Ruth Duckworth wants to draw you in

FIFTEEN years ago, interest in Midcentury architecture and modern design was limited to a handful of fans: historians, preservationists and people with a taste for fine things overlooked by the mainstream. Today, the sleek forms of homes and furniture from the 1940s, ‘50s and ‘60s are more popular and critically acclaimed than ever. Just visit IKEA or thumb through some high-end shelter magazines.

Better yet, visit the Long Beach Museum of Art, where “Ruth Duckworth: Modernist Sculptor” presents nearly 80 domestically scaled sculptures the 87-year-old artist made from 1946 to 2004. These handsomely crafted and wonderfully unassuming forms and figures bridge the chasm that once separated the utopian ideals of avant-garde abstraction from the everyday pleasures of home decor.

The show, organized by independent curators Thea Burger and Jo Lauria, begins big, with three of its largest pieces installed in the lobby. A chest-high stoneware figure stands on the floor. An abstract porcelain relief hangs on the wall. And an abstract-figurative hybrid, too big for a tabletop yet too small for the floor, rests on a pedestal.

All three untitled sculptures underwhelm -- just as Duckworth intends. The absence of flash attests to her love of sculptural intimacy, of individual discoveries and slowly unfolding satisfactions.

From different perspectives, the free-standing figure from 1993 looks like a wedge-headed human in a loose garment or the profile of an odd bird. The shift in scale, from miniature human to oversize animal, is playfully endearing.

Duckworth’s 1998 wall work includes eight 3-D components that resemble the stylized body parts of a deconstructed puppet.

Her 1996 pedestal piece is the most pictorial. From some angles, it appears to be a portrait bust of another bird, its long beak gracefully arcing through the air. From others, it resembles a bullet-shaped meteorite, its long tail receding into deep space.

A similar sense of this-or-that ambiguity animates Duckworth’s intimately scaled works in the first gallery, where the exhibition proper begins and the artist comes into her own.

Three untitled vessels from 1967 to 1970 are all awkward lumpiness. Made of coiled clay and decorated with idiosyncratic patterns in rich, organic tints, the asymmetrical vessels look as if they have been used for centuries but are still energized by the youthful exuberance of the day they were made.

Like all Duckworth’s sculptures, they engage their surroundings, draw the imagination into action and get viewers to see things they otherwise might miss. Coming right after the bird shapes in the lobby, the three unwieldy vessels suggest ostriches with their heads stuck in the sand or sleeping ducks standing on one leg, their heads tucked underwing.

Such whimsical associations are the heart and soul of Duckworth’s art, in which simple shapes invite whimsical stories and embrace the sensual side of a very gentle Surrealism.

Also in the first gallery are five breathlessly beautiful porcelain pieces about the size of heavy-duty paperweights, made between 1988 and 2002, whose smooth, paper-thin bodies glow with snowy translucence. Each consists of a rounded form, such as an uneven egg shape or an elongated globe, through which slice one or more razor-thin planes of porcelain. The flat, angular geometry of the suspended planes contrasts almost violently with the plump, curvaceous sensuality of the forms.

The collision these works suggest does not seem to take place between worlds but within one. It’s a recurrent motif in Duckworth’s oeuvre, which consistently features singular sculptures that appear to be dividing, like cells, or two-part works, each half of which appears to be conversing with its partner. Even the earliest work, a stone carving of a woman’s head and torso from 1946, looks as if it is absorbed in a dialogue with itself. From different viewpoints, its head seems to be turned in different directions, embodying the back-and-forth movement of a lively conversation.

Such this-with-that pairing distinguishes Duckworth’s art from that of many male modernists, who often wanted their work to be autonomous, solitary and impenetrable. In contrast, Duckworth’s sensibility has more in common with the postmodern postminimalism of Eva Hesse and Louise Bourgeois, whose multiple forms and slippery, self-divided works aim for ambiguity, permeability and open borders.

None of Duckworth’s pieces presents itself as if it has all the answers, knows the whole story or even wants to have the last word. There’s always the sense that the parts don’t fit together, and that that is where things get interesting.

These formal features echo Duckworth’s life as an immigrant. Born in 1919 to a Jewish father and Lutheran mother, she fled Germany for England with her sister in 1936. In 1964, she accepted a teaching job and moved to Chicago, where she still lives.

In the second, third and fourth galleries, stylized birds appear more frequently and more playfully, sometimes seeming to be as inspired by the funny pages as by ancient Egyptian, Cycladic and African art. Elegance and goofiness go hand in hand in Duckworth’s disciplined yet promiscuous art, which pays sweet homage to such early 20th century modernists as Constantin Brancusi, Isamu Noguchi, Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth while making hilarious fun of Pablo Picasso’s overzealous use of African masks.

Duckworth’s sculptures are also linked to the work of significant contemporaries. Her small bronzes embody the comedy of Tom Otterness’ public sculptures. Her thickly glazed orbs recall Ken Price’s deliciously malignant blobs. And her multipanel wall reliefs share structural similarities with works by Jim Isermann, Pae White and Jorge Pardo.

Despite its stylization and formal sophistication, Duckworth’s art never turns its back on life’s mundane pleasures. It’s all about those fleeting moments when big ideas seem silly and silly little delights more precious than anything.

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‘Ruth Duckworth: Modernist Sculptor’

Where: Long Beach Museum of Art, 2300 E. Ocean Blvd., Long Beach

When: 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tuesdays through Sundays

Ends: July 2

Price: $7; children under 12 free

Info: (562) 439-2119 or www.lbma.org