Words Russell Peacock Photography Guzman

Published in No 12

“Hey Clarke,” I yell out while knocking on the big glass door that separates his woodshop from the outside world. No answer but the door is unlocked, so I walk on in. I’ve always enjoyed visiting Clarke’s shop, located in Spencertown, NY. It reminds me a little of my grandfather’s garden shed, which was full of stuff; tools, oil cans, a steering wheel, a racing bike: things that were just waiting for a project to be part of. Clarke’s shop is similarly filled with creative possibilities, as well as a fair amount of old stereo equipment. Clarke emerges wearing his trademark Birkenstocks and we head upstairs to sit out on the deck overlooking the distant Catskill mountains.

RP So, Clarke, my first question should be why the oil that you put on this bench we’re sitting on is still not dry, but instead I will ask: Is this the first house that you’ve ever built for yourself?

CO Well, I would count the church in Hillsdale, NY, as the first house and, although we didn’t build the church, we certainly built the interiors.

RP So, your current house that you built from scratch, what were the priorities?

CO Well… I like to say that the main priority was to build a woodshop with a roof over it, to keep the rain out.

RP And above the shop is where you live with your charming wife, Ria. Ria has her office on the third level, which resembles the bridge of a ship. How would you describe the houses that you design and build?

CO Yes, that’s an important question. I need to write something down so I can provide an answer when asked.

RP One thing about your houses, at least the ones I’ve seen, is that, aside from being super-efficient, they incorporate elements that you’ve designed and built yourself: counters, doors, lamps, faucets, bathtubs, beds, desks, even small details like door handles and closet hooks. One of my personal favorites is a sinewy cherrywood stair rail that you made for our house in Egremont, MA. By virtue of all these details, there is a warmth to your houses, that only handcrafted things can provide. As a woodworker, what were some of your earliest influences?

CO My earliest influences, of course, were my two uncles; Carsten and Bjorn. They made furniture and jewelry. There was always a practical purpose ... things had to function. Everybody in the family was a second-tier creative in that they were never famous. In the 1940’s, they worked for George Jensen Company. The war had disrupted the Danish crafts that were brought over. At one point they made candle holders of ebony and brass. The brass came from the Brooklyn Navy Yard, where uncle Bjorn cast brass propellers. The samples were brought home and eventually turned into candle holders.

RP Beyond your family, can you recall other early influences?

CO When I was a kid, my parents brought home a pair of Nakashima chairs, which I still have here… someplace. I remember being impressed with how well they fulfilled the function of being chairs. I also remember wanting to go and see Falling Water, by Frank Lloyd Wright, which I finally did, years later.

RP So, Wright’s work was an inspiration?

CO I was quite enamored with his work but could also see that his approach to furniture design was too dogmatic. Not to mention uncomfortable. He used to say: “You shouldn’t have to move old furniture into a new house.”

RP That would put me in violation.

CO … Which I thought was a nice snappy dictum, but it’s not always true. Then again, I do remember building a house for someone who subsequently moved in a bunch of totally inappropriate furniture.

RP Generally speaking, I think we humans are losing the ability to make things with our hands. Shop class, which seems to be disappearing from many school curriculums, was always my favorite class. What about you?

CO I never took shop class because I felt intellectually marginal as it was and didn’t want to be considered one of the write offs.

RP I didn’t receive that memo.

CO What I did take was a couple of years of drafting classes and, in my senior year, I took an architectural drafting class which, later, helped me to make a living when I moved to Brooklyn in 1963.

RP I’m always interested in why artists chose certain materials. Why Wood?

CO That’s easy, it was something I could make in my apartment in Brooklyn. Besides I needed some furniture.

Clarke leaves and returns with one of those original Brooklyn chairs.

CO Everything in this chair is made from boards l found lying in the street.

RP How important is it to create something in a unique way?

CO Sure, otherwise why bother. Besides there’s always something that can be improved upon… an adjustment that the piece asks for. But I never wanted to make things that were too challenging to understand. I used to say that I have tried to evolve a constructivist approach to a sculptural manifestation. And after I wrote that down, I thought, boy, that’s some pompous shit.

RP Although artistic statements need to be a little ambiguous.

CO Sometimes one falls into architectural speak, which is a lot like art speak.

RP And that’s kind of contrary to your approach to furniture design, where there’s an attempt to be uncomplicated even though the construction may be quite intricate.

CO More like, complicated but not hard to understand.

RP You’re currently making a whimsical couch, whose inherent motion makes it appear to be collapsing forward.

CO I’m just trying to refine forms and ideas that I’ve had for a long time. I’m always thinking about how to make something. I am going to build it in such a way that it takes so long that I’ll have to call it a sculpture because nobody will be able to afford it.

RP And where is the line between sculpture and furniture? Does it have to do with function or is that just an outdated construct?

CO Is it practical? Can you use it for something? If not, it must be sculpture. It must be art.

RP Does that put furniture making on a lower level in the hierarchy of things?

CO Not at all, I think the appreciation is deeper for something we can use.

RP Between designing and building houses and furniture, which do you prefer?

CO Houses are interesting because you’re creating space. As I look at houses, I’m always thinking about ways to find a better solution. I don’t always feel that way about furniture.

RP And unlike furniture making, designing and building houses is, to a large extent, collaborative.

CO I must have worked in a dozen architectural offices in New York, over the course of about 11 years, and there was only one architect I knew who had the ability to oversee and understand everything that was involved in a project.

RP To what extent, when building a house, do you want your client to be involved? (Clarke suddenly jumps up and swats a stink bug against the glass door.)

RP Was that an answer to my question?

CO (Laughs) No, no. One of my best houses involved a client pressing me for things that she wanted. She would always say “we” built the house and, I must admit, she was right. Not only is the client going to live in it but they’re going to bring their old selves along too.

RP Sometimes parameters can be a catalyst for creativity

CO And limitations can be a guide.

RP Although, in your vegetable garden, there appear to be few limitations being followed. Why do you garden naked?

CO Just to get a more even exposure to the sun. I’m usually only out there for 15 minutes.

RP So, you’re anti tan line. The garden has a certain controlled, chaos?

CO Oh no, I don’t think there’s any control at all.

RP That carries over, to a lesser degree, in the woodshop. Is there a connection?

CO I’m not so organized. But the shop has different projects, at different stages all going on at the same time. And lots of stuff is just being stored. The garden, on the other hand, operates on nature’s schedule.

Learn more at clarkeolsendesign.com

Russell Peacock is part of the photography duo Guzman, whom are both good friends of Olsen.

Guzman are regular contributors to UD and are represented by veronique-peres-domergue.net @lesguzman