Sculptor Gives Thanks In Place

The video only lasts a minute, but it seems longer, in the best sense. In it, sculptor Susan Clinard lets us see one of her latest pieces from all angles, as the piece slowly rotates. Two figures stand in the center of it. They have each others’ backs. The face masks identify them as health care workers. And they’re engaged in the simple gesture of laying hands on ailing patients. Andrius Zlabys’s accompanying piece guides us in our reaction. The central figures’ gestures are kindnesses that carry risk, and the piece is bearing witness — to the danger nurses and doctors face, and their bravery in facing it.

Clinard is a firm believer in musician Nina Simone’s famous line that an artist’s duty is to reflect the times. ​“To divorce myself from what’s happening — in the streets and in people’s hearts — and just make art for arts sake is lovely, but it’s not something I can do,” she said. ​“When the coronavirus broke out and the quarantine started, I felt not so much fear, but a sincere need to do something.”

But that impulse, in itself, created a moment of reflection. ​“As an artist, what the heck does that mean? I’m not on the front lines. But so many of my friends are doctors and nurses,” Clinard said. ​“I can offer an image of genuine gratitude, a quiet pause, that’s not a hospital image, but something that’s quiet enough that we can think about those who are working hard and tirelessly to get us through this.”

Clinard has been a working artist for 26 years. Before moving to New Haven in 2006, she lived in Chicago, where she was also a social worker. The motivations that led her to social work and art are similar. When she heard the news about the outbreak and the instructions to stay home, ​“I thought about kids who are stuck at home in precarious situations — situations of domestic violence,” Clinard said. ​“Where are they going to get their food, or access to schoolwork?”

But she also found herself thinking about the possibility of moving mentally beyond simply reacting to the news. ​“When we are in this state of fight or flight — everything’s new, and we have to reevaluate our reality — you’re using a different part of your brain to function. And when you’re using that part of your brain, you don’t have access to that creative part.”

In the first few days, Clinard struggled with that. ​“Then I realized: wait, I’ve got to figure out how to switch,” she said. ​“Because we could be in this mode for the next three or four months. We have to find out how to have the space to access that part of our brains and hearts, to take care of ourselves so we can take care of others.”

As the outbreak spreads and we are forced to remain apart from one another, Clinard thought, finding ways to keep in touch with and connect with others can help — and art could continue to be one of those ways. ​“Even when things are crumbling and chaotic, when I know that we’re sharing the same stories, pushing through the same anxieties, there’s something calming in that for me,” Clinard said. ​“It’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time, but for some reason it makes me feel like I can breathe. We’ll be able to push through this with more beauty and compassion. Art and literature is another way to digest this world.”

She thought of musicians finding ways to jam with one another online, making collaborative videos. ​“That is so badass, and tapping into parts of ourselves that we don’t have words for, even as we try logically to understand what’s going on,” she said.

So in the face of the Covid-19 outbreak, Clinard, a professional sculptor, has seen her means of income dwindling. ​“I had a crazy full schedule for this spring and summer,” Clinard said. That included three solo shows, which ​“I’m 99 percent sure are all cancelled,” she said. ​“There’s no income coming in at all.”

But she is keeping the focus on her work. ​“I’m switching off mornings and afternoons with my husband,” who is a quantitative biologist and still has money coming in. He is ​“a rock star. He respects me and knows that this is how I function in this world,” Clinard said. ​“I’ll do maybe 7:30 to noon in the studio, and I have to tell you, it wasn’t until a couple days ago that anything came out at all. It felt sad and uncertain and awful, but I’ve been there before, and I know that you have to keep going anyway.”

And ideas have begun to take shape. ​“It’s unexpected,” Clinard said. ​“I let one little tingle or sensation lead me to a material, and I go from there. It’s doing hopscotch, following your instincts of shape and form.”

“I truly have a deep, deep trust that there is a lot going on that we don’t understand, or can’t wrap our heads around,” Clinard continued. ​“I think my whole childhood and young adult life got me to this point. Living as a young woman, getting poverty paychecks for so many years — there’s something to be said for having only a little stuff. You have to trust that if your intuition is telling you to go somewhere, do something, follow it. Every time I’ve done that, it has brought me to my knees with joy and gratitude for how lucky I’ve been in this life.”

So she is grateful for what she has now, even as she works under limitations. ​“Art store supplies are closed. You have to work with whatever you have in the studio. But we’re all in this boat,” she said. ​“I got food on the table, I got a roof over my head. I got healthy kids. Tomorrow’s another day.”

“I did get a 600-pound clay dropoff just before this all happened,” she added. ​“I have all this wood laying around — a lot of random, found objects. I have a bag of paints and glues. I got some papier-mache. So I’ll come up with something.”