More News

It's just past 6 p.m. on a muggy Wednesday. A crowd is gathering on the lawn of the Mansion at Strathmore. Soon, a bluegrass band will kick off the summer concert series. But for now, they look up curiously from their barbecue dinners at a group of reporters, Strathmore employees and members of the board gazing like children at a trio of strange rubbery sculptures. The artist, Daniel Wurtzel, answers questions as onlookers approach his work.

At first, everyone seems cautious, in part because the seven-foot-high silicone structures are undeniably phallic. Wurtzel calls them "Rubber Bullets," and it doesn't take long for people to get comfortable. Soon, a middle-aged woman is pushing, almost punching, one of the bullets. Wurtzel says they glow with every color of the rainbow at night. A man with a camera doesn't seem to care. He requests that the artist stand behind one of the transparent objects. Wurtzel agrees. He seems more like a handyman showing off a new deck than a snooty New York artist.

Stereotypes aside, Wurtzel isn't even from New York. He moved to Brooklyn several years ago. Raised in Richmond, he cut his artistic teeth in the mid-1980s at Wesleyan University, a tiny liberal arts college in Middletown, Conn. That has produced an army of notable alumni including television producer Joss Whedon ("Buffy the Vampire Slayer"), space rockers MGMT and "Transformers" director Michael Bay.

"Wesleyan promotes thinking for yourself," Wurtzel says before the exhibit's opening. "It's an environment that promulgates that philosophy. It was a really good fit for me. I got a lot out of it."

Fifteen years removed from college, Wurtzel found himself bored with the traditional clay, bronze and plaster.

"I was at the end of a series of work and I wanted to free my mind from all of the traditional constraints of sculpture making," the 46-year-old recalls. "I thought, I can make sculpture out of anything — dirty air, Cheetos, chewing gum on the sidewalk."

Desperate for new materials, he turned to food.

"I had this idea that I wanted to make this sculpture out of Jell-O," he says. "It was such a ludicrous idea that I felt that there was something to it."

Wurtzel put his chemist hat on—researching, experimenting and talking with gelatin manufacturers. Eventually, he concocted a recipe that doesn't spoil or allow the water content to evaporate. A giant cube of Jell-O has yet to find its way to a gallery, but the process led him to work with silicone rubber, a more durable and outdoor-friendly material.

The sculptures are a departure for the traditionally conservative Mansion at Strathmore. President and CEO Eliot Pfanstiehl says the decision to bring "Rubber Bullets" to Strathmore was based on reaching a younger audience rather than shock value.

"The phallic imagery is not what we're interested in," he explains. "But we want to change people's impressions about Strathmore … There's going to be jokes, but after a minute, they'll start to enjoy them."

Wurtzel insists the shape wasn't intentional. It was the result of practical engineering.

"I wanted to make a freestanding, flexible sculpture that's tall, so it could exist on a human scale," he says. "As it gets taller, it gets lighter. It's the most stable, tall shape you can make using the least amount of material."

Still, Wurtzel acknowledges the sexual overtones of his work.

"But they're also shaped like bombs," he says. "So they're a dichotomy. They communicate, I hope, on many different levels at the same time. For me, that's one of the traits of really good art."

Another appealing aspect is the bullets' interactivity. Wurtzel encourages audiences to push the pieces. With the minimum amount of force, they sway back and forth. The LED lights that become visible at night create a hypnotic experience.

"We wanted something that completely erases the wall between the audience and the art," Pfanstiehl says.

Across the lawn from the seven-footers, three smaller bullets on concrete pedestals pit synthetics against nature. Inside each sculpture, real butterflies from around the world stretch out in different poses.

"On the one hand, they're a symbol of metamorphosis," Wurtzel says. "But they also symbolize love and are clearly very feminine in their beauty and delicacy."

Elsa Burt, Wurtzel's girlfriend of three years, loves the way each butterfly appears to be frozen in flight.

"I think everybody gets something different out of them," she says. "I like the sort of ascension of nature. They're very organic."

The butterfly bullets are striking, but the process, which includes an overnight paper towel treatment and several coats of silicone, takes dedication.

"He does eight to 10 hours of nonstop work," Burt says. "But that's when he's in his element. It's pretty awesome, actually."

In addition to the "Rubber Bullets," and "Butterflies and Bullets" on the Mansion's lawn, Wurtzel's "Feather Fountain" now sits in the Music Center's Lockheed Martin Lobby. The piece consists of a large round mirror with a fan that stretches all the way around to blow air toward the center. A collection of goose feathers blows upward from the mirror and falls back onto the surface. Because the quills are heavy, the feathers mostly stay inside the piece and patter like rain when they come down. A light shines directly overhead, so shadows project on the ceiling.

"It's a Darwinian thing," Wurtzel says. "Eventually the most aerodynamic feathers survive."

Several works into his "Air" series, Wurtzel came up with the concept after seeing a maple leaf spin in place above a subway grate.

"It just stayed there for 15 seconds, maybe more," he recalls. "I thought that was one of the most beautiful things I've seen, and how hard can it be to recreate that?"

Near the end of the press tour, the group, now in the Music Center lobby, returns to childhood. They throw feathers into the fountain and watch them soar and tumble onto the mirror. As a joke, someone throws a dollar bill into the mix. A few people turn to see Wurtzel's reaction.

"I don't care," he says with a grin.

The feathers continue to swirl, and no one looks like they want to leave.

Wurtzel's "Rubber Bullets" are outside the Mansion, 10701 Rockville Pike, and "Feather Fountain" is in the Music Center, 5301 Tuckerman Lane, North Bethesda. Call 301-581-5200 or visit strathmore.org.