My Artist Statement: Early Drawings, Illustrations, and Fragments

By Carole Feuerman

From 1974 to 1967 I attended the School of Visual Arts.  I made paintings and drawings to pay for my tuition.  This was easy for me to do, but I craved something deeper. As my artistic journey began to evolve—my illustrations grew more three-dimensional and larger, some reaching six feet tall. I was transitioning into the realm of fine art. 

In 1974, I created a self-portrait that featured two sculptural legs and platform shoes, along with a vibrant painting called “Gloria,” which I gifted to Gloria Steinem. Surprisingly, she refused it, claiming the neon pen I used was a phallic symbol. I had never considered that!

The art directors who hired me for illustration took notice of my larger sculptural pieces and encouraged me to pursue fine art. My teachers connected me with their clients, which proved invaluable for funding my education. I signed my work as ‘Carole Jean’ for commercial projects, reserving ‘Carole Feuerman’ for my personal artistic endeavors. My illustration career flourished with album covers, magazine spreads, and striking graphic designs for the New York Times, Alice Cooper and The Rolling Stones.

My desire to create was insatiable. I wanted to make art that resonated with viewers on a personal level. In 1967, after graduating from the School of Visual Arts, I started by casting small fragments of women, men, couples and their relationships with each other. I did life castings directly on people’s bodies called life castings. I was particularly fascinated by what happened when people touched each other. I loved to see the indents made when fingers pressed the flesh. I noticed that the hands and fingers changed colors when touching. A fragment was much more interesting to me than showing the entire body. It told a huge story and yet much was left to the imagination.  After creating thirteen fragments of taboo themes, my next job was to find a gallery to show them. I soon discovered that this was no easy task. I knocked on many doors in New York’s gallery district but no one was interested in showing them. I was also told by one gallery that they didn’t show the work of women artists. They said that women get married and have children and they weren’t serious.  I insisted that I was always serious about my art. One evening while at a friend’s house for dinner, I mentioned that I had been making small sensual sculptures.  I showed my friend some pictures. She said she was moving to Fort Worth Texas and would be opening a gallery. After she got settled, she would give me a show. 

In 1978, she gave me my first exhibition. It was called Fragments, Rated X. I was so excited. I flew my family, my parents, and my children to Texas for the opening. Unfortunately, the opening was poorly attended, with only my family and the janitor present. The next day the show was closed because people said that the show was too provocative. This disappointing experience shattered me at first but after a few months, I decided to get back to sculpting. I wasn’t sure what I was going to sculpt, but I knew that I would never give up.

My early works represented the female form in ways that highlighted strength, beauty, and sensuality. My work aimed to subvert traditional depictions of women in art. I didn’t understand why my work wasn’t accepted. My approach resonated with a society eager to redefine gender roles and advocate for greater equality, positioning my sculptures as reflections of contemporary feminist ideals. They sought to portray women’s free sexuality, not merely as objectification, but as a celebration of the human experience. What struck me most was the struggle faced by women artists during this period. I wondered if my show would not have been shut down if I were a man, or if I would have had less trouble getting a gallery to exhibit my work. Despite progressive societal shifts, the art world dismissed my work as unserious, showing reluctance to invest in it. Nevertheless, I remained deeply committed to my craft. Many critics, and members of mainstream society, reacted negatively to the explicit nature of my sculptures, perceiving them as provocative or obscene. This tension mirrored the ongoing battle between traditional values and a growing acceptance of sexual expression. My sculptures became part of this countercultural dialogue, pushing against conventional standards of beauty, desire, and eroticism. I felt my first works were part of my history, as a woman and as an artist. Thinking of the figure for artists, and as an expression of a collective and generational feeling, they expressed my being in the world in those revolutionary years, which had a great impact on me. 

To calm my nerves, I would go to the beach. I loved the beach as a child, and many of my fondest memories were of playing in the sand and watching the pounding waves at Jones Beach on Long Island. I remember exactly how the delicate water droplets covered my arms and face after returning from a swim and how the patterns that formed on my skin captivated me. I noticed how the human figure radiates a healthy glow while in the water and coming out, and how the water rejuvenates the body while instilling a sense of harmony, both internally and externally. While at the beach I saw a woman coming out of the water. She looked strong and proud. Her body was thrust forward. Water was streaming down her face. I identified with her. It was at that moment, in the summer of 1978, that I knew that I was going to create a sculpture of a woman swimmer, just like the woman I saw coming out of the water.  

After creating the swimmer sculpture, I  shifted my focus to other themes relating to water, and in 1981 I created a piece titled *EN 2-1278*.  I was inspired by my experiences in Key West, where I witnessed the harrowing sight of Cuban immigrants drifting on makeshift rafts and tubes, risking their lives in search of freedom. This sculpture features a tube, stained and surrounded by murky water, symbolizing the prolonged struggle and desperation of those who float for days in perilous conditions. A man’s hand clutches a woman’s arm, evoking complex questions: Is he drowning? Is he trying to pull her to safety? Are they united in their plight, or is this a moment of desperation? The title, intriguing and enigmatic, is a phone number. It prompts contemplation: Is she offering him her number, or is he providing his in case they don’t survive the journey? This ambiguity adds depth to their connection, suggesting both hope and uncertainty. Notably, the sculpture lacks facial features, embodying anonymity. This choice represents all immigrants, highlighting their collective struggle and the universal yearning for a better life.

Through my sculpture “EN 2-1278,” I aim to evoke empathy and reflection on the human experience, reminding us of the courage and resilience of those who seek a new beginning.

After this piece, I added a face to the body, changing the narrative. I also removed the man’s arm emphasizing a loss of connection and suggesting that the woman was now alone to survive. I renamed the sculpture “Survival of Serena.” inviting deeper contemplation.

Growing up, I took dancing lessons, and it was common for young girls at that time to learn the art of dance. This experience fostered a deep connection to themes of identity and the physicality of the human condition. 

One piece, titled “Dress Rehearsal,” particularly resonated with me. It evokes curiosity about the dancer's thoughts and emotions just before stepping on stage. This moment of anticipation, anxiety, and excitement captures the essence of what it means to perform.

The absence of heads in these sculptures adds to their universality, allowing anyone to see themselves in these figures. This anonymity invites viewers to project their own experiences and emotions onto the dancers, emphasizing the shared struggles and triumphs inherent in the pursuit of artistry. Through my exploration, I aim to capture the spirit of resilience that defines dancers, allowing their stories to emerge in new and profound ways.

The 1970s marked the rise of countercultural movements that challenged societal norms surrounding sexuality and morality. These movements fostered a more liberated approach to art, enabling artists to explore taboo subjects without fear of censorship. The feminist movement of the late 1970s also transformed perceptions of self-determination in managing one’s sexuality. Women artists began to reclaim their bodies, challenging the male-dominated narratives that frequently marginalized or objectified female experiences.

For a woman to make it big in the art world in the 1970s, she had to beat the odds. Men, like in every other industry, were at the forefront dominating the art industry, whereas women’s artworks were mostly lost in the shuffle. On top of that, men’s voices were dominating the industry of art criticism. Even when it comes to female subjects, the art that was valued is that which depicts the gaze of male artists. In this sense, even if formally and conceptually different from mine, I have a deep admiration for female artists such as Marina Abramovic, Louise Bourgeois, Yaoi Kusama, Heva Ess, Johan Jonas, Carole Schneemann, Joko Ono, Lynda Benglis, Cindy Sherman, who have been able to put their bodies and their intimacy into play.