It is a slate gray wintry day when I visit Judy Pfaff in Tivoli, New York, but inside her home and studio, and even on the exterior sidings, there couldn’t be more color. She has built, on her property, a group of structures: some massive, others more intimate. It is a compound entirely dedicated to building, sculpting, and painting the huge variety of elements her installations can encompass. Each space is used for a distinct purpose: housing the specific tools, machines, and materials necessary.
Every corner of her living spaces reveals painted walls, Asian textiles, Marimekko towels, modernist furniture and geometric rugs, glass tiles, rice paper lamps, handmade chandeliers with blinking bulbs, and Christmas lights strung all year round. There is an abundance, certainly, but it all feels lived-in, touched, deliberate, and earthy.
In her home, and in her work, the histories of individual objects, and the various cultures they signify, are integrated into a kind of gestalt. We recognize that elements are uprooted, but they are grounded by the way they interlock. Her installations might combine massive tree roots, fluorescent lights, glass drops, and paper – but they nevertheless communicate an overarching mood or emotion: from exuberant to elegiac.
The room where we settle in to talk is a “drawing” studio: recent paintings on paper cover the walls in rows from floor to ceiling. She calls it the most private of the spaces, one which her assistants never enter. Although Pfaff is considered a sculptor and installation artist, her work incorporates painting throughout, and is orchestrated in a painterly manner. Despite the size and virtuosity of their engineering, her installations are approachable: there are human-scaled parts, like these small paintings on paper, familiar patterns, and photographic images.
