By max mulhern
May 12, 2008 · 9 Comments
Libby and I had coffee with Max Mulhern the other day. Max, a Philly-born artist living in London (and prior to that Paris for many years), was in the area to buy a boat, a sailboat that he and his family will sail up and down the Eastern seabord this summer. More on that in a minute.
Max is an energetic sort who’s very knowledgeable about art and loves to talk about it. (He’s a friend of Paris-based ex-pat artist Matthew Rose whom I met in 2006 when Steve, Stella, Max and I were in Paris — and that’s how he came to get in touch). We sat with Max at Cafe Ole talking about Modernism and contemporary art and whether anyone but trust-fund folks can afford to be artists these days. Libby and I love to yak about art (who knew?) and so we all were having a jolly time.
Then Mulhern told us he was thinking of moving his family to Philadelphia and wanted some advice on galleries and such. When we asked about the kind of art he made he pulled out a small wooden box tied with a ribbon and said there was a sample of his work inside. He untied the ribbon and I took the lid off the box (small tea box from China) and inside were little white objects, maybe 20 or more all packed together just so like chess pieces.

Box in background holds the small wooden pieces.
As we took each little wooden block out Max would tell us its name. Each block was a mini-pedestal and they all were non-functional — pedestals that were split in the middle or had flip-top tops or were skewed in some way to make them individuals with personalities — and not dumb lumps that sit under art.
When out on the table, the works had achieved critical mass and people in the cafe came over to ask us what they were and where could they get some. Because they look like game pieces people wanted to know what the game was. Max, interested in people’s engagement with the work, told them it was any game they wanted it to be and they could play it any way they wanted.
The one figurative element on the table, a tiny plastic female figure with an upraised cudgel seemed to activate the set by adding a narrative touch. Was she a police woman? a security guard? a soldier? With her low tech weapon and snappy uniform she was a cavewoman/cop and you could spin any kind of story you’d like. But even without the figure the group of pedestals had narrative possibilities. Like chess pieces they were markers that could be positioned in relation to each other in a way that conveyed power relationships and that’s a story.
Max said he had studied up on the origin of pedestals in art when he was teaching a class and became intrigued. The story has to do with Hermes and herms, the god of travelers and a pile of stones and a phallus that somehow segued into a statuary base and into the innocuous pedestals we now know. He told us he’d been thinking of installing a group of his pedestals — made to real-scale — in a space and had already done an ad hoc performance with a pedestal in a London subway station where he hired a guard to stand watch over one of his pedestals. He gave the guard a cudgel to hold just like the cudgel the tiny figure holds. People leaned on the pedestal and after awhile the guard left the post and went away. Now there’s a game for you.
As for the sailboat, the artist explained that he’dspent his summers growing up on the Chesapeake Bay where he helped his father work on boats. He loves the water and now, when he’s living on a boat somewhere, he often makes ephemeral floating sculptures that he leaves behind when he sails on to another location. He will be making floating sculptures during his time here this summer. Ephemeral floating sculptures and pedestal games — if you think we were intrigued you’re right.
Tags: max mulhern
Who doesn’t like Max Mulhern’s art? His work comes from water, fire, earth and air. I’m so pleased you’ve met him and had a great Philadelphia visit…
Best,
Matthew Rose
You are one the blogs that I am learning so much from. It is like a whole new universe of art unknown to me before. I am fascinated with his sculptures and that he keeps them in a little box and then creates a world out of them.
So what does Max Mulhern believe?
Can anyone but trust-fund folks afford to be artists these days?
Hi Matthew, thanks for making the introduction! I love your new photo (bathtub)…very surreal. thanks, yoli! and anonymous, I can’t speak for Max but I don’t believe that only trust fund folks can afford to be artists, do you?
Hmmmm. I think I need to go have lunch at that Cafe Ole and bring along a few pieces of art — just in case.
On the trust fund kids….
They aren’t the only ones that can be artists but lets face it, they have more time, money, and most importantly connections.
For the rest of us, there’s no denying its much harder to succeed.
If we had a functioning NEA and if other granting agencies would fund artists the way they should be funded that would help people with the financial burden– allow them to cut back on the day jobs and have more studio time.
But there’s no leadership here for funding artists anymore. We’ll never have the equivalent of the British Arts Council but the NEA used to be pretty pro-actively funding artists to make new work. Back in the day that was, pre-Jesse Helms.
Meanwhile, I’m hoping for Democrats to sweep the House, Senate and White House in November and then maybe we can refocus our priorities and start funding art instead of war and oil concerns.
I love the idea of grants but in my limited experience working for a grant awarding non-profit, the grants seem to go to artists that have galleries pushing them. I’m sure there are many exceptions to this rule. However, with the sheer size and expense of many artistic endeavors esp at the ‘mid-career’ stage, how could an emerging artist claim a financial hardship that could outweigh that of a more established artist?
I have no answers but I’m fascinated with the subject. I would love to hear from someone who has.
I’m too young to have seen the impact of a pro-active NEA but I definitely remember its demise.
I love your hope for the future, Roberta. Wish I could loin you.
thats ‘join you…’