Norman Teague draws inspiration from John Coltrane’s masterpiece

In these days of violence and uncertainty, I’ve been seeking gratitude. As such I’ve returned to Wendell Berry’s It All Turns on Affection—a brief but profound book that calls for a turn away from an aspirational economy driven by technology and back to caring for the land around us. Affection, I believe, requires gratitude—for what we have and for what goodness the future could bring. When Berry asks us to redirect our collective attention to another way of being in the world, one based on devotion, learning, care, and reflection—all components of affection—I can’t help but be moved. Affection, it seems, operates on a different wavelength than we, today, might be accustomed to; Berry asks us to patiently contemplate who we are in relationship to what lives outside our own bodies. Arguably, the arts accomplish this: despite the money-driven mechanisms that fuel the consumption and dispersion of music, art, literature, and theater, we are devoted to these endeavors without our own economic gain, returning us to affection.

There is, for instance, no “climbing the achievement ladder” when listening to John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme. Widely considered one of the greatest jazz records of all time, the 1965 album is composed of four movements and was created when Coltrane was undergoing what he called a “spiritual awakening” after years of alcohol and heroin use. Perhaps this is why the album became the bedrock for “A Love Supreme,” the new exhibition by Chicago-based artist, designer, and furniture maker Norman Teague, at the Elmhurst Art Museum. While at first it might resemble an honest homage to the namesake album, the exhibition’s success lies in Teague’s own expression of affection—toward the album, but also to his growth and that of his community.

“A Love Supreme”
Through 4/28: Wed-Thu noon-5 PM, Fri-Sun 11 AM-5 PM, Elmhurst Art Museum, 150 Cottage Hill, Elmhurst, elmhurstartmuseum.org/exhibitions, $18 adults, $15 65+, $10 students with ID, $5 children 5-17

The exhibition is divided into four distinct movements across the museum’s main galleries and named after Coltrane’s album’s original parts—“Acknowledgement,” “Resolution,” “Pursuance,” and “Psalm.” Each gallery includes wall text in which Teague reflects on the meaning of these words in relation to his practice, providing visitors with a peek into his reflections on his eight years of designing furniture, art objects, and public spaces. Opening with “Acknowledgement,” the first gallery names the album’s influence on Teague’s practice. “I see parallels of his life in my own tragic failures and successes,” he writes, “and similarly have a deep dedication to perfect my craft.” Many artwork titles are in Yoruba and translated using “AKA”—what Teague says is the familial tongue of his ancestors.

Installation view shows a semi circle line of orange shelving arranged on the left wall. More orange shelves are on the wooden floor. At the back of the room are a stack of multicolored stools, with an orange chair in the corner. On the right wall hangs wooden zigzagging shelves filled with books. — The exhibition is divided into four distinct movements across the museum’s main galleries, named after Coltrane’s album’s parts.
Credit: Siegfried Mueller Photography

Included in this new body of work is a series of sculptures composed of wood and porcelain; wood bases that demonstrate Teague’s expertise in material craftsmanship are adorned with horns from various brass instruments cast in ceramic (done in collaboration with Pilsen-based ceramicist Francisca Villagrana). His E jowo mo n soro AKA Excuse me I’m Speaking (2024), which places two porcelain horns opposite an ash trunk, set on a mahogany base, resembles local speaker manufacturer Specimen Audio’s gramophone horns. The assemblage form of these materials contrasts a new 2D collage, Ṣọkan ti o nipọn AKA Collage-Tight Knit (2024)—a nod to Romare Bearden’s 20th-century paintings and collages depicting jazz’s nightlife and sonic movements.

The cast horns continue in the second movement, “Resolution,” where the gallery’s focal work, Jive (2024), calls visitors into the space. The yellow pegboard features one cast horn, with “jive” tagged in red. This gallery introduces what can be considered “major” and “minor” works: major works speak with volume as color, shape, and scale play a role in deciding which minor objects are “flattened.” Unlike Jive, the gallery’s centerpiece, Circle Sinuous AKA Sinuous Circle, is far tamer in color and movement, creating an interior space in an impenetrable geometric enclosure crafted in poplar. It foreshadows Teague’s third movement, “Pursuance,” where the major work also features a spatial construction. Roundhouse (2024), built from strips and poles of poplar, maple, and plywood, held together in tension with fishing wire, produces a calming, plein air gathering space in the third gallery.

The third and fourth movements present a departure from the first two galleries; while the latter read like contemporary presentations of new work, these movements begin to take on a domestic feel. The third gallery includes, alongside the stunning Roundhouse, less lustrous objects that spotlight Teague’s work in furniture and industrial design. He includes Hutch naa AKA The Hutch from 2018, shaped like a riff on an accordion-folding dinner tray. It is expertly crafted but made visually interesting only by the cast horn sitting atop the ridged tabletop. Coat Rack in walnut is a bit too CB2, and the wastebaskets in the gallery’s corners showcase his recent foray into utilizing recycled plastics—neither are particularly compelling.

But this less-than-invigorating display in the third movement is precisely what makes “A Love Supreme” so dynamic: proceeding into the fourth and final gallery, we again encounter domestic objects from Teague’s past and discover them assembled and arranged in new ways. A Composition of a Sinmi Stool and an Assortment of Asa Teague Tables features a towering stack of tables, topped with his signature rocking Sinmi stool, balancing precariously like a blossoming vine. It is surrounded by newer work, including Jazz Minisita AKA Jazz Cabinet and two Jazz Chairs—furniture rendered by abstract shapes and forms. While less refined than previous work, they are playfully messy and, frankly, musical.

Moving through the four galleries, crescendoing into this final movement, brings a whoosh of that strange sentiment—affection. While the works on view range from earlier in his career to those made just this year, the exhibition doesn’t carry the weight of a retrospective but instead functions as a mid-career moment to display an artist’s growth and transformation. The change in tone and arrangement between each gallery allows viewers to perhaps suss out times in Teague’s career when experimentation wasn’t yielding success; or when the pressures to produce “beautiful objects” for collectors’ homes stripped away the delight a designer might find in play, failure, discovery—the stretching of the mind. The exhibition continues into the Mies van der Rohe McCormick House, where Teague cocurated a sister exhibition with Rosa Camara, inviting 35 artists to contribute works that speak to their personal moments of artistic awakening—a “bringing-along” of other artists and designers who have also dwelled in reflective growth.

Installation views shows a room of artist-made furniture, including a chair adorned with musical horns, multilevel tables with concrete bases, a patchwork couch, and a black, white, and red painting hanging on the rear wall. Both sides of the room are floor to ceiling windows. — he exhibition continues into the Mies van der Rohe McCormick House, with work by 35 additional artists
Credit: Siegfried Mueller Photography

“A Love Supreme” is thus a show about lingering in the struggle, returning to what one knows, and allowing it to shape what comes next. From it, we might allow Teague’s reflective process to become a mirror to ourselves, not dissimilar to the mirror that Coltrane’s album has become for the artist. Through affection—the commitment to reflection and growth—we can be changed. And for Teague’s affection, shown for this piece of music, and which he displays in his own work, I have finally found some gratitude.