It is hard to write about people you think you know. I have yet to attempt to write about strangers. The artists and art I write about are friends. We expect the art to say something to us, to hold some sort of meaning for us, so why can’t there be a dialogue? I think there can be a conversation with the artist, no matter if they are living or not. People at an art museum always want the one right answer from the expert. I was in that situation often as a museum educator, docent, or tour guide. What are the artists trying to say here? Museum goers generally hated my questions and they would give up and say “just tell me the answer.” I continued to disappoint them. Often, there is no one answer. The pandemic is teaching us to face ambiguity, whether we like it or not. We definitely don’t like it. Though, I think Ruth Asawa was an expert in maneuvering ambiguity. Her objects reflect this uncertainty of knowing, grounded in confidence. 

Ruth Asawa was a community member of San Francisco for decades, an educator, a mother, an activist, and a constant present in my time in the City. Her work is ever present in the neighborhoods through fountains, sculptures in city parks, or what is probably my favorite mark of hers, the slides at Seward Park (a 14-year-old Kim Clark won the “Design the Park" competition organized by Asawa in 1973) in Noe Valley. The art market and art world caught on to her talent much later in her career, and its as if her star started to shine the brightest for the rest of the world, when she passed away in 2013 at 87 years old at home in San Francisco.

I never met Ruth, but I did meet a few of her children, particularly her daughter Aiko Cuneo. I helped organize a public memorial at the de Young right after Ruth’s passing. Her children were effusive of their mother’s tireless efforts to integrate arts education in public schools. She was determined, effective, and tenacious. 

It is almost more difficult to choose one piece of Ruth’s to focus on. Ruth drew, sculpted, painted, collaged, and used every medium she could get her hands on. She was resourceful, careful, and intentional. For this entry, I have chosen a family of sculptures I know very well. It is a privilege to get to know any piece of art well. They change over time, even when they don’t move. And I do love seeing pieces in different museums and different contexts. They tell a different story with different lighting, different colors behind them, and different people looking onward. Every day for five years, I walked through an installation of Ruth Asawa’s work en route up the elevators of the de Young Tower to my office on the 7th floor. The installation of her massive sculptures greeted me each day before the museum opened. Entering an art museum before it opens to the public is an eerie, but quite satisfying experience. The quietness is vast. And when I walked through the emergency doors towards the elevators, it was as if a song bird was waking me up. Asawa’s sculptures of wires would sing to me.

Asawa’s sculptures often reflected forms in nature, getting her start at Black Mountain College in Appalachia with the great Josef and Anni Albers. Yet, for me, I had never really seen those particular forms up close in nature, I had nothing in my memory bank to compare these strange sculptures to. They often reminded me of other planetary and futuristic forms. Though I felt welcomed to work every day by the sculptures. I also felt uneasy. What will the day bring?

Ruth’s work helped me confront uncertainty and ambiguity well before a pandemic ravaged our world. The small curves inward, the slight variations in color of metal, and unique forms helped me look that much closer at my surroundings. I have seen her work in the world’s greatest museums from the Tate Modern in London or MoMA in New York – far away from Ruth’s home in the San Francisco hills. And each time I see an Asawa wire sculpture, I am surprised. Without fail, each time, I am transported right back to those mornings, right before I entered the elevator, seeing the light through the eucalyptus trees hit one of the small metal circles created by Ruth. I would then go up the elevator and sit down at my computer ready for the day, and just then, right before I started work, I would end up looking out above those same trees of Golden Gate Park on the beautiful City by the Bay, which Ruth loved so dearly. It seems, just at those moments, the morning songbirds of Asawa sculptures gave me permission to daydream, to wonder, and to look that much closer at life. Rights: Photograph by Joseph McDonald, © Estate of Ruth AsawaLearn more: Google Arts & Culture

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