Sewing in the sixties: recounting how some classic examples of Claes Oldenburg's Pop sculpture came into existence, with cameo appearances by Dick Bellamy, Dennis Hopper and Charlie the cat - Memoir - Excerpt

Art in America, Nov, 2002 by Patty Mucha

In the course of constructing props for the Happenings, an invaluable tool, the portable Singer sewing machine, came into play. Up until this time it had allowed me to make my own clothes. With it, I could also repair some of Claes's duds--hem his trousers, and so on. Now its role became inextricably joined with the making of his art. The Freighter and Sailboat that I danced with in the performance Store Days I, I'd sewn from light, cheap muslin that was then painted by Claes in happy, patriotic colors of red and blue, the muslin supplying the white. The Upside-Down City hanging from the ceiling in the store in World's Fair II reversed the New York City skyline, gravity pulling down to the floor the peaky towers of buildings in gray, dirty tones. The big fat burlap rats' tails featured in the Nekropolis I performance that were stuffed with Claes's favorite filler--crunched-up newspaper--were first sewn together. Also in that Happening, zombie bodies were created by piecing together bits of clothing in grotesque arrangements: weird composites of deformed legs. These props all came into being with the aid of the sewing machine.

As the summer of 1962 approached, Dick Bellamy invited Claes to have a one-man show at the Green Gallery on West 57th Street. The show was to take place in the fall. Claes would have the summer to plan it. As galleries go, the floor space was not particularly large, but the fact that it was basically one big long rectangular room made it a major challenge for C.O. How to fill that space? Wouldn't even his larger plaster pieces be lost in that area? Some sleepless nights here. Enter his anxiety about technique once again.

Visiting the gallery at those preliminary meetings with Dick, we would take the Sixth Avenue subway up to 57th Street and walk toward Fifth Avenue, past the various posh stores that lined the street. One of them had a lovely concave-curved glass front which allowed your eyes to focus gently on the interior space without any interference from the sun's glare; with the window as visual barrier eliminated, you felt close enough to enter and touch that space. Inside, spotlit and presented luxuriously, were the latest Porsche and Jaguar sports cars. As someone who didn't know how to drive, I found these vehicles all the more exotic. But for Claes, what he saw was: form as size which filled up a space. How to make his sculptures that large? This was the issue at hand.

Plaster? Nope, too heavy. (Although, as the show progressed, several major plaster pieces would be included: the stove, a square table draped in a red enamel cloth with various items on it, wall-mounted Ray Guns, the double Hamburgers and others.) But the stars of the snow definitely were three amazingly soft, pliable giant sculptures. Made from a heavy canvas this time, taking up much of the floor, were the now famous hamburger, the slice of chocolate cake, and the 11-foot-long pistachio ice-cream cone.

The giant Soft Hamburger was the first of the three that we tackled. The portable sewing machine was transported up to the 57th Street gallery, which now became our studio. I say "our" studio because, at this juncture, all the construction was accomplished by sewing--a technique of which Claes had little knowledge. Of course, first the pieces had to be cut. We started with the meat patty, as that was a simple round. C.O. roughly sketched a circle as he walked atop the canvas, drawing a line on the fabric with a pencil attached to a string that was pinned at a central point in the material. Its perimeter was irregularly drawn--nice and meaty. For the top of the bun, I simply sewed pie-shape pieces together to form the basic circle. For the sliced underside part of the bun, a circle somewhat smaller than the top of the bun but larger than the meat was attached. The pickle, because of its smaller size, was a snap to do. Its flat edge was created by topstitching around it. I installed large-toothed brass jacket zippers, hidden by a dressmaker's placket, on the underside of each of the larger pieces so that they might be stuffed later with cardboard boxes and big foam rubber chunks.

The sewing itself was strenuous work. To sit on the floor, pulling the bulky mass through the throttle of the portable sewing machine, was almost physically impossible at times, and that process was repeated twice for each seam. Certainly there were moments when the needle broke; sometimes my blood spattered onto the piece of art on which I was working. A true bonding occurred!

After the sculptures were completely sewn and stuffed, Claes painted them. The cake was made in separate pieces. The cake layers sat on and were covered by a layer which resembled thick yellow frosting; two pastry dollops decorated the top. Less successful was the interpretation of the ice-cream cone. The scoop, where it was joined to the cone, was not globular enough for my taste. It lacked the reality the other two pieces had. It neither melted nor curved into the cone. The process of shirring, gathering and tucking took over, but these techniques did not solve its basic architectural problem. Yet, all three giant sculptures were very popular with the audience--depending, of course, on the viewer's gastronomic tastes. Adults seemed to favor the hamburger. The children, and there were many who visited the show, loved the ice-cream cone. In fact, we took it for a drive on 57th Street in a large open-top truck. Kids in passing cars were delighted and shouted out their approval.