<strong>Candida</strong> and Rebecca <strong>Smith</strong> making a plaster horse, Bolton Landing, ca. 1961. Photograph by David <strong>Smith</strong>.
the points <strong>of</strong> power candida smith Where do you find the points <strong>of</strong> power? A child knows; an artist with the soul <strong>of</strong> a poet knows. When I was a child in the Adirondack Mountains, all the girls loved horses. One <strong>of</strong> my friends asked my father to show her how to draw a horse. He said, “No.” He never taught my sister or me how to draw or paint representationally. It limited the imagination. But my friend insisted until he could no longer refuse. He said, “You begin with the point <strong>of</strong> power.” The work in this exhibition appears to be my father’s most representational, but look some more. The artist, my father, David <strong>Smith</strong>, kept his distance. He gave his “models” no direction. The women here have no more concern for the artist or his view <strong>of</strong> them than would a horse or a leopard, and thus they have the same animal power and unconscious sensuality. They ask to be seen as something other than “figures.” Much <strong>of</strong> this work was created long after the photographs, in solitude, from my father’s point <strong>of</strong> power—his artistic identity—in the majestic mountaintop setting <strong>of</strong> his house and studio. When I was six years old and my sister seven, we asked our father for a horse. He said, “Of course, but you must first study and make a horse to scale.” We drew the bones, muscle groups (or we gave it our best effort), and learned where the movement came from; where the power was. He made an armature out <strong>of</strong> welded steel; we added muscles, flesh, and skin with plaster <strong>of</strong> Paris, old sheets, and burlap bags. Then, and only then, were we given Jo-Jo, our magnificent horse. 21