This Is Who We Are: Jon Kessler

This Is Who We Are is a series featuring Columbia School of the Arts' professors, covering careers, pedagogy, and art-making. Here, we talk with Professor Jon Kessler about mechanical sculpture, the importance of technical mastery, and the value of analog skills in a digital world.

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Professor of Professional Practice and Concentration Head of Expanded Practice/Sculpture Jon Kessler has learned many lessons from his students in his decades of teaching. One particularly enlightening experience came with sculptor David Altmejd '01, who later became an internationally acclaimed artist.

"When he was a grad student and I first saw his work, I said, 'David, let's learn how to cut Plexiglas correctly and how to glue it properly,'" Kessler recalled over Zoom. "We spent a lot of time on technique—changing the blade on the table saw, following the protocol for gluing correctly."

Despite Kessler's meticulous instruction, he kept finding Altmejd's studio filled with cracked Plexiglass, dripping glue, and scratched surfaces. "I said, 'Wow, David, what's going on? I feel like I'm really wasting my time. It turns out, David had learned how to do it exactly right, and he found that perfect technique looked like everyone else's work. He wanted this material to be an expressive extension of himself—the equivalent of a Jackson Pollock splatter," Kessler explained. "That taught me a lot about how you've got to own the material. You don't just want to do things correctly; you want to turn it into a material where you can really express yourself."

This lesson—master the technique first, then make deliberate aesthetic choices—has become central to Kessler's teaching philosophy throughout his 32-year tenure at Columbia, where he currently serves as head of the Sculpture concentration. His approach emphasizes the foundation of technical mastery as a prerequisite for artistic expression, not a constraint on it.

"I'm really a stickler for process, hard work, and putting in the time to learn how to use the tools," Kessler said. "I want students to explore the possibilities of these machines deeply, not just use them amateurishly."

When students express a desire to create something intentionally rough or imperfect, Kessler has a ready response: "They say things like, 'That's too perfect. I want to make something sloppy.' My attitude is always: first, learn how to make it perfect. Then, after you've mastered that, you can make the aesthetic decision to make it sloppy."

For Kessler, this mirrors the discipline of mastering a musical instrument before improvising. "It's like being a jazz musician. First, you have to learn how to play jazz. You learn the scales, and it's hard work. Only then, if you want to start playing free jazz and improvisation, can you do that effectively. You don't start out with improvisation."

Growing up, Kessler found himself drawn to just two pursuits: music and art. Academically struggling throughout his school years, he faced rejection from all eight art schools to which he applied. His artistic future seemed uncertain until a brand new university, SUNY Purchase, was created.

"They were looking for students. I got accepted there, and it changed my life," he said. "My education was very disciplined and traditional in some ways—observational drawing, etcetera. I fell in love with the discipline and rigor of all that, and I've never really looked back."

Though he still plays music—with the X-Patsys, a band he formed with artist Robert Longo and actress Barbara Sukowa—sculpture became his primary outlet. What distinguished Kessler's work from the beginning was its interest in the mechanical. "What perhaps separates me from many other artists is that my work has always included motors and lights," Kessler said. "People often ask if I went to engineering school, but no—I was horrible at math and science. I just had a brain for making things move and work. It was all trial and error."

From early shadow boxes with exposed mechanisms, Kessler’s sculpture evolved to more politically charged installations after 9/11, often incorporating surveillance themes and a blend of digital and analog technologies. Major works like The Palace at 4 A.M. (2005), Kessler's Circus (2009), and The Web (2013) have been exhibited at prestigious institutions including MoMA PS1, the Whitney Museum, and museums across Europe.

Kessler brings this mechanical sensibility into his classroom, where he insists on students engaging with tangible materials and physical processes. While digital fabrication has become increasingly common in contemporary art education, Kessler's classroom encourages students to engage with tools fit for an old-school industrial arts class.

"We have fast-moving blades, fire, welding—if you want a round form, you've got to get a hammer and start pounding it," he said. "I love this being the starting point for most people in my sculpture class. Most of them have never done this type of sculpture before."

This emphasis on analog skills comes at a time when Kessler observes a broader societal shift away from hands-on abilities. "I think there is a de-skilling happening across America. I grew up using power tools as a kid, but I don't know how many kids are doing that anymore. Most are playing video games," he said. "I have many students in my class who have never before used a hammer. When was the last time someone could open up the hood of their car and actually think they could fix something?" Kessler asked.

Yet even as artificial intelligence and other digital technologies threaten to upend artistic practice, Kessler remains optimistic about art's future. For him, what distinguishes human art from machine-generated content is the personal narrative that each artist brings to their work.

"What makes us as humans different from machines and computers? Why would we still be interested in art when machines and AI could make it?" Kessler asked. "I think it's because we have stories to tell, and they're not made up of other people's stories. They are individual, unique stories about our identity, our upbringing, our place in the world, or our reactions to political environments."

This belief in art's essential humanity guides his advice to students navigating an increasingly technological landscape. "Students have to capitalize on what makes them unique and what stories they have to tell," he said. "That's what will keep art alive.”

Kessler believes the persistence of these human narratives will underwrite art's continued relevance. "These things get handed down and hopefully preserved in museums and thought about. They are testaments to the time they were made," he said. "Hopefully, the story isn't so specific that it becomes completely uninteresting after a year. Hopefully, the story is universal enough that it touches enough people."

After more than three decades of teaching, frustrations might have dimmed another professor’s enthusiasm. When asked what keeps him returning to teach, Kessler’s answer was disarmingly direct.

"I like being in the classroom. It's really that simple. I like having an impact on students," he said. "In the end, I find solace and happiness in going into the classroom and being with them."

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Jon Kessler is Professor at Columbia University School of the Arts, where he has taught since 1994. He currently serves as Concentration Head of Sculpture, a position he has held since 1996. He previously served as Division Chair (2000-2005) and Director of Graduate Studies (2007-2013). His work has been exhibited in major institutions including MoMA, the Whitney Museum of American Art, P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center, and international venues. Kessler has received numerous awards including National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships (1983, 1985), a Guggenheim Fellowship (1996), and a Creative Capital Artist Grant (2015).