ASU Research E-Magazine: Remolding the Past

ASU artist Randy Schmidt enjoys breathing new life into old architectural relics.

Randy Schmidt has loved old buildings for as long as he can remember. As a boy growing up in Minnesota, he liked nothing more than to explore dusty attics looking for bits and pieces of the past. Years later, Schmidt still is poking around old buildings, but not just to slake his curiosity. He helps restore these objects of his affection.

Schmidt has been a fixture in the ceramics program at Arizona State University for 32 years. A professor of art, he was hired originally to bring a sculptural approach to the discipline and to help build a world-class graduate program. Firmly committed to his academic pursuits, Schmidt also embraces the opportunity to exercise his creativity in the field of architectural restoration.

“The restoration work started almost as an afterthought,” he says.

“An architect asked me to do some work for the Arizona Capitol and one thing led to another.”

That one thing involved replacing some interior molding near the Capitol rotunda in downtown Phoenix. The architect was pleased with Schmidt’s work and asked if he could do more.

“He asked me if I was sure that I could do the work. I told him, ‘I’m an artist. I can do anything!” Schmidt recalls, admitting to being only a little facetious in his reply. “I told the guy, ‘Tell you what, let me do it, and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay me. If it’s right, I’ll sell it to you and we’ll go from there.”

The Capitol project turned into an enormous job, lasting more than a year. But Schmidt discovered a new outlet for his skills as a sculptor and potter. Now, two decades later, he continues to breath new life into relics of the past.

“Simply put, I get called in when the trades can’t or won’t do something,” he explains. “There’s a lot involved. It’s almost staggering. Sometimes you think the work will never get done. But you do the work one step at a time, one piece at a time.”

Schmidt’s studio is tucked away on the edge of ASU’s Tempe campus, amid a warren of workspaces, kilns, and the artistic residue of his colleagues. It is filled from floor to ceiling with evidence of his restoration efforts.

A large table dominates the room’s center. The table holds a crowded jumble of molds, pediments, and assorted project remnants. Many of those projects involve some of the Phoenix area’s most historic buildings.

A large collection of old books and catalogues used by tradesmen long ago also sits in plain site. Some are so worn and fragile they come apart in Schmidt’s grasp as he carefully pages through them.

“I look for old books that people would have used in the past. I read about how they did things and what materials they used. Whenever possible, I’ll try to use the original material,” Schmidt says.

The grandson of a painting contractor and son of a high school shop teacher, Schmidt also has construction experience of his own. He is proud to carry on the family tradition. And he speaks with obvious affection for the craftsmen who came before him.

“Carpenters and stone masons were trained in classic architecture,” he explains. “They knew what they were doing. The fact that old buildings survive is a real testimonial to their work.”

Tools of the Trade
Artists and sculptors have used the potter’s wheel for almost 4,000 years. They use the wheel to “throw” pots. They also hand build ceramic pieces.

“Actually, its all hand building,” says Schmidt, settling his imposing frame behind the wheel.

Schmidt is a master of both forms. His experienced hands knowingly coax the spinning clay.

He begins with a large, flat square that was draped over an old skylight for support. On this he will create a base and finished edges. When the wheel stops, Schmidt stands, heaves the mass to shoulder height, skylight and all. He flips it over, uncovering the form of a large platter.

The platter is plain and unremarkable. But soon he will embellish it with pattern, color, and glaze. The final result is an eye-catching piece, not at all something from the past. It is totally new. It is Schmidt’s alone.

“An artist’s research is his or her creative work. But it is difficult to explain my work sometimes,” says Schmidt, as he pauses to reflect. “I suppose that my work has been kind of an extension of my life. It’s a way of dealing with issues in the world. It’s about my personal experiences.”

Schmidt’s restoration work is never far away. Bits and pieces often turn up in his own art.

“A lot of what I was doing at the state Capitol was making molds of existing ornamentation. We’re talking about months and months working with these things,” he says. “When I was done, and the missing pieces were installed, those designs were still in my brain. So when I started working again in ceramics, some of those designs reappeared in my work.” Schmidt relies heavily on his knowledge of the old ways, but he frequently turns to modern materials and techniques for his restoration work. He needed both old and new to remanufacture a decorative ceiling molding for ASU’s recently restored Old Main.

“The original molding was made of tin, but nobody had this thing anymore. I took a piece of the original and made a rubber mold,” he says. He then created a plaster mold to produce identical replicas made of fiber-reinforced gypsum.

“I really overbuilt them, but I have to know that when I walk away my work is not going to fail,” Schmidt adds. “I also like to think that if I do a good job, you’ll never know what I did.”

During the Old Main restoration, Schmidt filled another role he has come to relish. When the project began, the architectural firm in charge they found fairly weak documentation for the building. There were few old photographs, no original drawings, and little if any interior detail. The architects decided it was essential to hire a conservationist to research the project. They were delighted to find that the best candidate for the job already worked on campus.

“Randy very carefully scraped paint and took samples and documented for us what the building was like originally,” says architect Paul Westlake. Schmidt found himself rummaging through yet another dusty attic. He proudly displays some of the original roofing shingles, his most prized find from the project.

The ASU artist regards himself as something of a detective when it comes to the conservation work. Thanks to his sleuthing, ASU’s Old Main was given back a good measure of its original character and identity.—Melody Cavanary