(bright music) - [Matt] Old materials get new life in the assemblages of sculptor Mary Pat Wager.

Chat with curator Bill Arning.

♪ My baby took ♪ - [Matt] And catch a performance from The Hammerhead Horns.

It's all ahead on this episode of "AHA" (upbeat trumpet music) - [Narrator] Funding for "AHA" has been provided by your contribution and by contributions to the WMHT Venture Fund.

Contributors include: The Leo Cox Beach Philanthropic Foundation, Chet and Karen Opalka, Robert and Doris Fischer Malesardi, and The Robison Family Foundation.

- At M&T Bank we understand that the vitality of our communities is crucial to our continued success.

That's why we take an active role in our community.

M&T Bank is pleased to support WMHT programming that highlights the arts, and we invite you to do the same.

(bright intriguing music) - Hi, I'm Matt Rogowicz and this is "AHA!

The House for Arts" a place for all things creative.

You know, it's not often that I'm blown away by a creative studio space, but when I first stepped into Mary Pat Wager's studio in East Greenbush, New York, my jaw dropped.

It was stunning.

There were piles and piles of metal and wood.

It was almost like walking through a museum of old relics, but then peppered throughout this organized chaos were her amazing sculptures on the walls and standing on the grounds.

You have to see it for yourself.

(gentle music) - Think about being in an old abandoned barn and there are all these remaining farm equipment and agricultural implements, and you love old boxes and usually there's a lot of those.

Maybe you can imagine being at a junkyard, an industrial junkyard where there's former pieces like gears and unusual precut steel pieces that you can pick and choose from.

And you like the shape of them, you like the color, the patina is just amazing.

It's like picking your vocabulary with these objects because immediately you have a connection to its shape or its form, its color.

You've seen it before.

It recalls a memory and, you know, you want to do some welding, so.

My particular type of welding would be considered assemblage, where you pick and choose and just like a writer would choose words.

(gentle music continues and fades) Back when I was a kid, I lived near a lake and had a horse and I would ride my horse around the lake and through paths picking up natural items that I thought were just fascinating and then I corralled a section of the lake with wood and after a couple of years they were nicely smooth.

And so I began to combine natural items as a kid.

Loved it.

Always had a love of antiques and old things, and intrigued by tools and objects that had a former life.

When I first learned how to weld, that was it, I was in love with it.

It just felt like magic, you know, me, this little person able to weld chunks of steel together to say what I want it to say.

The "Totem" series is one such series that are kind of cohesive in that they all have gas cylinders that I've used in various parts of it.

But those gas cylinders act to unify the piece and as I created them, they were creating themselves.

They became like a family unit.

I have another one in the studio room of my Great Aunt Anna, whom I met when she was in her eighties and confined to bed.

And she used to do the needle point work of tatting and her hands were all crippled up when I met her.

My grandmother was taking care of her, and so at the time I did sketches and then I was doing bronze casting, made a bronze mask of her face and then added other steel components.

And it began to tell the story of my Great Aunt Anna, a prisoner of her own body with bars in front of the piece and her just staring off into space wondering what's next, you know?

(ethereal music) I allow the materials, oftentimes, to dictate what I'm gonna say.

Let's take that big piece over there, right?

It's called "Essence."

And my mother was a quilt maker.

This inspired me when I began putting those pieces together that it looks very religious, nothing specific, but you get the feeling of that and you see multiple squares and multiple ideas.

The center section has these pieces of farm equipment called seeders.

It's the tail end where it digs into the ground and drops seeds.

You know, we all need food.

It became more of a universal symbol of that.

And of course the beautiful spill, that stainless steel, irregular, organic-looking frozen metal became like the religious icon and the rays spreading out all over the rest of the landscape.

(ethereal music continues and fades) The basement is more like my private little space where I can work any time of the day or night, and that houses a lot of smaller pieces of steel, wood, you name it.

(light music) I put myself through college working for a picture framing company and from that I started framing up a lot of my works, isolating them so there was no way the viewer could look away and it focused in on just what was inside the frame.

I just get such a thrill out of it.

It fulfills an intense desire to make something, to create something, to put something in the world that's never been seen before.

(light music continues) - Bill Arning is a curator in Kinderhook, New York, who recently sat down with Jade to discuss what goes up on his gallery's walls.

- [Jade] Hey Bill, welcome to "A House for Arts."

- Thanks for having me.

- Yeah, I'm super excited to talk about all the great work that you're doing in Kinderhook.

So to begin, you've been an art advisor, a curator, an art critic, a museum director.

Now you're a gallery owner of a space in Kinderhook, New York.

Why don't you give us a little bit about that, what's your gallery, and why are you doing it?

- I always say that I've done everything in the art world other than make it.

I began when I was very young, in my early twenties I got a job as an assistant director at one of the oldest alternative spaces in the world, this place called White Columns.

And the director was leaving and he was like, "You can do this job."

And I had to go and present a five year plan to a board of directors that I had barely met before, and they gave me a chance and it turns out I was good at it.

So I stayed at White Columns for 11 years.

And then that was so specifically an emerging artist space, I wanted to go follow the artists I had been working with and I went to a museum at MIT, which was a very interesting place because you had, your first audience was among the smartest people on the planet.

You had MIT students and Harvard students.

So all the normal rules of museums were out the window.

Like you're supposed to gear your wall texts in a regular museum to someone with a ninth grade education.

So anyone from ninth grade education should be able to understand.

If we wrote that way for MIT and Harvard students, it would've been a very strange discourse.

So I stayed there for quite a while, loved working there.

My favorite part of that job was I got to take legendary artists, filmmakers, and writers through the institute and introduce them to professors, introduce them to robots.

It was totally fascinating.

And then I heard the call at a curious conference saying, "You know how to speak for artists now, can you speak for the institutions that support them?"

So I went and moved to Houston, Texas, which I never thought I'd be living in Texas, but I went there and directed that museum for 10 years.

And it was fascinating.

It's a city that cultural philanthropy is deeply ingrained in the fiber there.

If you are from one of the fortunate wealthier families there, you were expected to have your charities that you were supporting, and it was a great city to raise money in.

The museum field was changing and it was becoming harder for weird, quirky visionaries.

It was getting corporatized and I had a falling out with the board and I did what most people do, the lucrative thing of becoming an advisor where you basically fly around the world with wealthy people, on their dime, and you show them art and say, "Oh yeah, you should buy that."

And then it pays very well and that was very fun.

I had a couple patrons that took me around the world to see art shows and I would take them and tell them what they should get.

But then COVID happened and all that work dried up overnight.

Like just, it was just gone.

- Yeah.

- And I'm walking my dog through the Montrose in Houston and I'm like, "I don't know what I'm doing now?"

And I saw a storefront.

And commercial real estate in Houston is relatively inexpensive compared to Dallas or Austin, and it was a block from my house.

It was what had been a famous bakery there where the Bush family got the king cakes for the White House.

And it been vacant for a few years and I negotiated and I was in, had a key two days later on and I opened a gallery, which I never saw myself doing.

It seemed kind of limiting.

It seemed like, oh, well you can only work with these 20 artists for the rest of your life.

But I found that what I loved was the way that you dealt with the public.

As I climbed the museum field, your contact with artists and with the public decreases because you spend all your time dealing with insurers and contractors for the physical structure of the museum, and the rest of your time you're taking wealthy people to lunch.

And suddenly I'm there in a room, everyone in the neighborhood comes in, they ask me about the shows and I get to talk about them one-on-one.

People bring the kids in and I always have dog treats.

It was in a, one of the more pedestrian-friendly areas of Houston.

But there's the Houston problem that anyone who can afford art leaves Houston from June to October because it's 105 degrees and they all go to Aspen or Maine.

And I got involved, I started dating Aaron Michael Skolnik, who's an artist in Hudson, and he was like, "Well, you should do your summer programming up in Hudson Valley 'cause they're all up here in the summer."

And I did that for two years.

I went back and forth and that was just getting to be exhausting.

And I, so I closed Houston down and I'm just up here, and every month up here in the Hudson Valley more things open that bring the art world to me.

- Oh yeah.

- So it's like just sitting still, I'm like, I just, all these legendary museum curators, collectors, critics, really famous artists has come in.

Like, in other places you're competing for a lot of attention.

I get by my desk one day and the legendary sculptor Kiki Smith walks in.

She's like, "Bill, I need to get good olive oil.

Where can I get good olive oil here?"

And I told her the place around the corner.

- I'm also Kinderhook, for sure you can get some.

I love that area.

- And just for, like, just to have a legendary great artist walk in and ask for an olive oil recommendation.

You can't beat that.

- So what is the exhibition called, by the way?

Just so the audience knows.

- So it's called "Bill Arning Exhibitions."

What I'm known for is as a curator, so the title of the gallery foregrounds the exhibition-making as what I do.

One of my dear friends who has a gallery near called New Discretions, he, in his statement of purpose, describes a gallery as a curatorial popup because you're doing shows and it's not tied to an institution but to curatorial projects.

So the shows are almost always small groups between three and six artists, and are thematically based.

Like the current show, which is just called "Eventless" is about how perception changes when nothing dramatic is happening.

So it's like someone looking at their legs in the bathtub.

It's someone looking at the wiring in a tenement.

Another artist, Shirley Irons, is doing paintings of light fixtures.

So it's how you can observe things more carefully when nothing dramatic is happening.

- So let's talk a little bit about this, about what you curate at your gallery, because I know a lot of your work that you show could be political, provocative, you know, personal.

Sometimes people may be a little weird or quirky as you said.

Why those themes?

Why is it important for you to showcase and curate those vibes?

- Because it's what I liked.

My aesthetic was really brought together because punk rock hit when I was 16 and I was living in New York and going to see Patty Smith and the Ramones on a regular basis.

And I've always understood visual art should be as disquieting to parents as when someone brings home, like, a hardcore punk rock CD listening to it.

Because they, I always saw the danger in both music and in theater and in writing and visual art as all related.

I, you know, the idea that you should be comforted or feel good about yourself, or feel good about everything in the world when you leave a gallery, it seems very strange to me.

It's, we live in very troubling times and there's a lot of different ways artists are processing and giving us images that show us ways to react even if that way is just.

Like this show is about focusing on these micro moments of daily life.

Because we all know that getting up in the morning, grabbing our phones and reading the daily newsfeed is not going to allow you to do anything if.

I always said, like, I would pay extra to have a gym that didn't have TV monitors so I didn't have to watch every news station.

'Cause you sort of lose your will to stay alive or, you know, when you're working out and seeing what's going on.

I also just juried the prizes for the undergrad thesis show at School of Visual Arts in New York.

And I had to meet with, like, 60 very young artists and seeing the way they're processing and, like, some of the work was so wonderfully humorously aggressive.

Those were the people I gave the prizes to.

And I'm like, it gave me faith in the future.

One reason I love being in the gallery world is things are not planned far ahead.

You're in this really on the moment thing.

A lot of the work comes in and it's essentially wet.

It is fresh from studios and it speaks about the here and now.

- So to just wrap it up, what do you got going on that people can visit at your space?

- Our hours are seasonal for, that's a, people get, it's confusing because all the things where you put your hours gets that.

In the summer we're open Friday, Saturday, Sunday, 11:00 to 5:00.

And then in the fall it goes to Saturday, Sunday, and the dead of winter it goes to just Saturdays and only 10:00 to 3:00 'cause nobody wants to go out driving after dark these days.

- Awesome.

Well thank you so much for sitting down with us today.

I hope folks visit your gallery and see all the beautiful work you're doing and thank you for stopping by.

- Thanks for having me.

I hope to welcome you all there.

- [Jade] Yeah, thank you.

- Please welcome The Hammerhead Horns.

- This is a song about a bed and some linens.

(upbeat music) ♪ My baby left me with a man-size hollow ♪ ♪ In my queen-size bed ♪ ♪ My baby left me with a man-size hollow ♪ ♪ In my queen-size bed ♪ ♪ My baby left me with a man-size hollow ♪ ♪ And I ain't slept right since ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ My baby left me with a man-size hollow ♪ ♪ And I ain't slept right since ♪ (upbeat music continues) He left my room a mess.

♪ My baby took my favorite pillow ♪ ♪ Threw my blankets on the floor ♪ ♪ My baby took my favorite pillow ♪ ♪ Threw my blankets on the floor ♪ ♪ My baby took my favorite pillow ♪ ♪ Now I ain't got no place to lay my head no more ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ My baby took my favorite pillow ♪ ♪ Now I ain't got no place to lay my head no more ♪ (upbeat trumpet music) (upbeat trombone music) Wait till you hear this.

This is the final straw.

♪ My baby took his own damn pictures ♪ ♪ Left mine hanging on the wall ♪ - [Mike] What?

♪ My baby took his own damn pictures ♪ ♪ Left mine hanging on the wall ♪ ♪ My baby took his own damn pictures ♪ ♪ Now I ain't got no way to prove I had no love at all ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ My baby took his own damn pictures ♪ ♪ Now I ain't got no way to prove I had no love at all ♪ - Come on, sing it with me.

You've all been short sheeted.

♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ I'm feeling short sheeted ♪ ♪ My baby left me with a man-size hollow ♪ ♪ My baby took my favorite pillow ♪ ♪ My baby took his own damn pictures ♪ ♪ Now I ain't got no way to prove I had no love at all ♪ (mellow music) ♪ It was in the wee midnight hours ♪ ♪ Long 'bout the break of day ♪ ♪ Of day, of day ♪ ♪ Was in the wee midnight hours ♪ ♪ Long 'bout the break of day ♪ ♪ Of day, of day ♪ ♪ When the blues come down on you ♪ ♪ And carry your mind away ♪ ♪ Away, away ♪ ♪ Have your mind been a-rambling ♪ ♪ Back to the days of long ago ♪ ♪ Ago, ago ♪ ♪ Have your mind been a-rambling ♪ ♪ Back to the days of long ago ♪ ♪ Ago, ago ♪ ♪ Back to the one that you love ♪ ♪ But you don't see them anymore ♪ ♪ No more ♪ - C'mon Leslie.

♪ No more ♪ (mellow piano music) ♪ why, blues why do you worry ♪ ♪ Why do you stay with me so long ♪ ♪ So long, so long ♪ ♪ Why, blues why do you worry ♪ ♪ Why do you stay with me so long ♪ ♪ So long, so long ♪ ♪ Well, you came here yesterday ♪ ♪ Stayed with me all night long ♪ ♪ I went down to the graveyard ♪ ♪ I fell down on my knees ♪ ♪ My knees, my knees ♪ ♪ I went down to the graveyard ♪ ♪ I fell down on my knees ♪ ♪ My knees, my knees ♪ ♪ Asked the Lord up above ♪ ♪ To bring back my baby, please ♪ C'mon Bobby.

(mellow bass music) ♪ Was in the wee midnight hours ♪ ♪ Long 'bout the break of day ♪ ♪ Of day, of day ♪ ♪ Was in the wee midnight hours ♪ ♪ Long 'bout the break of day ♪ ♪ Of day, of day ♪ ♪ When the blues come down on you ♪ ♪ And carry your mind away ♪ ♪ Away, away ♪ (drum roll rattling) (mellow music continues) (light music chiming) - Thanks for joining us.

For more arts visit wmht.org/aha and be sure to connect with us on social.

I'm Matt Rogowicz, thanks for watching.

(intriguing music) - [Narrator] Funding for AHA has been provided by your contribution and by contributions to the WMHT Venture Fund.

Contributors include: The Leo Cox Beach Philanthropic Foundation, Chet and Karen Opalka, Robert and Doris Fischer Malesardi, and The Robison Family Foundation.

- At M&T Bank we understand that the vitality of our communities is crucial to our continued success.

That's why we take an active role in our community.

M&T Bank is pleased to support WMHT programming that highlights the arts, and we invite you to do the same.