Sally Saul, 77, is a New York-based ceramicist, currently working out of two-floors of a Germantown, New York studio. It has now been four decades since her ceramic journey began, but it wasn’t until relatively late in her life that she encountered the medium. Working towards a masters degree in American Literature at San Francisco State University, Saul spent much of the seventies in Northern California, where she met her still husband, Peter Saul. Also an artist, Peter’s painting career brought them to Austin, Texas, where he’d been offered a teaching position. It was there that Sally walked into a ceramics class and fell in love.
In the artist’s work, pop art and surrealism marry, giving birth to funny-faced creatures and quirky human offspring shortly thereafter. Saul’s little people have notably enormous feet and gigantic hands; They range from dopily-smiling to totally deranged, with tongues hanging out and eyes looking one-here and one-there. As the sculptor transitioned, herself, from ceramic hobbyist to full-time artist, the art world changed alongside her. Until quite recently, cartoons and similarly playful art were confined to the realm of children’s TV and comic strips. Her work is imbued with personal, cultural, and political gravity. Its visual levity ought not distract from the incredible wealth of substance with which it is packed.
The New York artist’s work is currently on display as part of an exhibition at Dallas Contemporary called Who’s afraid of cartoony figuration? The show is an ode to the mid-twentieth century conversion of cartoons from an unserious form, to a respectable one. In Saul’s show, lumpy earthen tree-dwellers stand right next to a wide-eyed Gertrude Stein. In reaction to Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito’s abortion ruling, Saul builds a sculpture in which he’s perpetually tormented by crawling spiders. Each giant toe of Sally Saul’s big-footed sculptures is packed with hilarity, social commentary, and nearly eighty years of hard-earned insight.
Hi Sally, it’s such a pleasure to be here with you today. What’s on your mind?
Considering the forthcoming election, I’m feeling Armageddon is about to descend upon us. I’m trying to ignore this but not very successfully.
No comment, but, obviously, me too. Anyways… You’re working out of your studio in Germantown, NY right now, correct? And it’s just you and your husband working there. Tell me about it. Do you often get visitors? If so, who?
Yes, Peter and I are working in our Germantown studio right now. The studio and house sit on a small hill and the studio is a sage green (metal) which blends nicely with the surrounding greenery, like a camouflage. Various trees such as maple, spruce or black walnut surround the property and the shade is welcome. However, the draw-back is the trees are growing older and the extreme heat damages them and so we had some cut down before they fall on the house, or worse, on a passerby. The threats of country living.
Regarding visitors, Peter has the second floor of the studio and I’m on the ground floor, where the kiln needs to be. From the upstairs we can see the Catskills and often amazing pink and purple sunsets which remind me of art nouveau colours. We have visitors and friends from time to time. In fact, Germantown has changed significantly as several newcomers have moved here, including artists, one of whom purchased the Methodist church near us and expanded the space to accommodate large ceramic sculptures. Old homes have been renovated and repaired, new homes built, three restaurants with excellent food. Alex Gray, the art dealer, has a home here and a gallery (and also a gallery in Tribeca). I never anticipated this.
Regarding visitors, Peter has the second floor of the studio and I’m on the ground floor, where the kiln needs to be. From the upstairs we can see the Catskills and often amazing pink and purple sunsets which remind me of art nouveau colours. We have visitors and friends from time to time. In fact, Germantown has changed significantly as several newcomers have moved here, including artists, one of whom purchased the Methodist church near us and expanded the space to accommodate large ceramic sculptures. Old homes have been renovated and repaired, new homes built, three restaurants with excellent food. Alex Gray, the art dealer, has a home here and a gallery (and also a gallery in Tribeca). I never anticipated this.
Being in a relatively contained environment, I guess you might not get inspiration so much from the sights/humans that pass by. Where, then, are you deriving inspiration right now?
We rent a small apartment in New York City, which makes getting to and from the city easier when we have time. I’m grateful for this because I do miss city life: just walking the streets, looking in store windows, overhearing a conversation, a walk around the reservoir or a day at the Met. I feel more excited in the city, the possibilities, the differences.
Throughout your several-decade career in the arts, the art world has, itself, changed. How pronounced have these shifts been for you? Was there a particular year, or decade, in which you particularly liked being an artist?
Looking back, I especially liked the ‘90s and early 2000s. I learned how to prepare the clay, fire the electric kiln and the gas kiln (outside). Our instructor was always helpful and I just didn’t worry about whether or not I liked the piece. Just make a new one if the previous one doesn’t hold up. I should add this was during the years we were living in Austin, Texas, where Peter was teaching. In 2001 he retired and we moved east.
Do you feel the urge to do something new, to experiment with a new medium or style, now that you’ve been making a certain kind of ceramic sculpture for a few decades?
Yes, definitely, I do feel the urge to do something new, and I’ve been thinking that over.
What is your favourite piece that you ever made? How was that piece received?
One of my favorite pieces was the woman in the inner tube with some waves around her, titled Troubled Waters. I’m not sure how it was received. Another in perhaps a similar vein was a bust based on me looking worried, hair in a ponytail, wearing a medical mask with light reddish lipstick lips on the mask. This was, I guess obviously, a reference to COVID-19.
Sally Saul, Troubled Waters, 2020 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Do you feel like the reception of/attention allotted to your individual works tends to correlate with how you feel about them? Is it frustrating when it doesn’t happen this way?
The possible lack of attention afforded to work happens often enough to artists. When it happens, I think it’s best to either make new work or dig in and insist that this work is important to you and that you’re not changing it.
How affected, in general, are you by the public reception of your pieces?
I tend to be nervous but I also like to see friends and hear what they have to say and be open to those who have made the trip to receive my work as it’s being presented.
Your husband, Peter Saul, is also an artist. I’m sure people broach this subject with you often. He was already practicing when you got together. How has it been to be partnered with someone also in the arts, specifically someone whose career began before yours? Has it always been a kind of peer relationship, or have there been moments in which he’s felt like a mentor to you, or you to him?
Peter is easy to get along with. I can always ask him for some advice, though I don’t do it very often. One time he suggested I change the colour on the base of a figure, and he was absolutely right. Another time I might disagree re. a colour change, but he doesn’t mind. We’re not competitive with each other and one of his assets is a great sense of humour.
You studied American Literature, earning a masters in it. I’m sure you’ve read a lot of books by now. I’m twenty years old: if I asked you what books I must read, what would you say? Are there any books you see as having shaped the course of your life?
Well, I think gradually I read less and spent more time with the visual arts. What I would really like to do is take a summer to read or re-read books because they are both important to me. So, here are a few books that come to mind. Willa Cather who wrote Death Comes to the Archbishop, My Antonia, Oh Pioneers as well as other books. She was born in 1873 in Virginia and when she was ten, the family moved to Nebraska. A much different book is My Struggle written by Karl Ove Knausgaard, the Norwegian writer. Five books or volumes contain My Struggle and I admit, I didn’t quite finish number five.
And to finish on a lighthearted note, I have a couple rather easy questions. With whom was your last phone call/text exchange, and what did you talk about?
My last phone call was with our daughter and we compared notes on the suffocating heat.
If you could snap your fingers and make any meal of your choosing appear right in front of you, what would you wish for?
If I could snap my fingers and make any meal of my choosing appear it would be linguine with tomatoes and basil and a salad preceded by a cold shower.
Sally Saul, Bewildered, 2022 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Caution, 2020 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Chicken Pals, 2023 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Dark and Deep, 2023 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Friends, 2022 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Man with Hat, 2022 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Meditation Tree, 2020 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Melancholy, 2023 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Sultry Day, 2022 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Sally Saul, Woman with Shovel, 2021 - Courtesy the art- ist and Venus Over Manhattan, New York.