Napa artist Gordon Huether: Heart, soul, entrepreneurship

On this morning, Gordon Huether, 63, is wearing a leather vest and his signature turned-around black cap.

The ground-level conference room in his 15,000-square-foot Napa studio is flooded with autumn sunlight. Two walls are covered with poster-sized color photographs of a sampling of his art installations. High shelves hold small-scale models of many others, some of which are proposed projects that were never funded and executed.

Since he founded his studio in 1987 and was awarded his first public art commission in 1989, Huether has focused not only on making public art objects of wonder and delight, but also on ideas and storytelling.

“We are an S corporation, and I am the sole shareholder,” the artist said. “If I had to do everything myself, though, I’d get one or two projects done a year, and I’m more into 20 or 30. In order to do that, I have to surround myself with people who are smarter than I am in different areas.”

Huether’s operation includes two project managers, an accounting department, marketing and business development staff, fabrication people, structural engineers, lighting consultants, digital designers, and his wife, Darcy, who uses the title “director.”

“I’ve been through three recessions in 25 or 30 years,” Huether said. “In one of those I went from having 45 employees to eight overnight. What I learned then was that I got more done with fewer people. I would say that for each person under roof now, there are two contracted out. Before the pandemic, we were tracking that way, and COVID accelerated it for us. It was another case of a catastrophe that turned out to be a good thing.”

In fact, Huether said his business did not decline during the pandemic. He created art installations for the $4.8 billion terminal redevelopment of Salt Lake City International Airport and, more recently, won a bid in Oklahoma to produce “Pathway to Hope,” a memorial tribute to the May 1921 Tulsa Massacre in which a mob of white residents attacked black residents and destroyed their homes and businesses.

Huether was born of German immigrant parents who eventually moved to northern California from Rochester, New York. He remembers being in a restaurant with his mother and grandmother when he was about 6 years old making little drawings and selling them off the table for five cents.

“I guess I always had that entrepreneurial side,” he said. “I believed I had the heart and soul of an artist, but I never really thought about galleries, that didn’t appeal to me.”

His public art interest may have been kindled by his father, who at one point worked as a window display designer for prominent department stores in Napa, Petaluma and Santa Rosa.

“To keep me off the streets — I was about 17 — he asked me to help him. I would pull staples out of frames or undress and dress mannequins,” Huether said. “He’d give me eight or nine prune crates and task me to arrange them in the window and take Polaroids. The scene had to make sense no matter what the camera angle. From him I learned about composition and how to tell a story.”

Huether said that in the first half of his career, he lacked confidence. But he believed he could make it up with hard work.

“All the projects we do are competitively won,” he said. “To use a baseball analogy, the more you swing, the more you hit, also the more times you strike out. So the reason we have such a measure of success is that we are so good at losing.”

In the pre-internet years, Huether hustled business with hand-made catalogs and post card mailers, while lecturing at lunch-and-learns, and speaking to meetings of young architects.

“Then I discovered this thing called public art, where a university or some other place would post that they had X amount of dollars for an artist to create something. At first, I didn’t even have slides to send, so I’d do a drawing with a little scale man take a picture of it and submit,” he said.

Huether said it’s easier to find public opportunities but they are harder to win.

“A $200,000 project 20 years ago would have 50 artists competing for it, and today there will be 300. If you become a finalist, you then need thousands of dollars to continue — with all the renderings, models, pages of words, and sometimes travel to the site. In a competition we are currently involved with, six of the seven finalists will have spent all that money and lose,” he said.

Art projects commissioned in the private sector are more elusive, but Heuther prefers its more collaborative process. He points to the six project photos on the wall and said he had to compete for five of them.

“We have an interview, we negotiate, we figure out what the budget is, we have a give and take of ideas. An airport in Raleigh, North Carolina, is different from a synagogue in Napa or a hospital in Berkeley; each has its own architecture or landscape parameters, its own group of stakeholders, people who will view it and use it every day. I let all those components help me arrive at what the story of the installation wants to be,” he said.

Huether notes that there is a huge benefit for the development community to incorporate art into their projects because they operate in a very competitive environment. “It’s all about who’s got the coolest landscaping, the most interesting architecture, the most bad-ass piece of art out front. All these extra amenities can potentially attract more tenants or increase the price per square foot they can ask for.”

Darcy Huether said that one of their clients requested a rendering of the art Gordon designed for them even before the building was built so they could put it on the cover of their brochure.

Percent for art

Public art is art that the general public can see, access, experience, and doesn’t have to pay admission to see.

Its presence in public places is often driven by municipalities having percent-for-art ordinances. These require construction projects over a certain amount to spend 0.5% to 2% (varies by municipality) of their construction budget on public art. Instead of incorporating the art into their building or project themselves, the developer has the option to write a check to the municipality, called an “in lieu fee,” that they turn over to the designated department or public art commission, if there is one, to accumulate and administer.

This was the case for a municipality in Surprise, Arizona, that took monies collected from the development community in such fees and opened up a competition for art at the entrance to their baseball stadium. Gordon Heuther Studios is a finalist in that competition.

Heuther believes these “percent-for-art” ordinances are good news for artists interested in working in the public realm. Art installations can increase a location’s use, add a humanizing element, be a place for exploration, a draw for tourists, and provide employment for all manner of artisans and artists.

A percent-for-art requirement can be a big win for the businesses as well. In a commission for Stanly Ranch in Napa, a luxury resort in the Auberge Resort hotel portfolio, Huether installed a 60- by 40- by 20-foot corten steel “Infinity” sculpture on the highest point of the 700-acre site. It immediately created a unique sense of place.

“No matter where you are on the property, you see the sculpture in a different way. There is a real ‘there’ there,” said Huether. “Visitors say they feel a sense of peace and calm on the hill. They have wine tastings up there, yoga classes, weddings. I don’t know that Auberge would have commissioned this artwork if there wasn’t an ordinance driving them, but now, they’d do it over again even if there were no ordinance. It was a hard core business benefit for them.”

An art installation can be practical as well as engaging, which Huether proved with his “Tarantula and Poppy Jasper” in Morgan Hill. As often happens when committees, commissions, and city councils are involved, there was a split vote, but in the end, his idea was a smash hit.

The artist was inspired by two local phenomena—the annual tarantula migration (and festival) in the city and the mineral, poppy jasper, which is ubiquitous to the area. A red-legged spider with a body made of vintage headlights crawls up the side of the 273-space parking structure, marking the entrance and generating smiles. The illuminated wall facing the Third Street Shopping Plaza features the vibrant reds, oranges and yellows of the local gemstone that is said to have healing properties…like an antidote to spider bites.

Public art as workhorse

While his work can be humorous or whimsical, Huether has taken on tough topics too. Those who commission public art “expect it to do everything except make coffee,” Huether said. “But it is a workhorse and can carry a lot.”

Often he has been asked to do memorials, like his 911 sculpture in downtown Napa or “Luminaria” in Albuquerque, a memorial to victims of gun violence. The latter work combines into a single poetic statement a New Mexico tradition, the bright colors and shapes of desert barrel cactus, and the imagery of teddy bears and flowers that pop up spontaneously on the site of a tragedy.

“It’s not going to solve gun violence or heal all those broken hearts, but it is one small thing I can do as an artist.”

His winning entry for the Oklahoma project was drawn from events of May in 1921, when a mob of white residents attacked black residents and destroyed the homes and businesses of the Greenwood District—an area known as “Black Wall Street.” The Pathway to Hope Public Art Trail will symbolically reconnect the neighborhood bisected by I-244 during Tulsa’s urban renewal (what some locals called “urban removal”). This Public Art Trail, a total of four walls, will add artwork to the underpasses of the Interstate 244, acknowledging and honoring area’s vibrant history.

To document that history and cultural memory, Huether is collaborating with African American visual anthropologist Marlin Hall on the Pathway to Hope project. “Our intent is to educate and inspire; our hope is to encourage present-day healing of past wounds. If you ask if art can be used for reconciliation, yes, I believe that. Across the board.”


Jennie Orvino is a grant writer and freelance journalist whose articles have appeared in North Bay Business Journal, NorthBay Biz and Diablo magazine. Her book of poems, memoir and personal essays is Poetry, Politics and Passion. She blogs at jennieorvino.com and reach her at jennieo@sonic.net.

Editor’s Note: An earlier version of the story incorrectly reported the cost of the Salt Lake City International Airport project. It was $4.8 billion.

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