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Many craftsmen, young and old, have a different vocabulary and a more idiosyncratic intent. The life-size Three Bicycles by Fumio Yoshimura, for instance, painstakingly carved and laminated in linden wood, down to the chains and pedals, is a joyful piece that greets visitors in the lobby. Purple Violetta Macchia Set with Green Lip Wraps, a sensuous and delicate assemblage by Glassblower Dale Chihuly, takes the vessel to new limits.
Some contributors explore the revelations of art instead of the decorations of craft. Near Maloof 's rocker are nine chairs, none of which should be sat upon. One represents a jagged half of an ancient Aegean throne; another sports a sharp-edged projection for a headrest. Three humorous constructions by Alphonse Mattia, Primates, Geometric Valets, are ironic comments on the gentleman's valet stand, meant to be used when dressing. Woodworker Jon Brooks, who has never made "purely functional" pieces, is represented by a pair of twiggy, seatless pieces called Styx Ladderback Chairs. Brooks sounds more like an art critic than a craftsman when he describes his work as "walking the thin edge between furniture and sculpture."
The traditional view of craft as one of objects beyond the whims of fashion is also challenged. Some craftsmen are copying interior-decoration fads. A particular favorite is the zany, post-pop, limited-production furniture of Milan-based Memphis, a loose association of designers and architects. It is reassuring, however, that craftsmen honor their materials, whether they be humble clay or plastic laminate, with workmanship beyond that of any assembly line. The flawless pastel perfume bottles by Andrew Magdanz and Susan Shapiro, for instance, will outlast their Miami Vice trendiness. Says Sculptor-Ceramist Peter Shire, whose Hourglass Teapot is a construct of precariously balanced, primary-hued geometric shapes: "There may be a controversy in all this somewhere, but I could really give a damn. We all come from the same place, basically. We all work with our hands."
"Poetry of the Physical" is an exhibition that cheers with iconoclastic humor and honest energy. It will surely tempt viewers to acquire pieces of their own. But prospective buyers of the objects that will be offered when the museum eventually opens a shop should be warned: the crafts will not come cheap. Rudy Autio, a ceramist from Missoula, Mont., who was in New York to examine the museum last week, echoed the words of a frontier artist. "Like Charlie Russell said," noted a happy Autio, "I already get dead men's prices."