Dalton M. Ghetti sculpts art from the pointed ends of graphite pencils. The figures -- some now on display at the Kimura Gallery -- are so small they are almost lost from view without magnification.
He uses a sewing needle and a very fine scraping tool to craft images of everyday objects -- letters, numbers, utensils, furniture or buildings -- in astonishing detail. His work is the antithesis of the notion that bigger is better. The allure of the work is clearly the minute detail.
The fine craftsmanship of his sculptures stems from his work as a carpenter and builder of custom furniture. Born in Brazil, he learned how to sew from his seamstress mother. When he was 9, his parents provided him with metal tools for sculpting. Those early experiences led to a lifetime of creating in three dimensions.
He came to the U.S. in 1985 at age 24, earned an associate's degree in architecture and now works as a carpenter and builder. He is self-taught in the sense that his carved pencils are the result of developing his own methods.
I recently talked with the artist by phone from his workshop in Bridgeport, Connecticut. He told me his interest in minutia, like moss and insects, led to a natural departure from making large forms out of tree trunks and logs to a focus on the smallest of things. The mid-'80s surge of nanotechnology, his knowledge of sculpture and his familiarity with the sewing needle and carpenter's pencil created the conditions in which his unique artistic vision was formed.
He said he only recently resorted to magnification, that the majority of the pieces were sculpted under bright light with the naked eye.
"It's like meditation," he told me, in that he works intensely on them for an hour or two per day. Most have taken months to complete.
We were shocked by the Sept. 11 attacks 13 years ago, and many still harbor emotional scars, but Dalton Ghetti expressed his grief in an extraordinary way. He lived close enough to see the actual affects of the attack and it affected him deeply. He decided to carve small teardrops, 3,000 of them, representing the victims 9-11. It took him 10 years.
He completed his vision of the memorial by assembling the drops into one larger teardrop shape. Each of the 3,000 tears, carved with only a razor blade, is the size of a grain of rice.
In another reference to 9/11, he carved a perfect linear space down the center of the graphite of a carpenter's pencil. The result is a poignant homage in the form of twin graphite columns.
Predictably, not all of the attempts were successful. Anyone who has ever broken a pencil point can attest to the fragility of the medium. In keeping with his attitude toward recycling, he saved all the broken or unsuccessful pieces, mounted them on the heads of pins and arranged them into a "cemetery" of discarded forms.
One of his sculptures consists of a halved pencil. A tiny chain made up of 25 links that he carved from the graphite center connects the top and bottom sections.
The choices of subjects are unpredictable. I found each of the pieces in the Kimura Gallery to be a surprise encounter. One of my favorites is "Shiny Heart," in which the graphite is angled downward and the heart shape polished to reflect light. Its beauty is in the artist's use of minimal shape, material and process.
Friends who admired his work urged him to sell it. He "couldn't stand" hearing it after a while. "People do things differently when they do them for money," he said. Emphasizing how his art comes from his heart, he said he wants to share his work without monetary considerations affecting its integrity.
His commitment to recycling is another essential factor in appreciating his work. He said he never buys a pencil. They are found; many are donated by friends, and he now has boxes full of them. Even the frames in which his work is mounted are made from scraps of wood and glass panes from remodeled homes.
The techniques and materials are more than a gimmick. The works are artifacts of a man's place and time. Putting one's heart into the work means more than just trying hard. Ghetti's work is revelatory and expressive.
Andy Warhol saw art in the Campbell's Soup cans the rest of us walked by on our shopping trips. Picasso noticed a discarded bicycle seat and handlebars and welded them into the head of a bull. Duchamp chose a porcelain urinal and claimed it as sculpture. The Ghetti pencils are part pop, folk and dada. The familiar objects are sensitively selected and he treats each one, whether broom, light bulb or volleyball net, with a craftsman's pride.
Ghetti laughed in agreement at my suggestion that his intent would be compromised by the use of brand-new pencils. Recycling issues aside, it is the funky, pedestrian quality of the used pencil stubs that forms the framework for his artistic statement.
The exhibition in Anchorage combines the challenge of contemporary artistic sensibility, the orderliness of a pristine gallery configuration and the ambience of a neighborhood hardware store. The works invite you in for a closer look, for which magnifying lenses are conveniently provided.
The tiny graphite forms appeal to a wide audience, from schoolchildren to professional artists. Ghetti's work has been widely shown and admired, including a current show in Turkey as well as the one in Alaska. "I get a lot of requests," he said, "but it takes forever to do them."
Don Decker is an Anchorage artist, writer and teacher.
"THE MICRO-VISION OF DALTON GHETTI: GRAPHITE MINIATURES" can be seen at the Kimura Gallery in the Fine Arts Building at the University of Alaska Anchorage through Nov. 14. The gallery is open 10 a.m.-5 p.m. weekdays and 1-3 p.m. on Saturday.