Sculpture: Balancing Act

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The opening reception at Düsseldorf's glossy new Kunsthalle was mobbed by Ruhr Valley heiresses, bearded intellectuals, and art dealers from all over Europe. In the crush, nearly everyone failed to recognize the artist, Günter Haese, 43, a slender, shy man with an assembly-line haircut and an inexpensive suit. No one, however, could ignore the 27 works on display. Built of watch springs, mesh, tiny cogs and spirals, the small, precisely balanced wire constructions fluttered and danced at the slightest breath. Bearing cryptic names, such as Hermit, Flirt and L'état c'est moi, they represented virtually all of Haese's sculptural output.

In the seven years since he first began soldering his elfin evocations of the machine age, Günter Haese has become one of West Germany's best-known artists. Critics rave about his "artistic equilibrium," trace his lineage to Paul Klee, and dub him "the juggler of modern art." He was given a one-man show at Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art in 1964, helped represent West Germany at the 1966 Venice Biennale. Last month his open cube of wire-works and quivering copper balls, Olymp, became one of the four purchase awards winners at the Guggenheim's international exhibition of sculpture in New York.

Haese's rise to fame is all the more surprising because he so sedulously refuses to court it. The son of a Kiel mechanical engineer, he moved to Düsseldorf to study at its prestigious art school. While there, he immersed himself in Zen Buddhism, discovered his modus operandi during a meditation in 1960 when his watch shattered into pieces. Today he, his wife, his nine-year-old son and their uncaged parakeet live in a Düsseldorf public housing project. Haese insists on keeping the apartment so clean that the entire family removes its shoes before entering. Despite many tempting offers, Haese sells only enough works to support himself, asks: "Why should I have a lot of money? What would I do with it? Pay high taxes? We are happy this way." He even spurns offers from friends to sample the delights of caviar or champagne. "It would-only disturb our equilibrium," explains the juggler of modern art.