A few words about the work on our father’s legacy

London Tsai
Brooklyn, March 2026

When Ming and I were children, our father often said to us that when we grew up our job would be to take care of his sculptures. There are photographs of us–aged two–helping him clean his sculptures. One summer, we visited our friend Sandra Davidson and stayed at her late father Alexander Calder’s house, which was on a hill overlooking the village of Saché. It was a special summer. Being away from his studio, our father could at last spend some time with us: we rode bicycles into town, wandered through the tall grass fields populated with Calder’s large sculptures, picked rosemary and figs growing around the house, and cooked dinners together. He even gave us driving lessons, instructing us to ease up on the clutch while simultaneously adding gas. One evening after dinner, in the midst of our happiness, as Ming and I drew at the large dining table, our father told us that one day, when he was dead and gone, he would be counting on us to take care of his art. I was suddenly inconsolable–until then it had never occurred to me that he would ever leave us.

As we grew up, our father taught us on weekends and over summer breaks how to work on his sculptures: each technique was whispered to us as a secret that we promised not share with anyone. He would often tell us with a wink how no one else in the world would ever have the patience to figure out how to get all those rods to vibrate in unison. Over the years, he imparted to us an assortment of effective tips and tricks, varying between scientific technique and shamanic ritual. We became proficient enough to travel and install his works at various group exhibitions that he did not feel required his presence. While in high school, we flew to Paris to set up an “Upward Falling Fountain” at the Fondation Cartier: the show, entitled Vraiment Faux, was about illusion. Our successes led to our installing more and more works around the world. Over the decades, we’ve come to accept our role as caretakers of our father’s œuvre. Jonathan Benthall, who was the first to write about our father, recently noted that things have turned out as Tsai had envisioned, to which he composed these lines:

Castor and Pollux

For Wen-Ying 1928–2013
And for Pei-De, Lun-Yi and Ming-Yi

Howard Wise, the Manhattan gallerist,
     Was known in ’68 to be whip-smart.
“Put this show down”, they said, “on your A-list”,
     “Don’t miss Wen-Ying Tsai’s cybernetic art”.
Sensors, rods, strobes, mikes, switches, loops and plates
     Evoke, for instance, a beachside anemone
At rest — but clap your hands: it undulates.
     Over this artist’s kit, what fine hegemony!
I praised his magic over many years
     And love his widow and sons equally:
The twins, both brilliant artist-engineers,
     Both fathers, sustaining his legacy.
          A work of art itself, their filial care
          Dispensed so freely by a stellar pair.