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Patrick Dougherty童年深深影响了他。他成长于北卡罗莱州的林地，这里有很多树木。他喜欢这里，在冬天看着树木枝条就想象他们纠缠在一起形成的奇幻景象。当他在80年代转行从事雕塑时，他选择了枝条这样命中注定的材料。

他的工作进展很快，往往三个星期就可以完成一个雕塑。他运用枫树，榆树，山茱萸等材料进行创作，偶尔使用海棠这样的材料，在日本他尝试过芦苇和竹子，在夏威夷尝试过番石榴。他常常在公共空间工作，和人们进行交流。机构付给他佣金，志愿者帮他干活。他游历世界，在很多有挑战的场地建立自己的艺术品，认识许多朋友。Patrick Dougherty宁静而自由的创作，把自己童年的“森林”延伸到世界各地。

他的常胜秘诀是保持幽默感。给他灵感的是生活（比如整理院子，做菜，邮件聊天，很着急喜欢的人聊天）和以下艺术家：Robert Smithson, David Nash, Mark DeSuvero, David Smith, Ann Hamliton 和 Jaume Plensa。他认为艺术家要追随自己的内心和冲动，这样才能激发自己和别人，这样才能找到真正的惊喜。

他只使用枝条进行创作，他认识这些材料的属性，正确的使用它们，克服各种困难，创作出美丽的作品。这些材料可以全部回收，是非常绿色和可持续的。形成的作品让人们意识到植物的重要存在，并让人遐想，仿佛远离城市真切嗅到森林的气息。

上个世纪40年代出身的艺术家希望自己身体健康，能够多创作几年。

Call of the Wild (2002)
Maple and willow saplings, 18’ high.
Museum of Glass: International Center for Contemporary Art, Tacoma, WA
Photo Credit: Duncan Price

Tell me a little bit about your work and what you do?

I have come to believe that one’s childhood shapes a sculptor’s choice of his or her materials. For me it was growing up in the woodlands of North Carolina, which are overgrown with small trees and where forests are a tangle of intersecting natural lines. In fact, I have always loved the drawing quality of the winter landscape in which one might imagine fantasy shapes drawn into the upper branches of trees. For me, tree branches and saplings also have the rich associations with childhood play and with the shelters built by animals. Picking up a stick and bending it seems to give me big ideas. I think this “know how” is one that ever human carries as a legacy from our hunting and gathering past. When I turned to sculpture in the early 80′, I had to rediscover what birds already knew: Sticks have an infuriating tendency to entangle with each other. It is this simple tangle that holds my work together.

The work proceeds very quickly and generally each sculpture takes three weeks to complete. I start by finding a good stand of saplings nearby, and often I capitalize on someone’s desire to maintain their property. The actual construction technique is a layering process. In the first phases, I pull one stick through another and build a haphazard matrix to create the rough shape of the sculpture. Next comes the drawing phases, in which I image a pile of sticks as a bundle of lines with which to sketch the surface texture. I use many of the drawing conventions that someone using a paper and pencil might employ, including “x”ing, hatch marks and dramatic emphasis lines. In addition, I have learned to amass the smaller ends of sticks in one direction. This technique gives the impression that the surface is moving. The final step is “fix up”, a cosmetic treatment in which I erase certain mistakes by covering them with very small twigs.

The saplings that I gather range from finger to wrist size, and I gather them for both their color and flexibility. Willow is a favorite sapling for basket makers, but I often use Maple, Sweet Gum, Elm, or Dogwood. Sometimes I use more exotic saplings like Sassafras, Crabapple or fruitwoods. In Japan I experimented with reeds and bamboo. I have also tried Strawberry Guava in Hawaii.

Cell Division (1998)
Maple saplings, 32’ high.
Savannah College of Art, Savannah, GA
Photo Credit: Wayne Moore

Since I often work in public spaces and the viewers can walk up during the building process, I hear many stories about sacred trees and childhood adventure. I hear about birds that build hotels and gorillas that make nests. But under it all, I sense in the comments of the passersby a profound connection between humans and the plant world that surrounds them. Time and time again, I hear a well dressed couple say, “Listen honey, we could live here…no I mean it, it would be perfect for us.” They image for a moment walking away from the geometry of the city dweller and fading back into the forest for a day.

Usually I rely on the sponsorship of an organization to help fund and organize the work. Through their good name in the community, I recruit volunteers, find a source for saplings and gain all the necessary permissions. Currently botanic gardens and arboretums are extending invitations, but I also work for universities, art museums and an occasional business. For example I completed a large work on the exterior of the Max Azria Melrose Avenue Boutique in Los Angeles, CA in November, 2006.

A list of the current works which are standing can be found on my website at www.stickwork.net. You can also find there a list of upcoming installations. In 2011, I will be working at Arte Sella a sculpture park in Italy, http://www.artesella.it/, and also in France at EPCC Chemins du Patrtimoine en Finistere http://www.cdp29.fr/. I make eight to ten large work a year which requires constant travel and leaves me longing to return home and work in my own garden in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

Out of the Box (2009)
North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh, NC
Photo courtesy of NCMA

With branches and saplings the line between trash and treasure is very thin, and the sculptures, like the sticks they are made from, begin to fade after two years. Often the public imagines that a work of art should be made to last, but I believe that a sculpture, like a good flowerbed has its season. In my mind most professions do temporary work and everyone in the work place enjoys the process of doing their job. Rarely do we rewrite yesterday’s novel or reread last weeks report. As a sculptor I enjoy forging ahead to solve the problem of today’s work and relish the opportunity to plan a very different sculpture for the next site.

I have worked in many wonderful communities and made friends throughout the world. I enjoy identifying a provocative site for building a sculpture and then constructing an artwork that excites the imagination of those who pass by. I tend to chat and engage the viewers during my stay, hoping to tap the goodwill of that place and weave those energies into the fabric of the sculpture. Ultimately, I love the nomadic life and chance to travel and fully engage with the world.

Lately my sister Kate Farrell who is a poet in New York City and I were discussing our tree lined beginnings. In my journal I wrote “Sometimes when I’m working to build a sapling sculpture, repeating the same motion over and over, day in and day out, I’m overtaken by a feeling of serenity and freedom. In those times, I have the longest view. I feel, not only the pleasure of my childhood and its building phase, but I sense the presence of the forests of long ago and feel myself to be part of the largest conversation.”

Roundabout (1997)
Willow saplings, 42’ high.
Tallaght Community Art Center, Dublin, Ireland
Photo Credit: Karl Browne

Spinoffs (1990)
Maple saplings, 70’ high.
Decordova Museum, Lincoln, MA
Photo Credit: George Vasquez

Ain’t Misbehavin’ (2010)
Winthrop University, Rock Hill, SC
Photo credit: Zan Maddox

Standby (2000)
Maple saplings, 18’ high.
Raleigh-Durham International Airport, Raleigh, NC
Photo Credit: Jerry Blow

Summer Palace (2009)
Morris Arboretum, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA.
Photo Credit: Rob Cardillo

Close Ties (2006)
Willow saplings, 12’ to 22’ high.
Scottish Basketmakers Circle, Dingwall, Scotland
Photo Credit: Fin Macrae

Holy Rope (1992)
Reeds and bamboo, 25’ high.
Rinjyo-in Temple, Chiba, Japan
Photo Credit: Tadahisa Sakurai

Just Around the Corner (2003)
Mixed hardwood, 100’ long x 15’ wide x 18’ high.
New Harmony Gallery, New Harmony, IN.
Photo Credit: Dole Dean

Just Around the Corner (2003)
Mixed hardwood, 100’ long x 15’ wide x 18’ high.
New Harmony Gallery, New Harmony, IN.
Photo Credit: Dole Dean

Just Around the Corner (2003)
Mixed hardwood, 100’ long x 15’ wide x 18’ high.
New Harmony Gallery, New Harmony, IN.
Photo Credit: Dole Dean

Toad Hall (2005)
Willow saplings, 27’ high.
Santa Barbara Botanic Garden, Santa Barbara, CA
Photo Credit: Nell Campbell

Here’s some more information from the Patrick Dougherty:

What has made your work successful?

One of the most basic components for a sculptor in my circumstance is a good sense of humor. Things go “wrong” at every turn and having the wherewithal to laugh and avoid wallowing in irony and finger pointing is the key to progress. I am also very hard working and manage to produce a significant work in three weeks under variable circumstance. I have a knack for organizing resources well and have an inclusive leadership style. I especially enjoy my encounters in a new community and consider the time I spend as a kind of cultural exchange in which the energy of the people and the sense of the place are somehow folded back into the sculpture itself.

My trick, if I have one, has been to partner with an organization and use their leverage and goodwill in the community in preparing to build the sculpture. One aspect of that effort has been the use of volunteers to help gather the saplings and help with the construction. Generally I might have four people working at any one time, but during the three-week period of work, this might mean that fifty different people had played a part in its development. The crew includes both rich and poor, educated or not, and people of all ages. It might be a hippie and a businessman working with a grandmother and a high school senior. For a short period of time, all these people unite as stick workers and indulge some of their most basic urges to build. I have learned how to work productively with a team at my side and how to apportion work and be encouraging. I am fond of saying that sticks were mankind’s first building material and even the modern person continues to have a deep affinity for how to use them.

Another aspect of success has been the growing receptivity of not only museumgoers but the general public to installation work and work made from natural materials. In one way, a growing number of people no longer have grandparents to visit on the farm, and this loss of agrarian roots has left us with a sense of loss and a growing nostalgia for things natural. It seems the public has a more intense interest in environmental issues and somehow this also translates into more intense feelings about things like sculptures made from sticks. How I got started and my background? Full name: Patrick T. Dougherty Date of birth: June 27, 1945 Place of birth: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma USA Now based in: North Carolina USA Family: wife Linda, who is the chief curator at the North Carolina Museum of Art, and son Samuel 16 years age. Website www.stickwork.net My new “stick book” is out through Princeton Architectural Press. The book is currently in bookstores and a personalized Despite graduate training as a hospital administrator, I returned to the University of North Carolina in the early 80’s with the intention of becoming a sculptor. By 1985 I began to gain some credibility and my art career was underway. During the last two decades, I have made over two hundred large-scale installations using tree saplings and branches. My first works were modest efforts that used sticks to build objects scaled to my own height. But as opportunities presented themselves, I began to integrate my work into architectural situations and then to play sapling sculptures against natural settings. Through experimentation, I was able to up-scale my efforts and to build work that seemed to spin across tops of buildings and flow through groups of trees.

This whole effort to become a sculptor as an adult, dovetailed with a secret childhood dream to become an artist. Like other children I made forts of sticks and this may have later directed my choice of materials as a sculptor.

Who are your influences and what drives you?

Is the question who do I pray to? My current concept about finding a hero is this: every one of us has a tragic flaw and that in real life; we have to be each other heroes. I love every kind of sculpture. I like well-known sculptors like Robert Smithson, David Nash, Mark DeSuvero, David Smith, Ann Hamliton and Jaume Plensa, but I also find inspiration in student work. I see sculpture as a problem-solving event and I am intrigued about all kinds of visual problems and the various attempts to solve them.

I believe that artists should follow their compulsions when imagining new work and let art history take care of itself. I have always imagined that my job is to make compelling work which stirs the viewer up, excites the imagination and causes passersby to come running. For me, that has meant exploring nontraditional settings and building sculpture on-site with saplings from some nearby grove. Since sticks are frail, it has also meant delving into concepts of impermanence and life cycles. In this quest to intrigue, the element of surprise and finding a rightness-of-scale are key.

When trying to find what to build for a particular setting, I look for starting points. As I struggle to understand the location, I might see a word or a title on the newsstand, the outline of a mountain range in the distance, or hear a turn of a phase from a passer-by. The creative state of mind is one rich in connections, whereby words and images can blend and give rise to an inkling of a new idea. Once the overall effort is described, the actual work is shaped day by day as I react to what I see and try to improve the overall effect.

Initially I make word associations with the site and then develop a series of thumbnail sketches. These are not line-by-line renderings, and during the building process I often have to read into these loose sketches, saying to myself: “Oh, I must have meant this.” One big advantage of working on site one line at a time is the ability to adjust the scale of the work to the site. As I come to know the site and take its full measure, I constantly adjust the work to fit any new revelation.

Some of those insights come from outsiders. My viewers see stick castles, lairs, nests, architectural follies; and they remember moments in the woods with their favorite trees. I hear stories about the Garden of Eden, and secrets about first dates. Some viewers touch the surfaces and talk about the momentum of wind or other forces of the natural world. Those that pass by are often compelled to explore the sculpture’s strange shapes and hidden passages.

Have I always used the same medium? And why sticks?

Currently I use only sticks in my work, and as I said above, I capitalize on their propensity to entangle in everything they touch. I have developed a process, an approach to building a sculpture. The first phase is to harvest some bigger saplings, which I put firmly into the ground to serve as a structural base. Next, I imagine my sticks as lines with which to draw, and I pull piles of young saplings through these structural supports. This builds up a beautiful surface that looks much like a line drawing on a sheet of paper. Finally I “erase” or hide the blemishes with flourishes of very small sticks.

What is my interest in sustainable art? And what does it mean to be a green artist?

Green and sustainable are very tricky words. I can say that I have always been an environmentalist. I live in a house with a very small footprint and one that is made primarily from recycled materials. See this N Y Times article. http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/07/garden/07twig.html

I try to be very conscientious about where and how I gather my saplings usually finding areas that are regularly maintained or trying to gather from land just before the bulldozers arrive. But we are still a wood-based economy and it only takes a walk around the storage area at a paper company, which might have logs solidly stacked 50’ high and one mile square, to realize that the use of a truckload of saplings is negligible in the scheme of things.

As I mentioned above, I think my work does reverberate with the viewer and bring up positive associates with the natural world. Children are not the only lovers of sticks. In my position, I come in contact with a lot of adult ‘closet’-stickgatherers who imagine all kinds of uses from canes to trellises.

Although my sculptures are not meant for habitation, they tend to remind people of their profound connection to the world of plants and seem to foster fantasies of walking away from the geometry of the city dweller and fading back into the forest for a day.

Our contemporary challenge is how to reconnect and live in harmony with the plants and animals that still share the earth. Sculptures from twigs and other kinds of environmental initiatives are helping with that awareness.

Where do I go for inspiration?

I partially addressed this question above, but I have to say that many of my most pleasant moments are those unself-conscious times when I have developed a nice rhythm for the work on a sculpture. But those moments are thoroughly embedded in all the repetitive activities of one’s life; for example, raking the yard, doing the dishes, or going through the mail. It is in those moments that I feel fully myself, without pretension or artifice. Maybe it is then, when I am just a creature, that I breathe with the other animals and plants on earth. I think creativity comes from such a state of mind.

I often quip that “sticks save me”. When I bend them, I get good ideas. My search for them requires that I get out in the natural world. And my love for them is an excuse for having conversations with all the interesting people that I meet. My favorites or future venues.

I imagine an agreement with my viewers. I take great pleasure in the building process with all its problem solving, and once it is finished it’s their job to enjoy it. I love the challenge of trying to achieve the right scale and build a work that seems integrated and blends well with its surroundings. I like to see children running towards the openings and people standing on the street and pointing. My favorite is always the sculpture I am working on. The finished product is for the viewer’s pleasure.

I think the element of surprise is an important factor in a successful sculpture; that is, finding a way of commanding immediate attention of those who come within range of a sculpture. If you look at the sculpture Running in Circles in Langeland Denmark, you will see how I supported a burst of saplings in the treetops of a grove of poplars bordering the North Sea. The work was placed so that tourist arriving from Germany by ferry would make a sharp turn and the sculpture would loom unavoidably in front of them. People felt they had to park their cars and take a closer look.

In the French work mentioned above, I chose a site overlooked by two nearby restaurants. Pedestrians who stopped for a leisurely lunch or dinner could follow the drama of the building process. My theme of drunken bottles of Bordeaux was meant to catch the attention of those who were having their afternoon glass of wine.

In the future, I wouldn’t mind working at the Guggenheim. JThat would be a real challenge. Seriously though, the life of an itinerant sculptor is one of growth and change. Every month brings another unfamiliar bed to sleep in. It brings a new work site and a provocative challenge. I enjoy the surge of people and new places. There is always a fresh drama, a struggle that makes for a very interesting story line. I feel that I live and work within the world of ideas, and I thoroughly enjoy it.

Looking ahead?

I guess ultimately we are all vulnerable and are lucky if we have good health in our declining years. I am still in my “productive years.” If things go well, I will enter “the good years.” as an elder statesman for the arts and perhaps for the environment.

My schedule for 2011 and 2012 is booked with many great opportunities, and 2013 is beginning to fill. Maybe that is as much preview as I will get about the future. In terms of the place of my work in art history, art historians always figure out how to remember things they think are significant.

I enjoy my work immensely and appreciate the drama that maturing holds for me. Similar, I watch with interest the life cycle of my sculptures. In the beginning they have the vigor of their teenage years with the hubbub of “dating” and winning new friends. They mature into their sites and become companions for the inquisitive. Sadly, two years down the road, the lines of the sculpture begin to droop and, in subsequent years, it sheds, until it becomes just an unnoticed heap of sticks.

The process?

I think I covered a lot of this in the first question, but I should mention the public: I generally work in public, and passers-by have access to the process of building the sculpture. The relationship that develops with people who live and work nearby has turned out to be a very interesting secondary gain. I think of conversations as a kind of cultural exchange, and I’ve learned to capitalize on the energy that it generates in me. Being friendly opens a door for the regular users of a space and helps to dispel some of the negative myths that surround artwork and artists.

The challenge of building something: Each project has its unique challenges. Sometimes it is finding the right material, which can be particularly challenging in tropical settings. Sometimes, it is weather, though we have not often been stopped, even by snow. Recently, in Colorado, however, it came up so strongly that we couldn’t SEE to work so that necessitated a break for half a day. Sometimes, it is the site and problems with city zoning and other requirements that enmesh us in paperwork before the real work can begin. However, despite these and sometimes sticks that refuse to bend, an occasional lack of assistants, I have always finished the work on time. I imagine myself to be a problem solver and I face all kinds of snags everyday with that mindset. It is fun to work with gardens and arboretums because their staffs are specialists in solving the kind of problems that sculptors often have; that is, how to harvest materials, haul something, or correctly set up the scaffolding for work.

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