Sculpting Success

By Paula Lauer. Chicago Tribune. Oct. 17, 1993

Trying to package sculptor Joseph A. Burlini into a concise "here's what this story is all about" paragraph or two is like trying to neatly summarize the rules of cricket.

It's tempting to jump right in and note that while he's an industrial-designer-turned-sculptor who made a name for himself in the art world by building "kinetic do-nothing machines," nowadays he's also known in corporate circles for his one-of-a-kind trophies and commemorative pieces.

Of course that in itself isn't too exciting until we mention some of his clients: the U.S. Air Force, McDonald's Corp., Advertising Age and Crain's Chicago Business, the National Restaurant Association, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Brown's Chicken, Walt Disney Studios . . .

But then that gets cumbersome because the list, even in fine print, goes on for several pages, and we haven't even touched on what a kinetic do-nothing machine is.

So then we turn to what Burlini calls his "fine art." Abstract and figurative sculptures in bronze, gold, silver, pewter and plexiglass that are created for no commercial reason, but rather for art's sake. Or in the case of specific commissions, Michael Jordan's sake, William Shatner's sake, Studs Terkel's sake, Paul Harvey's sake, even the Virgin Mary's sake.

But then it seems like it might be more logical to start with the corporate and public commissions people walk by every day.

Burlini's sculptures are found both inside and outside the Amoco Oil Co.'s world headquarters in Chicago, at the Chicago Botanic Gardens, at the Rosemont Expo Center, on the grounds of Ravinia, in downtown Arlington Heights, in Rosemont's community park and throughout the Arlington Heights library, to name a few locations in this area. You'll also find his sculptures in White Plains, N.Y.; Atlanta; St. Louis; Boston; Miami; Akron, Ohio; Toronto; and London. Ask Burlini for some sort of an orderly list, though, and he just shrugs modestly.

"I tell people my sculptures are everywhere," the soft-spoken artist said with a grin, "like pigeon droppings."

Operating out of a modest one-room studio/office in Arlington Heights where he is surrounded by prototypes, scaled-down models and framed photographs of his work, Burlini, 55, has spent the past 27 years stretching the boundaries of what most folks perceive a "professional sculptor" to be.

The one constant throughout Burlini's seemingly jumbled history is the satisfaction he has found in expressing himself through his work, whether it's a commemorative medallion for the old Comiskey Park, a fighter pilot award for the U.S. Air Force or an abstract piece for someone's office, yard or front hall. Indeed, from the antique toys and model planes scattered throughout his studio, to his warm chuckle, which punctuates most conversations, to the trademark smiley face in his signature, it's apparent Joe Burlini is a guy who enjoys what he does.

So maybe the best place to start is simply at the beginning.

Originally from Morton Grove, Burlini's artistic roots originate in Lucca, Italy, where both his great-grandfather and grandfather were sculptors. Burlini's father, Alfred, who was born in the U.S. but lived in Italy until he was 19, won several awards for his bronze sculptures, although he didn't pursue his art seriously until after he retired at the age of 57.

Burlini's mother, Frances, and his father, who still live in Morton Grove, said they recognized talent in both their sons early on (Burlini's younger brother, Alfred, is a graphic designer).

"It's in the genes, as they say," Frances Burlini explained. "It's something that is there that can't be suppressed-you have to produce and create."

Like his father, Joe Burlini didn't get into sculpture "seriously" right away. A product of Catholic schools, Burlini was encouraged by his drafting teacher to attend the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

After receiving a degree in industrial design from the Art Institute in 1960 (he won the prestigious Palma-Knapp scholarship for design his senior year), he spent six years designing toys and other products for Sears Roebuck and Co.

While he was at Sears, Burlini bought himself a blowtorch and began experimenting with sculpture. He also met Sue, his wife of 28 years. (They have three children: Jennifer, 25, of Chicago; Christopher, 23, of Arlington Heights; and Melissa, 20, a junior at Illinois State University.)

"We were married less than 18 months when he said to me, `I'm going to quit my industrial design job and go on my own as a fine artist; what do you think?' " Sue Burlini recalled with a laugh.

Her answer? "Do it."

Starting out in his parents' garage, Burlini supplemented his income with freelance design work and by teaching sculpture at Illinois Institute of Technology part time.

"It was all fine art back then," Sue pointed out, "and he was a very, very happy person-he totally changed. It was like it was really what he always wanted to do."

Burlini estimates that between the late 1960s and the mid-1980s, what he terms his "gallery years," he went through about 15 phases, "like Picasso periods," including a 15-year "machine phase," and a series of polished bronze pieces called the "Satin and Smoke" collection (one of which is on the grounds of Ravinia).

While Burlini is quick to point out he has "always done a lot of different things . . . I've gone through so many different styles, most people don't even know that it's me," he added that if he was ever known for a "look," it was during the 15-year span when he made kinetic do-nothing machines.

Made up of wheels and rods and rudders and wings and tinkling, rotating thingamajigs, with titles like "Flower Machine," "Rainbow Machine," "Circus Wagon" and "Flying Go Nowhere Machine," Burlini's machines were delightful and universally appealing. Exposure at art fairs, galleries and a 4,000-square-foot, one-man "Rockets to Rainbows" show at the Museum of Science and Industry in 1977 led to commissions from private collectors and corporations, including Borg-Warner, Ringling Brothers and Amoco.

Frank Carioti, former art curator for Amoco and someone who has known Burlini for more than 30 years, said the first thing he noticed about Burlini's work was its "sparkle."

"There was always this feeling of whimsy and joy in his things that kept me asking the question, `Who is Joe Burlini? Who is this man?' " Carioti said of his early introduction to Burlini's work.

By 1985, Burlini found the physical demands of his art were beginning to take a toll-fabricating not only takes a lot of energy, but fumes and particles from grinding and polishing are hard on the lungs. And he realized he enjoyed designing the pieces more than he enjoyed actually building them. So he began shifting his focus more to design, contracting out some of the fabrication and foundry work.

"And about that time I realized there was this tremendous market out there for unique awards, and companies didn't know where to go for that kind of thing," Burlini recalled.

"There's a nice crossover (from fine art to custom awards), because people want to give awards, but they're kind of getting away from the traditional bowling type awards with the little columns and the gold figure on top," he said.

Whether for a single award or a series of pewter medallions, Burlini said he uses interviews, annual reports and painstaking research into an organization's history to create the final design.

"There's a lot of interplay with (the client)," he explained. "Sometimes there's a panel that you have to convince that what you're doing is an interesting direction for their company. That's probably the most difficult, whenever you have to deal with a number of different backgrounds and opinions . . . and (then) trying to come up with an award that they all agree is going to symbolize their feeling and the company. That's really a tricky thing. But it's a real nice challenge. I like that."

So does Ray Niro of Niro, Scavone, Haller and Niro, a Chicago-based law firm specializing in patents and trademarks. Niro has commissioned nine Burlini sculptures that incorporate the firm's history, various cases and the history of invention.

"I think one of the most impressive things is his ability to custom make it so it has meaning to you," Niro said. "We're patent attorneys representing inventors, so it's almost like an honor for some of the inventors to come in and look at images of their patents up there right in a piece of art."

Indeed, Carioti, who noted that Burlini's trademark "whimsy and joy" is still apparent in his work, pointed to Burlini's versatility as a major appeal now.

"This man can move from the commercial to the aesthetic faster than anyone I have ever known, and with more strength and intelligence than anyone I have ever known," Carioti said. "He can work in either direction. . . . He doesn't have to compromise his fine art. A lot of fine artists absolutely cannot do it. If anybody tells them what to do, they freeze."

"I do a lot of things," Burlini said. "I like to say I don't turn down jobs. Chicago Magazine called me up and asked me to do the Hot Dog of the Year Award; I said great, and I came up with this," he said hefting a gleaming silver and gold hot dog with the works.

While there are some who might consider Burlini's commercial efforts a sellout, Tom Scarff, a fine arts sculptor in Chicago, disagrees. "People who have nice cushy jobs in universities can talk that way," he said. "People who have to send their kids through college and raise a family and do it making their art, they're to be commended. That's what Joe's done for 30 years. I call it survival, and as long as he puts his humor and wit into it, it's an art piece."

Norm Larsen, a salesman with Unlimited Printing and Systems in Arlington Heights, a printing, promotion and specialty item brokerage firm, calls on Burlini's talents whenever he needs a custom award.

"The whole idea was to give (the customer) a custom award that's almost like a piece of artwork," Larsen said, "and it has just been received so well. . . . It's gotten so that now, when (a customer has) a new awards program, the first thing he says is, `Hey, Norm, can you get Joe in here?' And it just works out so well, because I can bring Joe in and he always does research on the company, so we'll be in a meeting and he'll start talking about the direction of the company and these people just go, `Whoa! Somebody came in prepared!'

"It's one thing to be a great artist," Larsen added. "It's another thing to be a great artist but also be a good enough businessman to understand delivery and understand quality. Joe understands both sides; that's what makes him unique to work with."

Ralph Gabriel, marketing and product manager for R.S. Owens Co., a 55-year-old award and recognition company in Chicago whose most notable designs include the Oscars, Emmys and MTV Music Awards, agrees. Gabriel recently hooked up with Burlini to create some new lines he feels "are going to be really new and different to the business. I feel that the things we're working on will really set the industry on a new course down the road," he said.

But when time permits, Burlini said he still enjoys losing himself in creating a sculpture. His latest medium of choice is plexiglass.

Using laser technology and light, Burlini creates dazzling, multicolor designs that make the otherwise clear sculptures glimmer like fine crystal. His most recent piece, a 13-by-7-foot series of shimmering, abstract-patterned panels, was installed earlier this month at the Bank of Niles.

He also carves in plexiglass, both abstract and representational images. One of his more divinely inspired sculptures is "Mary, Queen of Peace," a 12-foot shrine behind St. Margaret Mary Catholic Church in Algonquin.

An image of the Virgin Mary floating above clouds, the plexiglass carving is edge-lit in white neon. Burlini said it's a representation of how she first appeared with a plea for peace in 1981 to six children in Medjugorje, a small mountain village in the former Yugoslavia.

With his success in the business world and the growing demand for custom art and awards, Burlini said he sometimes feels more like a designer and coordinator than a fine artist.

"When I work for a client," he said, "there are specific things that I have to incorporate that relates to what they're doing, or the purpose behind it, so that really gets away from being fine art, because it's done for a reason. Fine art is done for no reason . . .

"This could be a piece of fine art," he said pointing to an acrylic ice sculpture trophy for the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race on his desk, "but if I put IAMS Dog Food on it, then it's no longer a piece of fine art, then it's an award, it's commercial."

While Burlini avoids any attempt to define his success, he does talk about a work discipline that includes "office hours" from 9 until 6, a lot of Saturdays and some evenings. And he estimates he'll spend at least 20 percent of his time in search of new projects.

Noted John Adduci, long-time friend and a Chicago-based sculpture fabricator who builds all of Burlini's large metal pieces, "Joe's a survivor. ... He's making a living as an artist. ... He's always working at it, and I think that says a lot about his intellect and his energy about making art."