June 16, 2002

Celebrations in steel

Visitors to Chicago's Navy Pier stroll and ride by one of Mishler's towering sculptures. Goshen sculptor John Mishler works in his studio at the Old Bag Factory. Tribune Photos/PAUL RAKESTRAW

GOSHEN -- In his standard day uniform of chambray work shirt and jeans, his hair a conservative curly brown and his unremarkable face lined by decades of quiet smiles, John Mishler is not likely to stand out in a crowd.

His sculpture, on the other hand ...

"My work is kind of bold," comments Mishler, softening the understatement still further with a self-deprecating shrug. "It jumps out at you."

If you've driven through Elkhart lately, or visited Goshen College, or walked along Chicago's Navy Pier or Silver Beach in St. Joseph, chances are one of Mishler's towering, kinetic constructions has jumped out at you personally. The sculptures, whether pulsating with color or glinting with reflective texture, are hard to miss.

As Mishler's visibility has grown, his evolving style -- currently a fusion of industrial techniques and organic forms, stylized and often larger-than-life expressions in aluminum and steel that flirt with wind, sun and space itself -- has become more and more recognizable, even to casual viewers. The fact that much of his work makes its home outdoors, often in high-profile locations with hundreds of passers-by per hour, means that on any given day, Mishler enjoys a regional audience that probably could fill Notre Dame stadium several times over. As the fine arts go, those are not bad numbers.

Putting stuff together

Growing up in Elkhart, Mishler remembers walking home from school through an open field -- a treasure-trove of detritus for a boy who loved putting things together.

"It always took me forever to get home because I had to look at everything," he admits, laughing. "One day I dragged home an old windshield (from a vehicle). My mother said, 'What are you going to do with that?' I said I might need it someday."

In school he struggled with reading and math and was labeled slow by many of his teachers; later, the problem turned out to be dyslexia.

"Now, I think being dyslexic helps me," he says. "I look at things a little differently. I've found that a lot of creative people are dyslexic."

He graduated from Goshen College in 1972 and then earned his master's degree in fine arts at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville. Success came slowly, while Mishler worked a series of survival jobs. Eventually he was able to dedicate himself to sculpture full time, although the business of being an artist, the networking and grant applications and self-promotion, ended up being another full-time job in itself.

"I've just kept at it," he says simply. "There's been scary times where I've run out of work. There was a time when my wife thought I should get a real job -- she thought I was just enjoying myself," he confesses with a chuckle.

In the public eye

Mishler's career has progressed to the point that the bulk of his studio time now -- he works in a reclaimed brick boiler house at the Old Bag Factory in Goshen -- is devoted to commissions. But he also has a few smaller works for sale: colorful maquettes (table-size models of his supersize outdoor sculptures), wall-mounted metal pieces and several kinetic monoliths scaled for the residential garden or foyer.

Shoppers will often drop into the studio, drawn by the racket of welding, hammering, grinding or sanding (Mishler's phone is hooked up to a pealing factory bell -- otherwise he'd miss a lot of calls). They study the samples on display and then realize how many other John Mishlers they've seen around the area.

"There has been, in the last 10 years, a real explosion in public art and outdoor sculpture," reports Mishler, who landed, among other recent projects, a $36,000 commission from the city of Elkhart for his colorful "River Passage," installed at the northeast corner of Jackson Boulevard and Johnson Street in August 2000. "Cities are finally realizing that public art can really be a drawing card for their city."

Mishler, pausing in front of models of his outdoor sculptures, talks about the explosion in public art in the last 10 years. Mishler's studio at the Old Bag Factory is in the reclaimed brick boiler house. Tribune Photos/PAUL RAKESTRAW John Mishler Mishler's sculpture can be viewed on Chicago's Navy Pier through Nov. 10; in Saugatuck, Mich., at the corner of Butler and Hoffman Streets, through March 2003; and in South Bend at the Leeper Park Art Fair, June 22-23. To learn more about Mishler's work -- including where else to find it -- visit the Web site http://www.johnmishler.com/, or stop by his studio at the Old Bag Factory, 1100 Chicago Ave. in Goshen, (574) 533-8971.

Moreover, viewers' acceptance for the more abstract mode of sculpture Mishler practices -- as opposed to figurative bronze or stone, historically the preferred mediums for focal points in public spaces (think generals on horseback) -- seems to be growing. The artist points to one of the first modern public art installations in the region, Grand Rapids' very large, very bright orange sculpture by Alexander Calder.

"When it was placed in Grand Rapids, everyone hated it," Mishler recalls. "But over the years, people really became proud of it, and now it's becoming a city symbol."

Mishler also has noticed more willingness on the part of sculptors to take their captive audiences into account. Thus, the so-called "turd on the plaza" phenomenon of the 1970s and '80s has given way to more viewer-friendly public art: pieces with color, whimsy and movement, more likely to inspire a "Wow!" than a "Huh?"

"My own work has more recognizable shapes in it than it used to," Mishler says. "People are curious. They want to know what these things mean."

His Elkhart sculpture, for instance, has gleaming contours that suggest the city's rivers and, at its center, a heart-shape pendant of red-painted diamond plate that rotates in the breeze. The sculpture is modern, but it also says "Elkhart" quite clearly. Other pieces hint at standing figures or a bolt of lightning; still others have no such representational cues, but are pure experiments in form, texture and balance.

"To me, they're not abstract," the artist says, smiling. "I've worked with them long enough that they're my world. They've become real to me."

Mishler likes to play with three-dimensional space in the same way a painter might toy with perspective on a two-dimensional canvas, fooling the eye by taking his lines in some unexpected directions. In some of his kinetic sculptures, the moving elements often appear in danger of colliding with their supports, prompting anxious gasps from first-time viewers.

"I think sculpture can also be illusion, like painting is illusion," comments Mishler, who consults with an engineering professor at Goshen College, where he also teaches part time, to get his physics straightened out. He also relies on professional machinists for the precise, stainless-steel bearings those kinetic elements require. (They're the most costly component of his sculptures, which are otherwise built mostly from scrap metal.) And as his works have gotten larger, he's necessarily depended on installation specialists to ensure that his soaring visions will keep their feet firmly on the ground.

A team effort

In these and many other ways, Mishler has found himself working more collaboratively over the years. He's also enjoyed more opportunities to connect with his viewers, even if it's just hearing the approving honks of car horns as motorists pass by an installation in progress.

"Being an artist can be kind of a lonesome existence sometimes," he admits. "I used to try to do everything myself, but now I see it much more as a team effort."

Of all the visual arts, Mishler points out, public sculpture tends to be the most democratic, reaching viewers of all ages and walks of life.

"There's certain people who will go to art museums, but other people who will not," he says. "I like to see art as a celebration and an extension of life. It's about the joy of life and living."

That's something we all can understand, he adds: "I think especially in this time, with what's happened in the last year, we really need art."

Staff writer Julie York Coppens:

jyork@sbtinfo.com

(574) 235-6281