When artist Starr Kempf killed himself in 1995, he left a legacy of dynamic, soaring steel kinetic sculptures and a heap of questions.

The question he most wanted answered in his lifetime: What would become of his precious “monumentals,” as he called them? I interviewed the crusty, driven artist several times back in the late ’80s and early ’90s, and he told me the sculptures had to stay on his lawn.

Just had to.

He built them specifically for this place, a sloping yard catching just the right wind off Cheyenne Canyon. He’d never sold a single mammoth sculpture during his lifetime. He could have made a fortune, but he told me, “I can’t see the money in the bank.”

He had tried to get the city of Colorado Springs or the University of Colorado Colorado Springs to take possession of his babies, maybe turn his place into a museum, but deals with both of them fell through. (The city was a hard no, but UCCS tried to make it happen.)

“I got nothing I can die on,” he told me, and it’s a quote that haunts me.

Of the dozen sculptures that had spun on his lawn, some towering over 60 feet high, now only four remain.

Joshua Kempf, his grandson, has become the de facto caretaker, and he has been accepting offers for the sculptures, lending three to UCCS and selling three to the Creekwalk retail center on South Nevada Avenue. Most of the proceeds, he says, are going to the maintenance of the sculptures and the settling of his aunt’s estate.

He knows that his grandfather wanted those steel sculptures to tower outside the old family home indefinitely.

“I really don’t care what he wanted,” Josh said, flatly.

If that sounds heartless, that’s only because you don’t know the rest of the story.

Firstly, the sculptures couldn’t stay at the Kempf residence. Since the ’70s, when Starr started fabricating these steel sculptures in the garage he’d turned into a massive foundry and workshop, neighbors complained that the once sleepy Pine Grove Avenue had become tourism central. Every day, cars and buses stopped outside Kempf’s home as folks took time to admire his work.

Not all the neighbors had taken out their torches and pitchforks. Some even helped Kempf with his work. But after Kempf died, and his daughter, Lottie, actually contracted with tour operators, attempting to turn the place into a for-profit museum, pitchforks descended on City Hall and the city filed a court order for Lottie to stop.

When Lottie died and the caretaking torch fell to Josh, he knew that keeping the sculptures on the lawn, maintained, spinning and upsetting the neighbors, would be irresponsible, if not impossible.

He put some temporarily in storage and started considering offers.

“I’ve wanted them to stay in the area,” he said.

He’s actually being gracious, and coming as close to meeting Starr’s wishes as he can.

Another part of this story has to do with Kempf being … well, let’s just say he wasn’t the kindly, cuddly old grandpa bouncing Josh on his lap.

Josh was raised in England and only met his grandfather once.

“He was bloody terrifying!” he said. “I was maybe 11 or 12, and I was sitting in his workshop, and he comes in and glares at me, says, ‘Are you here to work?!’”

When I told Josh I wanted to write about Starr, his first response was to implore me not to portray him as some angst-ridden artist who committed suicide.

Well, he did commit suicide. But Josh wants to make it clear that the grandfather he knew, mostly from his dad (who got the brunt of the man’s abuse), “wasn’t a tortured artist worrying about life, the universe and everything …”

Rather, he was a guy in physical pain from various injuries who was done with life. He was so cantankerous, Josh says, after Kempf suffered a heart attack, a local hospital kicked him out for being such a pain to the staff.

I remember him as a classic Hemingway type, with his short-cropped white beard, dogged work ethic, hard drinking habit, and so much creativity, he could hardly contain it. It spilled into novels, plays, bronze sculptures and, of course, those steel birds, clocks, pendulums and graceful abstractions he installed on his lawn.

The morning before he took his life, Starr called his lawyer to ensure his affairs were in order. He was simply done, Josh says, and he didn’t want to be a burden on his family.

Looking back, Josh might not get warm feelings about the man. But he did come to respect his dedication to his craft — hand making all his tools — and the magnificence of his small bronzes and giant steel kinetics.

When he sold or leased Kempf’s pieces, he wanted to make sure the placement was right.

The three monumentals, along with a cool pair of Starr’s towering stylized lanterns, at Creekwalk line portions of the newly restored Cheyenne Creek. This area, long run down with lingering issues of homelessness, continues to be a work in progress. But Danny Mientka, owner of The Equity Group that is developing Creekwalk, sees this investment in local art, along with the creek improvements, as the beginnings of a new vision for this once-blighted area.

“Creekwalk is a special place,” he said. “Our goal is to preserve this rich history near Cheyenne Canyon and let the public get up close to kinetic art. That’s a rare thing.”

There’s something about Starr’s steel sculptures next to water that feels right. Different. These are pieces I’d seen many times on his property, but they feel somehow new and transformed beside a creek. I also appreciate that, on a building beside the creek, a wall honor’s Starr’s memory with photos of him at work, and an eloquent biography written by Josh.

The placement of three Starr’s sculptures installed (thanks to former gallery curator Daisy McGowan) outside UCCS’ Ent Center for the Arts when it opened in 2018 also feel like they belong there. They provide a perfect complement to the silver ribbon that adorns the top of the super-contemporary arts center. The university’s Gallery for Contemporary Art has even created an audio tour of the pieces, and it recently opened an exhibit, “We are the Sky,” featuring 40 local artists (which is on display through Oct. 5 — see Jennifer Mulson’s article on July 22) inspired, in part, by Kempf’s sculptures.

Along with the pendular monumental that swings outside Plaza of the Rockies downtown, Kempf’s babies sing to the community about an artist’s expansive vision.

I try to imagine the man I remember looking at these installations. What would he think?

He’d probably pick a fight with his grandson. Maybe give him a right cross.

Josh, after recovering from the blow, might remind his grandfather that he’d always said that every piece of art should stand on its own.

Josh has faced some tough decisions. I know I’d be conflicted about what to do with the sculptures.

To see the steel sculptures all clustered outside the little home on Pine Grove, their otherworldliness was undeniable. When the wind blew, these behemoths all began spinning, twirling, swinging. It looked coordinated, like it was some kind of massive machine out of Jules Verne.

Dispersing the sculptures might dilute their impact. But it also exposes Starr’s genius to more people than ever before.

If he were alive today, no doubt he’d love the attention.

He used to light up whenever a car stopped outside his house, especially if there was a pretty young woman to chat up about his work.

Now, the cars stop at Creekwalk, Plaza of the Rockies and UCCS. Artists create works inspired by his visions.

As Josh says, “He wanted to leave his mark on the world, and he bloody well did.”