MYSTICAL FACETS OF WOOD ON DISPLAY

Woodworking artists commonly credit the medium with almost-mystical qualities. Get a group together and you’ll probably hear them tell of spruce’s “inner spirit,” pine’s “friendliness” and poplar’s “gabby streak.”

Of course, it’s all symbolic, the artists’ way of saying that wood is exceptional--natural, familiar and, because it once lived, perhaps closer to man than any other material.

“I often feel like the wood is talking to me; some will say: ‘No, you can’t use me,’ while others will say: ‘You can have me now,’ ” said Frank Cummings, a Long Beach artist whose specialty is ornate, emblematic “cabinets” that are more sculpture than anything else.

“I don’t mean it’s actually speaking to me,” Cummings, 48, added with a self-conscious grin. “I mean there’s a quality to the wood that you understand. It’s almost an intuitive thing that is unique and helps you know what to do with it.”

Cummings is among 34 artists represented in “Cross Grain: A Survey in Wood” at the Muckenthaler Cultural Center in Fullerton through Sept. 27. The exhibition--reaching from the detailed furniture of Sam Maloof to the mordantly symbolic totems of Craig Cree tone--emphasizes the many facets of woodworking.

It also documents, through some highly personal pieces, just how expressive a medium wood can be.

But to curators Norman Lloyd and Carol McCormack, it’s the show’s range that should be most interesting to the public.

“We were looking for some of the ordinary and (many) of the extremes in approach,” Lloyd said. “It presents a chance to see different styles, to see the unusual. . . . I think we were able to cut across boundaries.”

Despite a vaguely iconoclastic streak, the show has something for just about everyone, even children. Bill Chappelow’s comically toylike “tricycle” and “steamroller” are apt to intrigue youngsters, just as both the more traditional and avant-garde pieces should interest their parents.

At one pole is the craftsmanship found in the rocking chair, bar stool and music rack by Maloof, the furniture maker who built pieces for President Carter, among others, in Alta Loma in San Bernardino County. A few carved vases, jewelry boxes and David Dart’s delicate lute made of maple, cherry, spruce, rosewood and ebony are other fine examples of wood’s more practical uses.

At the other end is John Temple’s “Extension of the Hand,” a funny abstract concoction that owes some of its manic complexity to Rube Goldberg, and Roland Reiss’ “Strange Cargo,” a surrealist carving of a boat shared by a zephyr, a mountain and a man.

Perhaps the most unusual piece is Mineko Grimmer’s “Music Box,” a pine chamber with a clump of pebbles frozen in ice suspended over a bamboo grate. As the ice melts, the stones fall onto the grate, sending small sounds through the gallery. Curators said they change the ice-pebble clump two or three times a day.

“This show is good because it surprises people; they don’t expect to see such things done with wood,” said Stone, 31, of Long Beach. “You get to see some of the mysteriousness of wood.”

Stone, who has taught art programs for Native Americans and has used sacred ritual woods in some of his pieces, said one of the medium’s more challenging qualities is that the artist can alter it only so much--unlike, say, clay. You can’t cut against the grain of some wood, and other harder woods resist carving or other manipulation.

“You can’t always impose your will; it’s more of a collaboration,” he said. “There are characteristics like grain patterns that you have to work with. You have to work to enhance the form.”

But Erika Wolf, a sculptor from Orange, stressed the “forgiving” nature of the medium. “It’s a good thing for beginning artists because it is malleable and lets us correct our mistakes,” said Wolf, 51.

“And, of course, there’s such a sensuousness and warmth in wood that you really can’t get anywhere else. . . . If you respect it, the results can be very nice.”

While talking to artists, it becomes clear that choosing the wood can be an almost ritualistic process. Besides searching for the right color or grain pattern, attention is also given to its history and availability.

Cummings, for instance, refuses to use rare woods from South America’s diminishing rain forests. And, like many of the artists, he finds much of his material through serendipity.

“You find it everywhere: the beach, the woods, the lumberyard,” he said. “If it strikes me in some way, I’ll take it home.”