The last time I visited Storm King, in 2002, a large show of Alexander Calder’s monumental outdoor sculptures had taken over the fields. That stellar exhibition of nearly 50 masterpieces proved Calder’s genius at both the small and epic scales. A few of Calder’s sculptures can always be seen on the grounds, including his black 50-foot-tall abstract sculpture “The Arch” (1975), a sweeping winged angel or warrior, shield in hand, that greets visitors at the park’s entranceway.

Buoyant, calm, full of majesty and grace – “The Arch” resembles Piero’s “Madonna of Mercy” in the “Misericordia” altarpiece in Sanselpolcro – the sculpture is as grand and welcoming as a triumphant arch and as menacing as a praying mantis. Light as passing clouds, bowed like branches, and as seemingly pliant as (and veined like) leaves, “The Arch” merges industry and flora into a strange hybrid that feels completely natural, and it sets the standard for every other sculpture in the park.

Currently, the fields reserved for temporary exhibitions have been given over to Mark di Suvero. In the show, the artist’s third installation at Storm King, 17 medium- and large-scale works can be seen outdoors. A handful of drawings and eight small sculptures fill out the galleries in the museum. A second show this summer, “Mark di Suvero: Indoors” at Knoedler, comprises nine small- and medium-scale sculptures, six drawings, and one large painting. Taken together, these two shows offer what amounts to a small retrospective of Mr. di Suvero’s work.

Mr. di Suvero (b. 1933) is as much a fixture of the Abstract Expressionist movement as Franz Kline, whose blunt, action-mark drawings and paintings appear to have been the impetus behind many of Mr. di Suvero’s heavy-handed I-beam sculptures, most of which are broad-based Xs that expand linearly outward from center. The Abstract Expressionists often operated in the mode of bigger and bolder is better, and the force of a Kline is similar to the force of a di Suvero.

Big, brash, macho, and extroverted, Mr. di Suvero’s rusted iron and brushed stainless steel sculptures are at first powerful and arresting. Yet they can also be earthbound and cumbersome, restrained by gravity and by their industrial materials, unable to transform themselves into anything beyond recognizable parts and first impressions. The sculptures often resemble muscle-bound men doing calisthenics.

Most of Mr. di Suvero’s large sculptures are made of triangular I-beams. They resemble those barriers the Germans installed on Normandy’s beaches on D-Day; mechanical oil wells; or armatures or scaffolding for something to come. Some resemble parts of construction sites, carnival rides being assembled (many of them are kinetic), or medieval weapons. The 35-foot-tall by 40-foot-wide I-beam work “Mon Pere, Mon Pere” (1973-75), like other sculptures, – including, oddly, the bright orange “Mother Peace” (1969-70) – resembles a giant crossbow or catapult.

The interactive, 25-foot-tall “Shang” (1984-85), an Asian-feeling pagoda-esque stick figure or archway, is monumental and militaristic. A heavy swing that hangs between its widely splayed legs and moans as it moves in the wind can easily hold an adult. “Pyramidian” (1987-98), though crossed at its center with a long horizontal beam, looks basically like a skeleton for a pyramid. “Mozart’s Birthday” (1989), almost Baroque in feel, resembles a large, World War II bomber – its curling metal arabesques spinning around its center like propellers – ready for takeoff.

Some of the sculptures feel goofy and playful, or merely confused. “Joie de Vivre” (1997) and “Ad Astra” (2005), both of which look like standing bundles of bright, orange sticks bound at their centers, resemble stick figures doing handstands or children, their arms and legs fully extended, running across the lawn. “Poum” (2003), a stainless steel propeller on a pole, reminds me of a wrecked helicopter or a badly bent blender blade.

Mr. di Suvero’s best works are small, when scale is not something abused and out of control, added to until the sculptures become ostentatious. The large-scale works extend and reach upward and outward but they remain in a state of striving rather than transcendence. The show at Knoedler, along with the selection of smaller works assembled in the museum at Storm King, present a wider and more accomplished range in the artist. Mr. di Suvero’s smaller sculptures often feel like surreal, miniature landscapes, out of which have grown threatening, monumental forms – part tree, part iron calligraphy, part gnarled wreck.

Storm King’s “Monet Arch” (1968) resembles an abstract broken arm dangling over a field; in “Sunrise” (1962-63) a vertical stainless steel shaft rises against a small, leaning section of I-beam. In “Kiss” (1961-63), two vertical arcs, like dancers, are played off against a tuning fork-like length of wire; in “Moonrise” (1961-62) two stainless steel arcs, bowed against one another as if they were two separated sides of a circle, appear to be lying down or rising out of the steel base. “Untitled” (1996), a leaning dusty brown, pie-shaped steel arc, articulated with curves and diagonals, resembles a section of medieval ironwork. The sculpture shoots downward like an arrow, expands from its point, and unfolds like plant life.

Knoedler’s sculptures, most of which have been completed since 2001, are all interactive works. Viewers are encouraged to turn their forms, which are often balanced at their centers on pointed poles. “Accord” (2002), a chain made of four twisted, linking titanium pieces, is a variable work meant to be played with and altered by viewers. Some are more successful than others, yet all of the sculptures – with their twisted, calligraphic forms, cutout and welded planes, and snaking, curved shapes – feel familial.

Some of the linear movements and planar or cutout shapes are mildly intriguing, but the ability to turn the works adds little to their overall success as sculptures. Rather than extending their particular metaphors, as in a Calder, the element of movement feels more like a gimmick or an accessory for people too lazy to walk around the sculptures. The poles that suspend the forms are rarely integrated within the sculptures. They feel “other,” like internal armatures or bases that, like strings on a puppet, are meant to be ignored.

Seeing sculptures among the rolling hills, fields, woodlands, and ponds of Storm King’s 500-acre park is among the greatest outdoor art experiences available in the eastern United States. Besides the Calders, the permanent collection includes more than 100 other works, by such 20th-century artists as David Smith, Henry Moore, and Isamu Noguchi. It is no insult to say that Mr. di Suvero’s sculptures cannot stand beside these artists’, even if this summer they will.

Until November 13 (Storm King Art Center, Old Pleasanthill Road, Mountainville, New York, 845-534-3155).

Until August 12 (Knoedler & Company, 19 E. 70th Street, between Fifth and Madison Avenues, 212-794-0550). Prices: The gallery chose not to disclose its prices.