I met Derek Haffar at the Museum of Arts and Design during one of his Artist Studio hours last year. He was working on reconfigured, fragmented or broken castings of people. I walked in and convinced him to mask me.
Much of his work is ephemeral, expressly designed to be obliterated by wind, rain, snow or heat. Other structures, like his recent Culvert Cairn, a private commission in Marin County, will likely be around as long as Stonehenge.
Certainly, there's a crumbling here, a lost limb there, and plenty of poems that remind us of the folly of seeking immortality through hard materials. But I hadn't thought of sculpture as quite so liquid a pleasure before watching Rivers and Tides.
I've been to New York's outdoor art museum before -- but never on such a perfect autumn day without a cloud, under a sunny cerulean sky with brushstrokes of red, yellow and crimson painted on the surrounding trees.