Step into Curtis Patterson’s studio, where bronze and steel morph into amplified ancestry

My name is Curtis Patterson. I’m a sculptor. I’ve been making sculpture now for about 50 years. I received my first commission from the city of Atlanta in 1977 from the Bureau of Cultural Affairs. I not only make sculpture, but I also taught it for 30 years at the Atlanta College of Art, now Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD).

I’m working on a body of work called The Great Migration, which is, in essence, about African Americans moving from the South to the North, the Midwest, and the West. Between 1970 and 2010, about six million African Americans moved as part of the Great Migration. And the other series that I’m continuing work on is called Shango’s Friends. It’s based on Shango, an African Deity, who is the God of fire, thunder, and justice. Shango is a figure with the double axe on the head. I use the double iron as an analogy of domestic and manual labor. The Iron appears extensively in my work, in both my two-dimensional and three-dimensional pieces.

I’m a sculptor. I studied painting and drawing in undergrad. One day I took a ceramics class and made a vessel. When I made art in two dimensions, I always struggled to place the shadow correctly. I remember the day I made this vessel; I was sitting by a window, and the sun was coming in. As I made this coiled pot, the shadow fell on the table in just the right spot. And that was really kind of an “aha” moment for me. I’d been trying to draw and paint the shadow and place it right for a few years, and then all of a sudden, this happened. And that was the beginning of me really wanting to do more work with my hands.

I really enjoy the physicality of making it. I am influenced by music and especially jazz. I really like the spontaneity and improvisational aspects. Often, listening to jazz encourages me to improvise in my work. It really stimulates the atmosphere in my studio.

Some of my favorite jazz musicians are from the earlier jazz periods. I listen to a lot of Thelonious Monk, John Coltrane, and Miles Davis. I hate to name names because I don’t wanna leave anybody out. But I think jazz can be so transformative. I remember listening to a John Coltrane song called “Alabama.” It was about four young girls who were murdered in Alabama in a church. I remember listening to that and reading the cover. I actually shed a tear while listening, and it was really so moving. He expressed something that made me feel very emotional. That was really a transformative moment for me.

I’m inspired by trying to do more to elevate the African American cultural experience. I feel like so much has been done by African Americans that has not really been acknowledged as it should be in the history books. And I’m trying to facilitate that by creating art that gives breath to the significance of the contributions made by people of African descent.

Masks are prevalent for me primarily because it’s my reference to African art and also they feed the abstraction in my art. African art utilizes multiple-headed figures because tradition states the head is the most important part of the body. So, therefore, it should be a greater part as opposed to the Western concept, which is more naturalistic. We’re looking at a lot of things that are done naturalistically, but I think there are ways to simplify with abstraction. I use a lot of symbolism in my work.

When views oppose each other, art can bridge gaps. For example, I did a piece for a community about 30 miles from Atlanta. It was based on George Floyd’s murder. The community wanted to do something that would make people of color feel comfortable visiting. It was a predominantly white community. So they commissioned me to do a piece that would offer a sense of welcoming and belonging. I did this piece called Serenity for Shango for that site. And it’s been well received both by the community and the people who visit. That’s an example of bridging time and space.

I’ve done a number of commission pieces in various places around the states. One of my first pieces was for the Atlanta International Airport, for a musician named Rasan Roland Kirk. The piece is called Bright Moments, which is actually the title of one of his songs. I created a piece for Jesse Owens at Ohio State University, symbolizing the four gold medals he won in the Olympic Games. Another work titled Spiral for Justice was to honor Roy Wilkins and that’s located in St. Paul, Minnesota on the state capital grounds. There are 46 elements in the spiral, and that represents 46 years of his service as executive secretary of the NAACP. And most recently, I did a piece for Andrew Young here in Atlanta, which aims to illustrate his accomplishments made during his lifetime.

My piece for Rosa Parks, called the Montgomery Bus Stop (1989), is a large-scale abstract sculpture. I wanted to create an environment that illustrates how courageous she was for not giving up her seat. The two benches have a handle on each of them. If you’re so inclined to take the handle and lift it, there is an inscription under it by Mary McLeod Bethune that says, “We are the heirs. We’re the custodians, rather, but also the heirs of a great civilization.” And then on the other bench it says, “Reserved for Rosa Parks.”

I think there’s something about discovery. Usually when you go to a gallery or museum, you’re not supposed to touch work. I don’t mind people touching my work. If you lift the bench or an iron with a handle – and you find that there’s a poem under it or some information about the piece, I just think that is so rewarding to the person who made that discovery. If you’re not so inclined, hopefully there’s enough visual information for you to appreciate the work.

Yes, much of the work that I’ve done has been commissioned by public entities, and that has a great purpose. But this piece, Montgomery Bus Stop (1989), was a self-initiated commission because I felt that what she did was so courageous that she needed to be sought out and, through art, do something new for us. That’s why I initiated the work myself. I thought she deserved further acknowledgment for that act.

When I’m getting ready to create a composition, I will start out with a simple sketch. Once I have a drawing of the silhouette, I take cardboard and actually compose the piece. After the cardboard, I’ll take those parts and transform them into metal. I’m using a slot-fitted technique with notches in the cardboard so I can put the pieces together.  I can see them before they are fabricated, then I am ready to move into metal.

I have what I call a “sweet spot” for my works – that is an ideal view. The only object that I know of that has a sweet spot from all angles is maybe a sphere because it’s completely round. But when you’re making an object that’s not completely round, there’s often an angle that is perceived as the most complementary, and there’s also an angle that is not as desirable as others. So oftentimes when I see photographs of my work that somebody else has taken, and it’s not what I consider my “sweet spot” – if they take it from their sweet spot – that confirms for me that the piece is successful.

I taught for 30 years at the Atlanta College of Art, now Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD), and before that I taught six years in the public school system. Teaching is an exchange, and I learn an awful lot from the students. It’s really been wonderful to work with so many students who have gone out and had tremendous careers themselves – in many instances far greater than my experience. I’m very pleased to have been a part of their development.

Yes, and I hope that what I’m doing will serve as a testimony of some of the significant contributions that have been made by people of African descent. I feel far too little has been done to recognize those contributions in the history books. So what I’m trying to do is create work that honors people who I feel have been so significant in developing our culture. I also know that African Art has been a catalyst for many contemporary artists. What I’m trying to do is extend that, and hopefully somebody will continue that extension.

I’ve learned that, even though it is hard work, I enjoy what I do. Being acknowledged or celebrated for what I do is really amazing to me. That is a lot of encouragement for me to continue. I also enjoy talking with people about my work in public spaces and galleries alike. Not that I have so much to say, but I’m a good listener. I’m interested in what communities feel about the work. People are really very excited to talk about how they feel about art.

I would tell an emerging artist to keep making art. I find a lot of fulfillment in creating, working, and paying attention. I would encourage anybody who’s beginning to work to try to fulfill themselves. I mean, it’s something that you can do for a lifetime.