A few days ago I watched my three-year old son study and then touch a small Bertoia sculpture which stands in our living room. It is a simple one, consisting of only two vertical parallel bronze rods. Just now, with their brass tops, they are still a few inches taller than the boy. When they moved and started to chime, he turned and grinned at me with a happy, triumphant expression, delighted with both the movement and sound, and excited that he could, by himself, begin and control this wonderful resilient swing and joyful ringing. His eyes were shining, and he would not leave the sculpture alone for a long time.

In my gallery I have often observed similar reactions and have wondered about the irresistible temptation Bertoia's constructions evoke in various kinds of people. From shy caresses with one finger to abandoned symphonic involvement, with both hands — people find it difficult to resist these seductive sculptures, which always eventually return, after enveloping us in happy sound, to their ordered and balanced visual entity.

Everything Harry Bertoia has designed throughout the last twenty-five years has expressed in one way or another his pleasure in being alive, in harmonious proportion, in the combination of clean function and human warmth.

George W. Staempfli (1976)