Photographer Chad Unger – Talent James Cherry – Interview by Francesca Fusetti
Most of the people in your family are drawn to manual labour. From your grandfather who was a tinkerer, to your contractor dad, who also makes airplane models by hand, to your painter brother. Do you think creativity is in your blood? What did you learn from the hands of your loved ones?
Yeah, it’s hard not to see a pattern. I think what I inherited isn’t just ‘creativity’ in a romantic sense, but a kind of trust in working things out with my hands; figuring through making. My grandfather tinkered, my dad builds, my brother paints. They all treat materials like something you can have a conversation with. I think I learnt that process is the point, and that intuition is something I earn physically, not just intellectually.
You’re a sculptor. Touch is such an important sense to you. Touching means manipulating and shaping the materials according to your will, defying the laws and essential use of these materials. What’s your favourite kind of texture you like to give to your works, and why?
I don’t think about texture as an expressive choice so much as a consequence of what I want the light to do. I don’t really think of it as my favourite texture, at this point it’s the only texture for me, within my current material language. All of my lamps resolve into a smooth, matte finish because if I want the light to diffuse softly, warmly, and feel inviting, the surface has to support that. So the texture ends up being matte, smooth, and slightly translucent by necessity.
Some of your lighting projects have a similar opaque feeling, reminding me, personally, of stretched skin, giving a homely and soft aura. Do you think that through your lighting you want to create this feeling of softness and protection?
People always make that skin comment, but I never really relate to it. I don’t choose or make these materials to reference the body, they’re simply the best tone and texture, in my opinion, to diffuse light. That’s really it. But I do view the lamps as exercises in making symbols of my own psyche physical. So, maybe any resemblance is just a subconscious attraction. Because of that, the softness people read isn’t something I’m trying to symbolise, it’s a byproduct of making a light that feels easy to be around. Lamps set the tone for a room, and I want that tone to be calm and liveable, something people, including myself, can settle into.
What’s the thought process behind mixing different materials together? What kind of connection, whether oxymoronic or not, do you want to create between those different materials?
I have a lot of small rules for myself in the studio, and one I’ve kept since college is to never use more than three visible materials in a piece. Two is ideal anything beyond three starts to feel distracting. Limiting the palette lets the focus return to the shape and the quality of the light itself, so the central idea reads more clearly. Within that constraint, I’m very interested in contrast–both jarring and harmonious. The materials don’t need to blend seamlessly; they can push against each other. But keeping the number limited allows that tension to feel intentional, so the piece still resolves as a single, legible gesture rather than a collection of parts.
You and your brother kept pushing each other to pursue art, what’s something that he did or told you that’s stayed with you?
I’m a twin, he went to RISD and I went to Bard, and there was this moment–freshman or sophomore year–where we were talking about being in crit, and he said, ‘don’t ever listen to the artists in class that you don’t look up to,’ and that really stuck with me. I honestly don’t listen to what people say if I don’t admire what they’re doing. It just doesn’t hold weight for me.
Where do you get ideas for new pieces? Do you have an artist or an art movement you look up to?
I don’t have one movement I look up to. I’m very inspired by my friends. A lot of them aren’t ‘artists’ in the sense that they’re creating publicly, but they’re smart and thoughtful, and we have conversations about love and being alive and hurtling through the solar system. Conversations with the people in my life that I love are what inspires me the most. The pain and joys of monotony, working through grief, or breakups, or sex…I’m just trying to look at the world and pull out some kind of morsel to present in an abstract way. I’ve found a way to do that, that feels honest to me with the lamps. I don’t know if it’ll be lamps forever—probably not—but it’s an outlet where I feel confident making something that’s a direct expression right now.
One of the pieces I was attracted to in your ‘Listening’ exhibition (2024, solo exhibition at Schlomer Haus Gallery in San Francisco) was this sculpture made in driftwood, with the word ‘ACHING’ carved onto it. Within this exhibition you used discarded materials. What’s the process you go through to choose the best materials for that type of work?
That show was mainly made from driftwood I found along the West Coast. When I’m in nature, I’ve always loved collecting rocks and sticks and trash. Part of the fun for me is that I don’t immediately know why I like what I pick up, but the prompt I gave myself for that show was to figure that out. I sat with all of those pieces of driftwood for years trying to figure out why I picked them up out of all the wood on the beach. I still have a bunch I’m sitting with that feel unresolved.
But eventually, with a lot of them, I’d start to recognise the feeling I associated with each piece. Some became really detailed, like carving a hand, and some were quick, like the ‘ACHING’ piece. I’m not sure if that fully answers your question, but that’s probably the closest I can get.
What do you think about when you create a lamp? Do you think about the space where it can be placed, or how it can light up that very space in a particular way?
I think about how the light interacts with the shell it’s contained in. I see every lamp as a vessel for the bulb inside it, and my goal is to let that light come through in the most beautiful way possible while highlighting the form intentionally. The light itself gives you so much control over how the object and form is perceived, it’s one of the only objects that creates its own environment of perception. Most objects change drastically depending on the conditions around them, but a lamp actively shapes how it’s seen. So when I make a lamp, I’m trying to make something that uses that control as fully as possible; something that foregrounds itself through its own light. Where people put my lamps isn’t really something I think about. I trust they’ll find the right place for it.
What’s the most important lesson you’ve gathered from your experience in the artistic field?
1. Follow the rabbit holes all the way; keep pushing the idea you’re hung up on in every direction. If you stay with it, something interesting will always manifest in the end.
2. Make the work you think is missing from the world—it doesn’t matter what field it’s in. If you notice something missing in the conversation, you have to say it.
3. Have friends who inspire you and push you to your best.
4. A little competition is a good thing.
What are your plans for the future? Do you ever want to do collaborations with other artists who have a different approach or medium than yours? If so, who would you like to collaborate with?
I’m at a point where I don’t feel the need to project too far into the future. I just turned 30, and for a long time I was very goal-oriented. I put a lot of pressure on myself to reach certain milestones by now, I stressed myself out a bunch. And I guess it worked, I was able to meet most of them, which I’m grateful for, but it also made me realise how much of my energy was tied up in anticipation. At the moment, I’m more interested in staying where I am and deepening what already exists—refining the work, the process, the way I live. If there’s any long-term aim, it’s simply to find a more sustainable sense of peace. I don’t really think about collaboration within my current practice. It’s a fairly self-contained process, a way of working through my own questions, instincts, humour, and preoccupations. I like seeing the objects that come out of that kind of self-indulgence. It’s for me, first and foremost, and I think that’s what allows the work to feel clear and resolved. I do want to make an album before I die. I don’t sing or anything, but I think it would be fun, and I’d take it very seriously.