Joe Norman - Fear/Love

Hi everyone, I’m Joe Norman. I’ve been a full-time sculptor since 2009. My studio is about an hour North of here in Loveland. Mostly I work on site-specific, outdoor sculpture projects that involve cities, private individuals, and business. This one in front of you is made of painted and distressed steel, and shows the word “fear” when you look from one angle, and the word “love”  when seen from another. 

Over the past several years, I’ve been drawn to sculpting large words. Originally, I was interested in using them as a way to demonstrate a transition from one idea to another. “Doubt” transforming into “Faith,” for example. I found that a more appeal interpretation is that these concepts can exist together and are not mutually exclusive. We can all be fearful and loving at the same time; I don’t believe one negates the other.

This series of sculptures has gotten a variety of reactions over the years, and I’d like to share a few of them with you. 

“The words ‘fear’ and ‘love’ are too politically charged.” That was from a public art collection in Minnesota. 

“No city in the country will want a sculpte with the word ‘fear’ in it.” That was from a landscape architect from a major Southern US city. 

And my personal favorite, “there’s no way in hell we’re putting that near our building.” That was from a church in Northern Colorado. I figure I’m doing something right if I can get clergy to use the phrase “there’s no way in hell.”

But my intent only goes so far when my work is in public spaces like this field. Maybe these sculptures can be somewhat of a mirror; they can bring to them what they’re already thinking about feeling. In that case, I’m really interested in hearing those stories.

If you’d like to see more of my work or get in touch, please visit www.joenormansculpture.com or drop me a line and joe@joenormansculpture.com.

The following poem was inspired by this sculpture:
Cannon Parkby Emily Rodgers-Ramos

Sofie runs to the cannon, the clunky
loveable cannon, harmless as an old
racist.  She is dying to prove that
six year olds can climb cannons unassisted.

Her pink figure scales wheel and neck and breech.
She raises her arms in victory as she sits over the place
where gunpowder and wadding were rammed,
the cannonball positioned,
the fuse lit.

She scoots along the bore, over fragmentation grenades,
tomahawk cruise missiles, ICBM testing, nerve agents,
the Mother of All Bombs, a wall proposed to include a base of
nuclear waste.

She stands and balances on the muzzle and says
Catch me.