Martin Puryear-- Sanctuary (1982)

Martin Puryear's Sanctuary stands about 12' feet tall, a small 1'x 1' cherrywood box perched atop two intertwined maple branches that meet on either side of a rounded wooden wheel at the bototm. The box, stuck against the wall and open facing out, is noticeably above eye level so that the contents of the box, if there is any, is obscured from the viewer. Despite the piece being on display to the public, there is a sense of privacy and intimacy in the concealed shadows of the box. The smooth, man-made finish of the wooden box contrasts with the organic rawness of the maple branches which seem to grow out of the structure itself. The maple is smooth yet maintains an unrefined quality that comes straight from nature. Their lean, winding form gives the sculpture a sense of outstretched movement that creates a tall, towering impression. The branches finish on either side of the wooden wheel, resembling bike pedals so as to emphasize the mobility of the wheel. The wheel itself is crude, scratched yet rounded so as to give the impression of wear from excessive use. Unlike the box, it is detached from the wall, free-standing to reiterate its traveling purpose.

I love the sculpture's sense of remote security; the way it creates a barrier between the viewer and the symbol of safety itself, the box, by placing it above eye-level. However, there is a delicacy about the structure itself, the way the box and branches are balanced on the wheel, that makes the safety seem precarious. It reminds me of when I was a child lying in bed at night and would pull the covers above my head when I though there was something frightening in the room. In reality, my sheets did gave me little practical protection, yet it was that psychological sense of being hidden and concealed from harm that gave me my false sense of safety. There is a similar vulnerability about Sanctuary, especially the wheel that looks as if it could roll out and topple the structure at the slightest budge.