel peaceful in the presence of “Chloe.” “Yes, she’s big, but one of the qualities of my work is that I’m able to control the sense of scale," he explains. "People coming to her should feel comfortable; it’s not a conflict. I’m so proud of this piece, I see her now that it’s finally installed, and happy that I kept on with my intuitions.” He cocks a brow, sighs and laughs. “I guess it’s fine.”
Plensa’s work, due to its usual large size, is often dedicated to public spaces in cities from France to Japan, and many places in between. “The Crown Fountain” (2004), in Chicago’s Millennium Park, is one of Plensa’s largest and most distinctive projects. He traces the concept back to the idea of cathedral gargoyles – grotesque creatures that also served a real purpose as rainwater spouts.
“I’m often working with water,” the artist says, “or my work is related to the water or near the water. It’s so important to our life.”
He continues, “I guess I’ve been inside this long tradition of the head in art history." He gazes from the terrace as a scrum of visitor paparazzi clusters around “Chloe.” “I guess this representation of the head is a bit broken in our art today. Everything happens,” — he taps his temple — “here.”
