Adela Akers
Silver Pyramid, 1999, 32 x 82 inches, ©Adela Akers.

The interview was conducted by Ilana Stanger of TheArtBiz.com.

You originally trained as a pharmacist in Cuba. How did you end up in art school in the states?

After I finished college I started working in a biochemistry lab. I realized I had other interests, so I kept working but I also kept searching. I lived in Havana and I met a group of artists and joined their meetings. I learned more and more about art and started taking courses in design and in English. I was interested in design--some way to get a job and make a living--but the art schools in Cuba were very conventional. I met a friend of a friend who lived in Chicago and she said ‘Come and take a look at the Art Institute.’ So I went and I applied and enrolled and took basic courses. I wanted to be in dress design or ceramics. Weaving was one of the electives for dress design, and when I realized that was what I wanted to do I transferred to the Cranbook Academy of Art in Michigan. Cranbook was perfect--isolated and small. I really developed my ideas and learned technique, though the school was more idea orientated than technical.

I came back to Chicago and I started working on my own and teaching part-time. From there I went to North Carolina to the Penland School of Crafts. I was hired for a summer workshop, and stayed two years as an Artist in Residence. It was a good place; it gave me time to develop my work. To make extra money I’d do lectures and workshops, and it gave me a center. Also, a lot of artists came through from different parts of the country and from different media, so I was exposed to a lot of art. Toshiko Takaezu came; I really admired her ceramics and went to live with her in New Jersey. For two years I lived in Clinton and taught at the art center there and in New York--my life seemed to be in sets of two years. And then someone told me about the Tyler job. I’d never heard of Tyler because I was pretty ignorant about art education, but I called them and applied and they gave me the job. And I stayed there for 23 years.

But you know the journey from pharmacy to weaving is not so strange. I’m very much involved in mathematics. My interest into science took me into weaving--it’s very logical and methodical, at least the way I do it. To put myself through art school I worked for a biochemist in Chicago and it taught me that science and art are similar--neither has a time limit, and both require absolute dedication.

Does Cuba enter your work?

No. All my art training was in this country, and I don’t have anyone left there. My home to go to is Spain--everyone is there. What feeds my work are textile-based cultures: African or South American. That’s where my sources come from. I’m very aware of contemporary art, and especially architecture because my work is so structurally conceived. How I see a building relates a lot to how I weave.

What was the Fiber Art scene like in the early 60s, when you first entered it? How has it changed over the years?

It has changed a lot. When I first started there were no books. My best source was a French book on pre-Colombian art. It was a reference book so I’d go to the public library to study it every day after class. As for artists, there was only Lenore Tawney--she’s 90 now and still working. She was my first inspiration; she taught me that it was possible to make art with these materials.

What do you see as the future of fiber arts?

It’s hard to tell. It’s beginning to go backwards a little bit--I see more tendencies toward well-defined, structural ideas. We went through a kind of haywire, chaotic phase when people were turning away from a structured, disciplined practice. But so many people are doing so many things; I feel almost anything you want to do is fine. There was a time when there was a certain style or scale, but now there are miniatures and gigantic works. For a while it was “bigger is better”--I’m glad we’re out of that. It’s much more open now, it has its own identity. For a while fiber was always seen in reference to painting or sculpture but now it’s independent. We’re not all doing the same things--some of us do baskets and some of us are more figurative, but it’s going to keep evolving within its own field. I think also it’s less imitative or referential of other media.

Some people consider fiber a craft rather than an art--where do you stand on that issue?

I don’t it’s think much of a debate anymore. Fiber as a media and an expression has its own place. I never had a problem because I always felt secure I was an artist, and no matter what materials I used it was art. A lot of people do excellent crafts; I’m just not one of them. But I want my work to be well conceived intellectually and physically, so I also have to be a very good craftsman. I have to learn all over every time I change materials.

What different materials have you worked with?

I first started with wools and goat hair--animal fibers--and linen. Linen was always a comfortable starting point just to get a piece going and hold it together. Then I began using wool and jute and sisal [stiff vegetable-fiber] for larger scale works and for faster production-–I was getting anxious about producing large pieces, say 8’ x 20’, that I could do in a reasonable amount of time. Then I moved back to smaller scale and started introducing different techniques. For the last six years I’ve been working with metal and horsehair, weaving very narrow strips for flexibility and deeper dimension. Although the pieces are flat there’s a movement in the way they fit together that provides more of a sense of scope and space.

By teaching I learned a lot about different materials--that’s what happens when you teach because you always have to present new techniques. The metal I use is from the tops of wine bottles. I live in wine country now so it makes sense.

How did you build your career?

Teaching was the main source of my income for 23 years, but I’ve been at points where I thought, ‘What am I going to do?’ and then I’d sell a piece or get a commission or get a grant. I was lucky, and I knew I wanted to do this so I made it work. I was very disciplined about showing my work. I entered all kinds of jury shows and I would get an award and some recognition and a show here and there. I never depended much on selling my work in a show, but I felt it was important to show to build up my name and reputation. Then eventually I started getting invited to be in shows.

I was selective about where I showed, but I felt it was important to get my work out. Sometimes people expect to get discovered in their studio, and I knew that would not work. In Chicago I knew a lot of interior designers, so that was one way to support myself--pillows or hangings and rugs. In the 80s a lot of corporations wanted big weavings, so I did quite a bit of that. I liked commissions because they gave me a goal and limitations--it always worked well for me, and it was extra money.

You taught for years at Tyler in Philadelphia. What lessons did you try to teach your students?

Mostly a sense of commitment and discipline because that’s what made me do it and gave me some success. I don’t think of myself as a huge success, but I stayed with my work and I have people who like it and buy it. I know some technique, but what I can really teach is emotionally in terms of commitment. I always took my work seriously. Sometimes I’m happy with it and sometimes not, but in general I love what I do, and I believe that making a commitment to what you do is the best you can do.

I was born in Spain. My parents lost everything in the Civil War and then they went to Cuba and lost everything there. I feel very strongly that you can always start all over again. Sometimes students would come to me concerned about changing majors or even careers. I’d say, ‘You can always change.’ Americans have a tendency to see change as failure. I see it as just growing up.

This article was originally created for TheArtBiz.com. It appears on NYFA Interactive courtesy of the Abigail Rebecca Cohen Library.