Simplicity That Speaks

Twenty years of working with metal has given Cheryl Rydmark the confidence to create jewelry of great simplicity. Although the Minneapolis-based artist has mastered an impressive repertoire of techniques, she isn't interested in turning out objects that are merely a showcase for technical ability. Rydmark strives to create jewelry with purpose, pieces with a significance that is subconsciously understood by her audience. Using inspiration from tradition, ceremony, fantasy, and myth, she carefully designs spare but highly communicative artwork.

The philosophy behind Rydmark's work is the product of a cluster of events in the late 1980s. Around 1987, she attended a show at the Minneapolis Art Institute, which featured metalwork ranging from the sixth century B.C. to the early twentieth century and which marked a progression from simple, primitive forms to more involved, ornate pieces. Rydmark walked from case to case and came upon a trophy, which was encrusted with stones and other elaborate ornamentation. The splendid work was undoubtedly that of an accomplished artist, Rydmark recalls, and, ordinarily, she would have been impressed. But she then returned to the first case where a collection of simple Etruscan jewelry was displayed. "It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. There was something about the simplicity that just spoke volumes of intention and meaning and power and point."

Two years later, in the midst of a divorce, she was invited to participate in a Valentine's Day show. The artist began "pounding out" some hearts "…that looked absolutely pathetic. I was using these little round rubies and they looked like blood spots. The gold looked like stab wounds. I thought, I can't send these. These are awful. These look awful. These feel awful. I feel awful! I realized, that I really did not need a valentine, what I needed was a lifesaver." So, she went to a fabric store, bought a button in the shape of a lifesaver, modified its shape, molded it, cast it in gold, set three diamonds in it and attached a chain "as if it were roped to a huge sailing ship." The response was amazing, Rydmark said. People were drawn to the soft smooth shape, which they could hold and feel like a worry bead. Her work filled a need "…that had nothing to do with decoration."

Rydmark's focus began to change after that Valentine's Day show and the Minneapolis art exhibit. The lifesaver was the genesis for jewelry that was more than just a surface for design. Up until then, her training as a painter had been interfering with the depth of her pieces. "I worked two-dimensionally too long in metal. Every pin, every creative piece that I did was pretty flat. And it never really wore right. It never served the function that I think, now twenty years later, a piece of jewelry should." She began to work on pieces that could be held and touched, works that could be experienced not just viewed.

Inspired by the primitive yet powerful work in the Minneapolis Art Institute's showcase of sixth century B.C. jewelry, Rydmark also began to study Etruscan and Mycenaen pottery and jewelry. She started to incorporate some of their concepts of adornment into her work and abandoned designs and materials that were incongruent to her newly defined more minimalist ideals. Through study and experimentation, Rydmark arrived at the philosophy that is richly embodied in her work today. "If you keep it simple and comfortable and exquisitely crafted and ever so slightly special, then it works."

The idea that she can limit materials and design and still create powerful pieces is reinforced by an education in Taoism. First introduced to its concepts in a religious philosophy class at the University of Minnesota, Rydmark found that the dynamic which Taoism espouses between humans and nature is the "perfect balance." She cites the impact of one particular Taoist verse:

Thirty spokes converge at one hub;
What is not there makes the wheel useful.
Clay is shaped to form a vessel;
What is not there makes the vessel useful
Doors and windows are cut to form a room
What is not there makes the room useful
Therefore, take advantage of what is there,
By making use of what is not.

Sculptures by Louise Bourgeois and Constantin Brancusi have also influenced the philosophy which now defines Rydmark's work. Bourgeois, like Rydmark, creates sculpture that is highly articulate but still subdued. The mathematical precision that surfaces in some of the patterning and carefulness of Bourgeois's work is used by Rydmark too. But it is Bourgeois's mastery of the subliminal that especially fascinates Rydmark. She first came across the concept in a book that Bourgeois wrote and Rydmark has never forgotten its significance. "I'm not that good with words. I'm not a good writer. But I think that I can take forms and images and manipulate them to say something. My pieces are a message and a statement. They are a content and an idea I have."

Rydmark feels that Brancusi's sculptures reinforce the idea that concepts can be successfully conveyed without excesses in design and materials. His ingenious combination of modern and ancient principles produced highly sensual artwork that Rydmark admires. "His form distillations are so unbelievable. When you see Brancusi's evolution - he had so much formal training and then he starts getting more abstract and more abstract and everything becomes so form-oriented and you cant help but go 'wow'." Additionally, Rydmark appreciates the agelessness of Brancusi's sculpture and the spirit that it shares with the Etruscan jewelry that was on display at the Minneapolis Art Institute.

The artist is metalsmith Herman Junger's biggest admirer; she'd love to have tea with him. Like Rydmark, Junger uses his considerable talent in frugal ways and strives to create jewelry that has the enduring qualities o[ancient pieces. "It's very primal and powerful"' Rydmark says. "It's not glitzy. And it's soft, not hard-edge geometric stuff." Junger also tries to be in tune with the bodies upon which his work will be worn and wants his jewelry to blend with the wearer. Utility is likewise a concern of Rydmark's. "There are a lot of jewelry artists out there who don't take into account when they are designing that their work is going to be worn on a body. I do. I really want the work to be worn."

Her work is often an expression of her respect for tradition and its rituals and symbolism. "I try to bring the past forward so that it isn't lost," she says. "l love ceremonial objects." Wedding bands offer frequent opportunities to merge the past and the future. Usually, she constructs the shanks with full-round wire, in honor of the round-round concept from as early as the sixth century B.C. The round wire and the round band symbolize the ideal of a loving commitment, where there is no beginning and no end, no top and no bottom. Rydmark also uses marquise diamonds in her wedding bands, an ancient symbol of a boat and, thus, a symbol of the journey that two people embark upon in a marriage. In other bands, she sets three diamonds to symbolize two people and their relationship, or she channel sets ribbons of diamonds to give the illusion of a rope: the entwining of two people's lives.

For the past two years, she has been working on a pendant series that features three main shapes - a shield, a torso, and a pod - along with other smaller charm elements. Her intent, based somewhat on the theories of Carl Jung, was to construct archetypal forms which would resonate with people. "They won't necessarily understand why they are drawn to it, but there is a reason. Some kind of through-the-ages, cross-cultural, real old, kind of feel."

One outstanding design in this series is Dragonfly, a pendant that she created out of an affection for the insect. Using gold, silver, and yellow diamonds, Rydmark only subliminally hints at the wing structure, body, and head. "You kind of sense that it's a dragonfly. And as soon as someone says it, then you realize, 'oh, right, I get it.' That's what's kind of fun about naming it, too." The series also features Staccato, Platonic Parts, and Jar.

The subliminal appears again in Rydmark's Rubato series. Rubato is a jazz term meaning unexpected rhythm, and Rydmark translates this into a necklace by varying the elements - sterling silver beads, gold, leaf-like charms, and miscellaneous precious stones - in an asymmetric arrangement. The arranged pieces also look much like the water drops on a long spider web that once hung near Rydmark's shower. "The water would collect and space itself, so that you'd have these drops of water and then it kind of looked like a line of music. I thought how wonderful it would be to be able to take that and put it around a person's neck." The artist makes two versions in the Rubato series more and less expensive - because she thinks it's important to make jewelry for people who don't have a lot of money.

She also designs jewelry that reflects her appreciation for both whimsy and myth. "I try to remember to keep things light and whimsical instead of heavy, with a need to be on a pedestal. Sometimes work can be too self-important." Movies by Terry Gilliam have been particularly inspirational. "Time Bandit was a real eye opener for me because Gilliam uses mythology and brings it forward to modern times in a very funny whimsical way. It's not heavy-handed and it's kind of magical."

But Gilliam's Baron Munchausen, based on a German Fairy tale, is Rydmark's favorite. She designed a group of pins, the Baron series, that "…had a similar kind of humor and whimsy to their imagery." The Stair pin was inspired by a lulling sequence featuring the man-in-the-moon and a ship that glides dreamily across the moon's sandy surface. Rydmark combines a garnet, a yellow diamond, a tiny gold crescent moon and sterling silver stairs in a pin imbued with gentle movement. Two other pins in the series, Cupid (or Arrow) and Vase, are similar in spirit. Cupid, inspired by a dance scene between the Baron and Venus, is quirkier than the more stately Vase, but both pins are highly fluid and show influences from ancient design.

Many of Rydmark's pieces begin as a result of dreams. "When my sleep is interrupted or it's kind of a light sleep, a lot of amazing images come through. And then I'll come back to the studio and maybe I'll have one idea, but as I start working, it changes into something else." Rydmark places no restraints on her "dance with the materials." Her sterling pendant, Window, which features a gold, almost balloon-like, ball in a window of the pendant, has its origins in a dream Rydmark had about gold balls soldered on a grid.

The technical groundwork for her work was established many years prior to her philosophical direction. Her comfort and expertise with almost every metalworking technique is something that she feels is key to the successful execution of her design. "My minimalist approach demands technical refinement."

Rydmark switched from painting, her first passion, to metalsmithing after realizing that, at the time, her only hope for a job would be in the greeting card industry. She went on to study art metals at the Minneapolis Technical Institute, the University of Minnesota, and San Francisco State University, where she earned her B.F.A.. At the Revere Academy of Goldsmithing, she perfected some diamond-setting techniques.

One of the more formative experiences in Rydmark's technical development was her 1982 - 83 stint as a journeyman goldsmith and diamond setter at the Van Craeynest, Inc. factory in San Francisco. The old-world setting was "wonderful," Rydmark says, "I was like Alice in Wonderland." She sat at a bench next to a master diamond setter and learned how to set diamonds in just about every way possible.

But she also learned a lot more. The factory was an educational playing field, where she was free to explore and she did. "I got to do a lot of different things and basically just played with metal and got really comfortable with it. It was way beyond anything I'd ever learned before. I came out of there feeling like there was very little I did not know how to do."

After she left the Van Craeynest factory and returned to Minneapolis, she began working with George Sawyer at Sawyer/Rydmark Design. In many ways, the partnership was ideal. Sawyer had the studio and equipment and Rydmark had the diamond-setting skills and production background, which enabled her to get work done and out the door relatively quickly. But, ultimately, it was a situation in which Rydmark could not thrive. "I made a lot of jewelry for rich people and I got really tense. I don't really care about big stones and people with a lot of money. I really like to glob paint on a brush and I like to bring that kind of creativity into my metalwork. But I didn't see an avenue to do that and market it through the Jewelers of America show" (where the duo typically exhibited). So, in 1986, she opened her own studio, where the idea was to "have more fun, to make freer designs, and to market them through the American Craft shows."

Today, in her downtown Minneapolis studio, she continues to explore. "My studio is a little prototype shop for research and development. I come in with an idea and take it as far as I can. Sometimes it ends up being a one of a kind piece, but, if not, then it goes into production." Rydmark gets production assistance from two students, who are gaining valuable experience under her tutelage. But she is careful not to impose too much of her philosophy upon them. "I try very much to not influence them. It's really important for them to find their own voice."

Rydmark, feels that she has found her voice: ". . . it's really strong. I feel that I've hit my artistic stride." Her confidence fuels the drive necessary to keep her work fresh and her studio thriving. "Running this business is like keeping seven or eight plates spinning at the same time." At the moment the "eighth plate," has grant applications on it; Rydmark would like the freedom to do more one-of-a-kind pieces. "If it were up to me, I'd just play, because there's never any lack of ideas. If I could just take one concept that I'm working on and take it through until I was totally bored with it, that would be the best."

Minneapolis's bitterly cold winters and relatively low cost of living have given Rydmark the opportunity to be introspective. "I do believe that something about the Midwest has helped the foundation of my work as far as the artistic side. You really get lost in ideas because there's very little else to occupy your time. I can't go to the ocean, so my work has become my ocean." Still, Rydmark cannot wait to return to California's Bay area of goldsmiths, where she felt strongly connected.

Were she not contemplating design ideas for jewelry, Rydmark might be manipulating the genetics for a drought resistant strain of potato. She once considered using her abilities in science and math to pursue a career in research botany. The decision to pursue art instead is a choice that she still ponders. "I sometimes think what I do is frivolous and when I look back on it, I might have gone into science. I think that would have been a very worthy career and I would be very happy with that." And, yet, she sees her present career as one that still provides her with an avenue for societal contributions. "Every time that I make a wedding set for a couple, I think that that's pretty good, too, because it's part of those kinds of commitments that people make to each other to help each other out and in their own way make the world a better place. I'm not saving the world, of course, but I'm actually doing something that I think is kind of wonderful."

Nancy Fawcett is a writer on the arts who lives in St. Paul, Minnesota.

By Nancy Fawcett

Metalsmith Magazine – 1994 Summer

In association with SNAG‘s

Metalsmith magazine, founded in 1980, is an award winning publication and the only magazine in America devoted to the metal arts.