Ted Largman puts ideas in boxes. Some look like dreamscapes, some like nightmares. But all are grounded in reality, provocative, and often visually arresting. His goal is to get the spectator to think.

Much of Largman's work is stimulated by what he sees happening in the world around him. Historical events, changes in the culture, technological advances, and political and social controversy all provide grist for his artistic and intellectual mill. Occasionally it is a single object that inspires a piece.

No painter of pretty pictures, the 84-year-old artist creates three-dimensional compositions which he encloses in boxes he makes. The materials in the collages vary as widely as their inspirations and their meanings. Many are what are called "found objects," things made for different purposes but used by Largman as symbols.

"I traveled a lot and picked up a lot of things," he said in an interview in his Morris Township home. "Some I found at flea markets and yard sales." A small Buddha appears in one, a figurine of a Greek goddess in another, and a cell phone in a third. Coke bottles, mah-jongg tiles, television remotes, and, in one case, a preserved head of an alligator mix with words and images of every description.

When Largman made his first box, in a sculpture class at County College of Morris in 1994, the teacher told him he should front it with glass to make it look important. Though he left that work as it was, he followed the advice with all his subsequent boxes. Often, the glass is stained and leaded to Largman's specifications by a stained-glass craftsman. Some pieces have glass fronts with images designed by Largman sandblasted into them.

An active member of Temple B'nai Or in Morristown, Largman frequently infuses emblems of his Jewish identity and religious ideas into his works. In them are found questions about the nature of God, the ubiquitousness of evil and chaos in the world, the relationship of man to God, and issues of religious extremism.

Jewish themes and visual clues are sometimes used in ways that may seem witty to some and irreverent to others. A 2004 piece called Warning is made to resemble the tabernacle holding the Ten Commandments. In it are what appear to be two tablets inscribed in Hebrew. When translated, however, they read "Warning. If you can read this you are too close!" According to Largman, "When you read the translation you may smile; my objective is to make you think beyond the humor. The warning is directed to the unsuspecting population that tolerates fanatics who perform sinful deeds in the name of God."

Most of the 13 works by Largman in the current show at the West Orange JCC (see sidebar) are fairly recent and have a powerful contemporary resonance. Three are part of his "911 Trilogy." The artist's response to the attack on the World Trade Center began with a poem written by Rabbi Alvin Fine: "Birth is a beginning/And death a destination/ But life is a journey." Largman reacted by changing the order; his three pieces represent life, death, and rebirth. He sees something good emerging from the devastation. The boxes contain such images as an American flag, tiny plastic bodies falling, and actual dust from Ground Zero.

The Holocaust and other genocides through history are recurrent themes. Characters who are themselves purveyors of evil from the past — Caligula, Torquemada, Vlad the Impaler, and Rasputin, for example — share space with more recent examples, like Hitler, Stalin, Slobodan Milosevic, and Osama bin Laden.

But humor abounds as well. In Michelangelo's Secret, the hands of God and Adam, reaching toward each other — as they do on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican — are divided by what appears to be a rip, with the face of a chimpanzee peering through. The Renaissance master, Largman claimed, had concluded from his studies of anatomy that man and ape descend from a common ancestor. Two visiting chimps, he jested, "had no comment."

Can You Hear Me Now? and Intelligent Design are two recent compositions that illustrate how the world around him influences Largman's art. The first one depicts the Statue of Liberty trying to spread her message to waiting ears via cell phone while ominous cell towers represent Big Brother listening in. The second addresses what the artist sees as "design mistakes" as well as some notable successes.

Largman was born in Philadelphia and grew up within a few blocks of Independence Hall, in a neighborhood that was a Jewish ghetto in his youth, he said. The son of immigrants, he spoke Yiddish as his first language.

Later attending Temple University, he was drawn to science. After serving in World War II, he ultimately earned a PhD in chemistry and went on to a career with Allied Chemical. Largman holds patents on many discoveries in the areas of agrichemicals and synthetic fibers.

Following his retirement after 39 years, he sought new outlets for his creative energies. During this exploratory phase, he created a simple boxed collage featuring an image of a squirrel, a page from The Wall Street Journal, and an abacus strung with nuts. This witty composition — related to his enthusiasm for backyard bird-watching and the attendant struggle to keep squirrels out of the bird feeders — marked the beginning of his artistic life.

Since then, he has shown his work throughout New Jersey and in Philadelphia. He has won many awards, including first place in area art shows and best in his medium at the annual Gaelen Juried Art Show.

Largman has also poured his energies into launching the Renaissance Group at his synagogue. This social and educational organization for elders has been a great success and has been replicated in locations throughout the United States. In addition, he is chair of the Morris Township Environmental Commission. He is a widower and has four children.

Largman, who also signs his work "Teleazer," a play on his Hebrew name, does not want to sell his artworks. "I don't like to part with them," he said. But, he added, he gets a great deal of satisfaction out of exhibiting them and seeing the response people have to them. "I love an audience," he said.

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