In the Spring issue of Sculpture Quarterly, the magazine is publish for the National Sculpture Society, I had the pleasure of writing about Lee Hutt. Her wisdom and delightfully dry sense of humor left me in awe–then there is her art.
One comment that really stood out to me came toward the end of the interview when I asked her the year she was born. She said she wouldn’t tell me because “we live in an ageist society and I don’t want to be judge by my age.”
Hard to argue with that. The following is my story on Lee Hutt. I hope it inspires you as it does for me daily.
“It’s a real working studio, so it’s not so pretty,” Lee Hutt says, still wondering why anyone would want to write about the old gas station in South Hadley, MA, she turned into a studio some 15 years ago. Her husband Alfred first spotted the building when it went up for sale. By then the gas station had been turned into a plumbing supply and was, to say the least, a fixer-upper.
“We looked in the window,” Lee recalls, “and I think what Alfred said is, ‘The first 20 years were mine, the second 20 years are yours. I want you to do what you want to do. This place should be yours.’”
An Artist's Journey
Prior to the gas station renovation, Lee had a series of studios in Holyoke, MA, across the canal in a building called the Mill.
“Can I tell you another story?” Lee says, leaning forward in her chair. “I was a family therapist, a full-time working therapist. And I always wanted to do art, so I went to the Mill, and I found a studio and David Scher, who owned the Mill, rented a studio to me. But I never went there, so I wrote him a letter and said, “I think you should rent the studio to someone else because I’m not going to get there.” He wrote back and said, “I can always rent the studio. Give yourself a break; art takes time.” The next week I moved into the studio.”
Her years working at the Mill provided more than four walls; it gave her a community of fellow artists. “That’s where I found encouragement, from other artists,” she says. “When you’re a late bloomer, as I am, that kind of contact and familiarity with other people is very encouraging to help you keep moving ahead.”
The Mill, however, was old and funky—perfect for artists—but eventually was flagged for not meeting code. The owner sold to a buyer who renovated the building and turned it into a marijuana dispensary. And so it goes.
Inspired by History
Renovating the gas station’s 4,000 square feet took almost two years. But it had good bones and a flat floor. She added doors tall enough for her rolling ladders to slide through, but otherwise the building had the basic necessities she knew she needed.
For the design of the interior spaces—she has three separate but continuous workspaces, an office, kitchen, and gallery—she paid attention to recommendations Malvina Hoffman (1885-1966) wrote about in her books on sculpture. Not only did Hoffman provide insight about layout for a sculpture studio but she also recommended important tools, such as the need for skeletons. “I have three or four,” Lee says, and then, after a moment, adds, “I bought a real skeleton from a friend, but I couldn’t work from it because it felt so odd—it was a real person. So, I built a very beautiful glass box for it. All the rest of my skeletons are made of plaster.”
Another imperative for Lee is her ever expanding book collection, for which she has floor to ceiling bookshelves along a wall, and a rolling library ladder for easy access. “You never can read enough,” Lee says. “I believe, even if you do different work, you should know about other artists and how their work was done and where it is. You should be able to navigate the world of sculpture.”
Of course, Lee had worked in many studios and visited numerous others, so she had a good sense of what she needed. Though, after a visit to the studio of Daniel Chester French (1850-1931), she was struck by the natural light that bathed the space. “I came home and said to Albert that we need a skylight!” And though it was expensive, Lee says it was worth it. “I think that lighting for sculpture is very specific; you have to be careful. You don’t want brilliant light because you can’t see shadows. Shadows tell you what’s there.”
Surround Yourself with Art
Back when Lee had her studio at the Mill, she was surrounded by artists, whose presence fired her imagination and opened creative possibilities. “A lot of artists stored their stuff in the hallways, so you could always see what they were doing,” she recalls. “I met so many people at the sink. That was very important for me, to see the diversity of what people do and what they see.” She also hired models and invited artists to come into her studio to sculpt, which she found quite instructional. “Everyone was different and that really encouraged me not to replicate the perfection that God had given the model. I tried very hard in the beginning to make it look exactly like the model, and I was pretty good at it, but the spirit came from somewhere else.”
These days, Lee doesn’t work amid the hustle and bustle of shared studio spaces, but instead enjoys long hours with one capable assistant. “I’ve always liked having people around me. I like having a bit of a dialogue.” Besides conversation, Kelly Potter, a ceramicist and artist in her own right, brings a youthful sensibility to Lee’s work.
“When Kelly first came to me, I left her with about three or four heads. They were this new slab work I do. I came in one day and she had glazed one and fired it and it had green stripes! I thought, ‘I’m a classic artist—what’s going to happen to me?!’ And then I realized that she has a young mind, and I can learn so much from her way of thinking without losing myself. In a way,” Lee adds, “I have always had that. While I think of myself as a solo artist, there has always been a model or somebody sweeping the floor or somebody down the hall. I like that. I think it’s important to your growth as an artist to be around other artists and other people.”
Despite her age, which she will not admit because, she insists, we live in an agist society, Lee still puts in eight to ten hours a day at the studio. (Thankfully, Alfred brings lunch most afternoons.) “I can’t wait to get back to work,” she says. “It’s corny but this is what people call a ‘happy place.’ When you’re an artist you have to work. You can’t sit around thinking, ‘what should I do?’ You just have to go and do it, however it comes out, whatever it is.”
And work she does. Lee is surrounded by sculptures in various stages, as well as brushes, glazes, tools, molds of nearly everything she’s sculpted, books, and life drawings that are perched on shelves throughout the studio. “If you can sculpt,” she says, frankly, “you can draw.”
In order to keep up with this practice, she has one workspace dedicated to charcoal drawing. The other two workspaces are set aside for sculpting: one for plaster casts, a messy process that must be kept separate, and the other for clay and her kiln, as well as an exhaust system to keep the air fresh and surfaces clean.
Interestingly, there are also fragments of her work lying about the studio. “One of the things that I have found over time is that sometimes the fragment of a face or the fragment of a piece you’re working on tells more than if you added every detail and every curve,” she explains. “I learned over time—and lots of broken pieces—that the fragments were more the ‘art’ than the entire sculpture. It’s very hard to learn but you have to see stuff laying all over the place.”
This practice of surrounding herself with work and fragments helped her learn when a sculpture was done, when it had captured the spirit of the person. “It’s hard to say why that is but you feel it, you see it, you have to listen to what you feel and see and stop fiddling with it because it’s done,” she explains. “It’s while you’re working, especially for portraiture, there is a moment while you’re working that you know this piece is done. You still have details to do but, in your heart, you know it’s done.”
Transitions
“In some ways, my whole life is a transition” Lee says, thinking back on her journey to this space. “You bring all the insights and experiences with you. And I don’t think you’re ever the same person. Why did I do ceramics? Well, I always took workshops. That’s how I learned to be a sculptor.”
Lee’s artistic path started after college when she took off to study painting in Belgium. A couple years into her studies, however, her parents let her know it was time to come home and get a real job, which she did, first teaching school in Brooklyn, then working in Manhattan for Child Welfare. The state of New York paid for graduate school, so she got a degree in family therapy and hung out her shingle. Still, art beckoned, and so, she sought out places to study art in the evenings and on weekends, which is how she wound up in a sculpting workshop held in the basement of the Springfield Museum of Art, MA. That workshop sealed her fate.
“Many sculptors will tell you,” Lee says, “it is like falling in love: you can’t think of anything else; you don’t want to do anything else. It’s compelling. You don’t do it occasionally, you do it all the time. I think that’s universal among sculptors.”
Recently, a workshop with Sergei Isupov (b. 1963) sent her on yet another new path into the world of ceramics. “What he did was demonstrate how you can use a slab to build a piece that could be six feet high. He showed me how you work a slab of clay to create something that is in your mind. No armature. I didn’t have to stand on my feet,” she says, pointing out the long tables she and Kelly work at seated.
“It’s not funny. When you get older, it’s hard to stand for long stretches on your feet. So, I learned the slab method and started working with slabs of clay creating whatever came to mind.”
She still sends work to the Modern Art foundry, Long Island City, NY, and has her longtime mold maker, Greggory Glasson, create molds of everything she sculpts, including the new pieces destined for the kiln.
“This is the next permutation of my life where I find myself and my interest. I just go for it. If I was my own patient and my patient said, ‘Should I do it?,’ I would tell my patient to go for it. Don’t let those desires and talents go to waste. Go for it. That’s what I do. Right now, it’s ceramic and lots of it. I have to tell you, it’s a lot.”
Whimsy
This latest body of work has taken Lee down a rather whimsical path. When asked how reflective this new work is of her personality, she says, “I like to make jokes and I’m pretty good at it. And I like beautiful things. Some of them are funny. I think it’s me, you know? What I think, you should be true to your feelings and your vision, whatever that is, you should pursue it. I’ve always been interested in people so, it’s a natural transition. I was a therapist, and now I’m a sculptor of people.”
A determined sculptor can make any space work. The main thing, Lee insists, is to be generous with yourself, to invest in your art, and to always present your work professionally. And, no matter what, don’t let anything get in your way.
“I am a late bloomer. I always was a late bloomer, but I’m blooming,” she says, glancing around her studio then adds, “I’m going to sculpt until the day I die.”
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