Artist in residence transforms ideas of space, art, design

Tad Gloeckler’s work has an almost Rube Goldberg-like quality: complex machinery for simple tasks, specific details for unspecified reasons.

Trained in architecture, art and outdoor conservation, Gloeckler creates pieces that reflect the ways in which nature relates to contemporary life. The meaning isn’t always obvious, but the interrelationships fascinate us as we move through the world.

The idea of moving through space is at the core of Gloeckler’s interdisciplinary arts residency on campus this semester. Through public events and a design studies course, his work melds the structural principles of design with the fanciful language of art to encourage a rethinking of the everyday experience.

As an assistant professor of art and interior design at the University of Georgia, Gloeckler teaches the early stages of design: not just basic ideas such as a plan, section, elevation or model, but the sequence of space, the experience of moving through it. His art reflects these qualities.

“The interaction is the design component,” says Gloeckler. “I might compare it to architecture or interior space. It’s not about a single view or space; it’s a choreographed view through a sequence of spaces. Time is an element, and the experience is constantly changing.”

Gloeckler grew up in an art environment, surrounded by “interesting objects” in two and three dimensions scattered throughout his home. The son of a UW–Madison art professor, he aimed for a career in the sciences. In the end, he found a niche between art and science by adding architecture to the mix.

At UW–Madison, Gloeckler’s studies progressed from earth sciences into his final field of landscape architecture. Before he returned to school at UW–Madison for a master’s degree in architecture, he worked for the National Park Service, performing a variety of conservation activities.

During his time in school and as a practicing architect, Gloeckler was fascinated by the ways in which buildings communicated with the landscape.

“In urban and nonurban situations, communication is very different because of context,” Gloeckler says. “But even in an urban situation, the sun still rises in the east and sets in the west. That’s something that always needs a response.”

Today, much of his work — large or small — deals with how technology has changed the way we live. His methods themselves address this dichotomy of possibility. The precision of a computer-aided cutter removes the need for sanding and finishing, but the inherent natural properties of a material like wood — responding to humidity, time and use — add a slightly unpredictable variable into the mix.

“Pieces snap or slide together, connecting without the need for glue or solvents,” says Gloeckler. “In a sense, the design is very time consuming, and it has to be very precise, but once you’ve spent that time up front, the laser cutting and assembly go quickly.”

Technology has allowed him to increase the complexity of his work. Neither good nor bad, it is merely a reality of his trade: a necessity in today’s studies of interior design and architecture, for modeling, calculation and execution.

The result: a work filled with layers upon layers of meaning.

Gloeckler’s piece “Core” starts as a mobile cart and transforms into what he calls an “exploration environment.” Twenty-four pages of assembly instructions accordion across the installation, forming both a design element and a boundary. Wooden apples and fish made from lure-like hooks and springs add unspoken symbolism while distracting the viewer’s attention from the larger work.

“It talks about how our experience of a landscape has changed, how it’s mediated by artifacts or objects,” says Gloeckler. “I like people to construct their own understanding of the work. Just as you can’t control how someone moves through a building, you can suggest but you can’t control how people experience something.”

These principles guide Gloeckler’s semester-long course. With 15 students from design studies, landscape architecture and art, he encourages his students to return to the tactile, functional experience of creation, or just plain “making” — a skill he considers vital for students learning how to design.

Informally titled “Drag Space,” the course aims to examine transformative spaces: areas with multiple identities and purposes. Architect and theorist Neil Leach, of the University of Southern California, describes how an area in Hong Kong illustrates such spatial appropriation:

“Stalls appear overnight, squatting in the leftover spaces of urban fabric. And then disappear the next morning. Soup cafes, kiosks, massage parlors and fortune tellers. Walkways, underpasses, thoroughfares are all appropriated. Interior spaces — homes — are created even in the external zones of the public realm.”

Using a cargo bicycle as the base for their installation, the students have spent the semester addressing questions of material, structure and purpose as they create a moveable environment suitable for transforming its location — wherever that might be.

“We’ve talked about the idea of transforming space, looked at simple things like a tent,” says Gloeckler. “It’s easily transported, quickly put up, creates a space and quickly disappears. So what events are occurring at the time this thing is happening? How might those events inform the piece that you’re creating? What materials are light or durable enough to be transported? What if it’s windy? How does that impact the design?”

The experience has been transformative for Gloeckler as well. Accustomed to communicating with students in the structural language of larger-scale design and architecture, he has realized that some of his students are more familiar with the language of art. The two languages do not always intersect.

“That’s a critical issue in design today — whether you’re in school or working in a firm, it’s a struggle,” says Gloeckler. “Sometimes you’re working in a vocabulary that doesn’t seem right to you, doesn’t excite you.”

He describes a recent visit to another visiting artist elsewhere on campus: a scene painter in the Department of Theatre and Drama.

“He kept saying, ‘It’s not my vision. It’s this team of designers, and trying to recreate their vision of what this scene should be.’ Maybe they picked him with his work or his style. People don’t go to Frank Gehry to get a neoclassical building. But not everyone is Frank Gehry! Not everyone is working in a vocabulary that’s so much a part of who and what they are.”

On the flip side, the language of art may also include more room for hands-on work. Gloeckler wanted to give students the opportunity to work with materials: to make.

“In design, the actual experiences with making are fewer and fewer, whereas artists are deal heavily with the experience and making,” he says. “People still recognize that it’s very important, but sometimes it gets put aside because of the potential of technology; they’d rather build a computer model than a physical model. I think you learn different things about space and form depending on how you experience its creation.”

Ironically, his teaching area at the University of Georgia is not set up to experience full-scale models. The reason? No space.

So perhaps Gloeckler’s transformation is fitting. He tests new techniques, works in new media, rethinks what he will teach when he returns to Georgia. Far from his main studio, he has built something new out of his time in Madison: a place at once home and away.

“It takes time to set up a studio; you can’t just barge into someone else’s space,” he says. “So when you go to a new setting, it’s a chance to try different things in a different environment. I wouldn’t be doing the work I’m doing here anywhere else.”

Artist in residence to showcase a variety of exhibitions

Tad Gloeckler, this semester’s artist in residence, will present his work through exhibitions in April and May. Creating projects without a studio space, he is eager to show his acrylic work that is a diversion from his normal medium of wood.

Resembling furniture, jewelry or architecture, Gloeckler’s work encourages people to look at the world around them in new ways. His work is multifaceted, shaped by diverse life experiences and education. Transformation defines his art: “My work this semester represents realizations and discoveries made during the process of moving to Wisconsin,” he says.

As a part of the campus Earth Day celebration, Gloeckler’s exhibition “SchoodicPeninsula-BlackDiabaseDikeTeaTablewithPopoverJamandButterDipPools” will be held from10:45 a.m.-12:15 p.m. on Wednesday, April 20, at the Wisconsin Institutes for Discovery. This event is free and open to the public.

“SchoodicPeninsula-BlackDiabaseDikeTeaTablelwithPopoverJamandButterDipPools” is an installation as well as a performance. Gloeckler’s exhibits are interactive and take the form of walks and workshops. “In general, [my exhibits] feature my creative projects along with information related to work history, inspiration, process and context,” he says.

On Thursday, May 5, a workshop titled “Fishing for Found Objects” will be held at the Madison Children’s Museum featuring a workshop for children in building artistic fishing lures using found objects from 6-8 p.m. Though it is also free and open to the public, attendees must register by contacting McKenzie Glynn-Zdrale at 354-0550 or by email by May 2.

Aware that audiences will likely be unique to each event, Gloeckler has formulated each presentation format and content to appeal to his audiences. “I attempt to create presentations that will interest and communicate with a very broad audience,” he says.

Gloeckler hopes his upcoming installations will reflect his commitment to innovation and material experimentation. More information is available online.

— Aimee Katz