Interviews, Issue 7

Rick Lowe

Social Sculpture

Words RIANNA JADE PARKER

Photography NOLIS ANDERSON

American artist Rick Lowe has demonstrated that a long-fulfilled social practice is also a fine art, crafting a narrative that transcends conventional definitions for over two decades. Successfully applying Joseph Beuys’ concept of “social sculpture,” exemplified in his group leadership of Project Row Houses (1993–2018) in Houston’s Third Ward, Lowe’s collaborative effort provided workspaces, grants, and fellowships for low-wage individuals, parents, and artists, utilizing people as the medium of the work. However, considering cultural capital and revisionist ideals, the work attends to art-making epistemologies. Collective engagement is both perceptual and cognitive. Lowe’s individual practices explore connections with narratives and grounded theory, offering profound insights beyond language, supplementing medicine and care, fostering nuanced understanding in an ever-changing world.

RIANNA JADE PARKER: Can you share when you first embraced the concept of social sculpture?

RICK LOWE: In the mid-80s, while working with a colleague who was a Joseph Beuys enthusiast, I received a book by Beuys. Initially, I didn’t find much meaning in it as I was focused on figurative, didactic art about political and social issues. However, when I reached a point of crisis, seeking a different artistic approach with practical application, I revisited the book. The first chapter, titled “Social Sculpture,” resonated with me, sparking my interest in a new direction beyond mere representation.

RJP: How did your connection with John Biggers evolve in relation to your “social sculpture project”?

RL: John Biggers initially didn’t have much relevance to my artistic goals. However, when I encountered these houses and envisioned them as a “social sculpture project,” I needed to infuse meaning into the project. This led to the development of an argument to prevent the municipality from demolishing the houses. In the early ’90s, my connection with Biggers deepened as I reflected on his shotgun house paintings. Suddenly, I found significance in these houses, prompting me to inquire further about their importance.

RJP: During the early years of your practice, were there other scholars and thinkers you could reference to find the context you were looking for?

RL: No, but I developed relationships with other Black artists in Houston. Seven of us would meet, share, and discuss various topics. I learned a lot about the art context from John Biggers and Jesse Lott. Project Row Houses was about both the art context and historians, as well as the community. I consider them all mentors. They guided me through community organizing, and there were individuals crucial from a technical standpoint, such as architecture professors and Black architects, helping me delve into design elements.

RJP: I believe there’s untapped collaboration potential between architects and artists, both essential in designing our cities and living spaces. I often reflect on June Jordan and Buckminster Fuller’s 1965 architectural collaboration, where they redesigned Harlem, calling it Skyrise for Harlem. This unlikely alliance, published in a 1965 issue of Esquire, inspires me. How do you feel this kind of approach developed for you?

RL: My approach starts with scratching the itch within me, trying to figure things out. I’m inherently skeptical of institutions, though I recognize their value. I questioned how a project becomes an institution, as my presence wouldn’t always be there. If it held value for people, there needed to be a mechanism for it to continue. Fortunately, it has become an institution, running smoothly without my involvement for five years – that’s great! I’m intrigued by reshaping our conversation about the viability of a sustainable and prosperous Black economy. The missing piece seems to be the lack of an institutional framework around it.

RJP: Do you think that in order for us to be the most effective art practitioners, we have to continue to engage with the wider Western, white, or dominant institutions while simultaneously being concerned about our own?

RL: I completely agree, especially in the American context. I imagine the same holds true in the UK and all of Europe. Having those tensions, the pushing and pulling is healthy. It’s interesting friction. Even in predominantly white institutions, there’s the question of, “Who do we take money from?” Friction is inherent, and we have to work through it.

RJP: What is your process for research or thinking, inside and outside of your studio?

RL: When starting Project Row Houses, I didn’t live in the scattered neighborhood or the Third Ward. I resided in the West End. People would ask where I lived, and I’d say Third Ward because I was always here, though I slept on the West End. I moved away from the idea of a traditional studio when exploring social sculpture. Project Row Houses became my studio. I had my domino room where I’d sit and play. Going to the studio is about work, but it’s also about sitting, looking, thinking, reading, and allowing oneself that space. The studio is where you renew yourself, and for me, the domino table became that void space in my social sculpture work. There are meetings and events, but sitting at the domino table opens up space for those other things.