“In the Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004, 220,000 people died in 14 hours. I’m sure you heard it when it happened, but who can keep that kind of information in their head?” asks sculptor Andres San Millan. This disaster inspired his Retablo for Body and Mind, which will be shown at the Bank Art Gallery in Newburgh beginning May 8.
A retablo (“retable” in English) is a screen behind the altar in a church, often depicting scenes from the life of Jesus. San Millan’s is massive: 25 feet wide, 30 feet tall, 10 feet deep. It’s shaped like a bookshelf, with three vertical sections, but instead of books it displays life-size nude human figures. These sculptures—of men, women, and children—are entirely composed of driftwood. They resemble scarecrows, or wizened mummies.
The gallery is his studio. San Millan works in place, like Michelangelo painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. This is a maximalist work, an effort to overwhelm—almost drown—the viewer.
As he works on the installation, its meaning expands, to include the victims of Covid, and the thousands and thousands who suffer from multiplying disasters stemming from one large error: too much carbon dioxide in the air. “A retablo is the piece in the Catholic Church behind the altar. And what is the altar? It’s a place of sacrifice. And what is the sacrifice? It seems to me that humanity is being sacrificed,” San Millan explains. Though he insists his sculpture is not religious, the proper response to a retable is prayer.
San Millan often visits the riverbank near Catskill, where he lives, to collect new materials for his retable. The Hudson River, which names and defines our region, is also a sculptor. Stripped of bark and smoothed by the water, tree limbs begin to resemble legs and arms. (Notice that the word “limb” refers to both tree branches and human extremities.) In some cases, San Millan need not even modify the wood, just install it in one of his figures.
The retablo connects him to the 19th-century Hudson River School painters, who celebrated the divine beneficence of nature. But in this case, the river is not the passive subject of his art, but his collaborator.
Looking at a photograph of the whole work, you slowly recognize that the tiny doorway in the center, at the bottom, is actually the bank vault. (The Bank Art Gallery is the former Newburgh Savings Bank, built in 1924.) Is San Millan suggesting a connection between disaster and capitalism?
San Millan, who is originally from the Basque region of Spain, began his career as a dancer. He and his ex-wife Marguerite founded the Cocoon Theatre in Brooklyn in 1990. San Millan built sets for the theater company, and floats for public events, including a replica of the Vassar Brothers Institute for the Festival of Lights parade in Poughkeepsie in 2017. Though he never formally studied sculpture, he incorporates his numerous skills into his retable. It’s a dancerly work. As people drown, they perform an inadvertent dance. One figure stands atop the structure, arms raised as if victorious. And the connection to stage sets is obvious.
San Millan enjoys the strategic challenges of retable-building. “I love creativity because it constantly gives you new solutions to problems you thought you could not possibly solve,” he exclaims.
The retablo will remain for a year, and possibly longer. Other artists in the show include sculptor Alex Kveton, whose interlocking geometric forms express metallic conundrums.
This article appears in May 2026.
