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pi c t u r e s of noth i n g
pictures of nothing Abstract Art since Pollock
kirk varnedoe
The A. W. Mellon Lectures in the Fine Arts, 2003 National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC Bollingen Series XXXV: 48
Princeton Universit y Press Princeton and oxford
Copyright © 2006 Board of Trustees, National Gallery of Art, Washington All rights reserved. Published by Princeton University Press, 41 William Street, Princeton, NJ 08540 In the United Kingdom: Princeton University Press, 3 Market Place, Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 1SY This is the forty-eighth volume of the A. W. Mellon Lectures in the Fine Arts, which are delivered annually at the National Gallery of Art, Washington. The volumes of lectures constitute Number XXXV in Bollingen Series, sponsored by the Bollingen Foundation. Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to Permissions, Princeton University Press.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Varnedoe, Kirk. Pictures of nothing : abstract art since Pollock / Kirk T. Varnedoe. p. cm. — (The A.W. Mellon lectures in the fine arts ; 2003) (Bollingen series ; 48) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn-13: 978-0-691-12678-4 (hardcover : alk. paper) isbn-10: 0-691-12678-X (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Art, Abstract—United States. 2. Art, American—20th century. I. Title. II. Series. III. Series: Bollingen series ; 48. n6512.5.a2v37 2006 709.04´052—dc22
2006006621
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British Library Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available
Frontispiece: Ellsworth Kelly, Colors for a Large Wall, 1951. Oil on canvas, mounted on 64 joined wood panels, overall, 243.8 × 243.8 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of the artist. © Ellsworth Kelly; digital image © The Museum of Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA/Art Resource, New York.
New paperback printing 2023 ∞ ISBN (paper) 978-0-691-12678-4 ISBN (ebook) 978-0-691-25296-4
The A. W. Mellon Lectures in the Fine Arts
have been delivered annually since 1952 at the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, with the goal of bringing “the people of the United States the results of the best contemporary thought and scholarship bearing upon the subject of the Fine Arts.” As publication was always an essential part of the vision for the Mellon Lectures, a relationship was established between the National Gallery and the Bollingen Foundation for a series of books based on the talks. The first book in the series was published in 1953, and since 1967 all lectures have been published by Princeton University Press as part of the Bollingen Series. Now, for the first time, all the books in the series are available in one or more formats, including paperback and e-book, making many volumes that have long been out of print accessible to future generations of readers. This edition is supported by a gift in memory of Charles Scribner, Jr., former trustee and president of Princeton University Press. The Press is grateful to the Scribner family for their formative and enduring support, and for their commitment to preserving the A. W. Mellon Lectures in the Fine Arts for posterity. Images in this edition may have been altered in size and color from their appearance in the original print editions to make this book available in accessible formats.
co n t e n t s
Foreword Earl A. Powell III
vii
Preface Adam Gopnik
ix
Note to the Reader Judy Metro
xvii
1
Why Abstract Art?
2
Survivals and Fresh Starts
47
3
Minimalism
91
4
After Minimalism
145
5
Satire, Irony, and Abstract Art
191
6
Abstract Art Now
239
1
Acknowledgments
275
Index
277
Photography and Copyright Credits
287
f o r e wo r d
John Kirk Train Varnedoe was the fifty-second A. W.
editor in chief of the National Gallery of Art, with
Mellon lecturer at the National Gallery of Art. Be-
the help of Professor Pepe Karmel, Adam Gopnik,
tween March 30 and May 11, 2003, he delivered six
and especially, Kirk’s widow, Elyn Zimmerman. The
lectures under the general title, “Pictures of Nothing:
resonance of his oratory, however, remains only in
Abstract Art since Pollock.” Crowds of students, art-
the memory of those lucky enough to have been pres-
ists, critics, family, friends, and the wider public from
ent. Above all, Kirk Varnedoe wanted to persuade his
all over the country lined up every week at the East
audience, down to the last skeptic, and his Georgian
Building of the National Gallery of Art to listen to the
cadences were fully deployed to this end on those
passionate rhetoric that these pages can only echo.
Sunday afternoons.
Just three months after the last lecture, on August 14, 2003, Kirk Varnedoe died of the illness he had battled
The Mellon Lectures were formally inaugurated on
throughout the lectures and in the years preceding
December 6, 1949, by the Board of Trustees of the
his delivery of them.
National Gallery of Art. Their purpose was to bring
Kirk himself took every opportunity to declare
to the people of the United States the results of the
how much the challenge of giving the Mellon Lectures
best contemporary thought and scholarship bear-
meant to him. His appointment to a professorship at
ing upon the subject of the fine arts. Publication was
the School of Historical Studies at the Institute for
envisaged from the beginning, so that the lectures
Advanced Study, Princeton, N.J., from his position
would reach an even wider public and have a more
as chief curator of the department of painting and
permanent influence. Kirk had a strong sense of
sculpture at the Museum of Modern Art, was a signal
the historical tradition of the Mellon Lectures, and
honor, but it also provided him the opportunity to
referred to this often. It was important to him that,
concentrate on the construction of the lectures. By
in keeping with the original charter by the trustees,
continuing to teach at the Institute of Fine Arts, New
he was addressing a broad public, not only academic
York, while living in Princeton, Kirk was able to work
specialists. In this he associated himself in particular
out his ideas in the way that he preferred—on his
with the highly successful series delivered in 1956 by
feet, and in public. The prepared spontaneity of his
E. H. Gombrich, and published in 1960 as Art and
address is sustained in the chapters published here,
Illusion: A Study in the Psychology of Pictorial Repre-
which have been edited to that effect by Judy Metro,
sentation. Gombrich, who gave his Mellon Lectures in
the year of Jackson Pollock’s death, had little time for
had a special attachment to the National Gallery of
abstraction. Where Gombrich had considered why
Art. He was awarded a David E. Finley Fellowship for
art has a history through the study of illusion, Varne-
1970–1973 while a graduate student at Stanford. This
doe set out to provide an equally compelling case for
gave him a period of residence at the Gallery, and led
the history, and value, of abstract art over the last fifty
to the exhibition “Rodin Drawings, True and False”
years. Borrowing Gombrich’s idea of the “logic of the
at the Gallery in 1971–1972. Kirk served as a gener-
situation,” and embracing the contingencies of his-
ous and committed member of the Board of Advi-
tory, Varnedoe related an account of abstract art that
sors of the Center for Advanced Study in the Visual
is as pragmatic as it is personal. It is the powerful ap-
Arts from 1991 through 1994. At the end of his life he
prehension of the work of art, and Kirk’s deep under-
made an unforgettable contribution in the form of
standing of the experience of artists, that is conveyed
these Mellon Lectures. He spoke of their publication
in these lectures, and that gives them their unity.
often, always envisioning the written words as close
Kirk enriched many institutions with his experi-
to the spoken words of the lectures, and we are hon-
ence, his brilliance, and his fundamentally American
ored to be able to share with the public the thoughts
vernacular wit, which I first encountered in the un-
of a great teacher, critic, and scholar about the art of
dergraduate classrooms and on the muddy playing
our times.
fields of Williams College. We are fortunate that he Earl A. Powell III Director National Gallery of Art
P r e fac e
This book represents transcriptions of the six
but more was improvised: looking at the images
Mellon Lectures that Kirk Varnedoe gave in the
almost always inspired an unexpected thought,
spring of 2003, at the National Gallery of Art in
instantly blended into the body of the argument,
Washington, on the subject of abstract art in America
and here preserved. He supposed these lectures to be
since the time of Jackson Pollock. Minimal but
his last and intended them to be his most important
immensely skillful editing has been done throughout
work, his testament of faith. He poured all of himself
(by Judy Metro, the National Gallery’s editor in chief)
into them.
essentially to smooth off rough edges, eliminate
Given that truth, it seemed better to take them
obvious repetitions, and connect loose ends of the
as they were than to try and guess at what Varnedoe
narrative. It is no advertisement, but a plain fact,
would have done had he been given the time to do
that this book therefore records what is, if nothing
it. Perpetually dissatisfied with his own work, he
else, an amazing extemporaneous performance,
would have doubtless revised, rewritten, and recast
made all the more amazing by the speaker’s ravaged
many sections; he had barely begun this work when
physical condition. (Varnedoe died of cancer a scant
sickness overcame him. His inability to have under-
three months after giving the last of these lectures.)
taken these revisions is, for his readers, both a good
Working only with notes, though of course drawing
and bad thing. A bad thing, obviously, because that
on a lifetime’s reservoir of looking and thinking, the
work would have enabled him to seal off his points
seemingly crafted and pregnant sentences present on
and drive home his arguments in the finished text
these pages really were improvised by the speaker in
in a way that would have, among other things, made
the course of an hour’s talking.
this preface unnecessary. And his characterizations of offhand
other critics’ and historians’ arguments and ways of
improvisation—he knew more or less what he wanted
It
was
not
an
irresponsible
or
looking at these pictures, necessarily summary given
to say and had often rehearsed it, in his own mind and
the constraints of time and the need not to lose his
at length with listeners. (And, of course, he worked
listeners in academic pilpul, would certainly have
with an outline and a huge number of slides, which
broadened and deepened.
played a mnemonic role.) But the words came ring-
And yet their unfinished nature is a good thing, or
ing out, every Sunday, fresh and unplanned, just as
at least not necessarily a bad one, because the work of
the reader meets them here. Much was premeditated
revision—shutting off exits, italicizing easily missed
points, and giving academic heft to the whole—might
Bauhaus utopianism and American minimalism,
have diminished or even eliminated the extraordinary
or the parodies of abstract expressionism found in
urgency and sense of discovery, and even joy, that
American pop art—and turning it round and round
still glimmers from these pages. Whatever might
in the light of his mind, while deliberately evading,
have been gained in argumentative conclusiveness
as often as not, one single conclusive reading. The
might have been lost in improvisational electricity.
lack of neat conclusiveness was part of the point—
Varnedoe did not value too much “finish” in a work
art evades a single or even a double rule. He jokes at
of art, and the hot-off-the-press quality that he valued
the beginning of the third lecture that two listeners
in his favorite pictures—preferring rough and ready
came away with diametrically opposed ideas of what
cubist collage of the first lyric rapture to its later
he had been arguing for, because he had in fact been
synthetic refinements—is present here. The lectures
arguing for both.
are, exactly in their non-finito form, more exciting,
But though refusing to ride any pet theory to the
and a better representation of the speaker’s mind
doom of art, he would never have wanted this work to
and heart, than the more deliberate book he might
seem simply an “appreciation” or a series of fine point
finally have produced. Varnedoe’s unique quiddity as
considerations. The lectures were meant to be an
a lecturer—his contagious excitement in the presence
argument, and quite a tight, strong, and provocative
even of reproductions of works of art, his skeptical
one; it would be a mistake to take the speaker’s allergy
will to ask questions of received wisdoms, and then to
to theoretical hobby horsing for a reluctance to enter
ask questions of the questions, and the sheer love of
his horse into the race. That larger argument—though
painting and sculpture that exuded from him almost
always alive in suspension in these pages, and often
as a physical aura—is present on these pages as it is
spelled out in summary parts—is never, perhaps, as
perhaps nowhere else in his published work.
entirely summed up as he would have wanted it to be
Yet this unfinished nature brings challenges too, to both editors and readers. This book as we have
in a final draft, and it might be useful to try and at least sketch it out, however inadequately, here.
it, with its central argument dispersed throughout
Varnedoe intended these lectures, as he explained,
its pages rather than focused on a few of them, risks
to be a riposte or answer or reply to the Mellon Lec-
being seen as a series of evocations and epiphanies,
tures of Austrian-English art historian E. H. Gombrich
rather than as a pointed single argument about the
almost fifty years earlier, which produced Art and
nature of abstraction, and its meaning for American
Illusion—one of those rare books that deserves the
experience and modern consciousness. Varnedoe
much abused adjective “seminal,” since almost
conceived each lecture as a kind of microhistory unto
everything that has been made of the philosophy of
itself, taking a small issue—the relationship between
representation descends from it. In Art and Illusion,
Gombrich wanted to show that the history of
the same kind of historical criticism and reasoning.
representational art since the Renaissance was not a
Abstract art might be mystical and romantic in many
history of disciplined acts of copying-from-nature,
of its achievements, but it was essentially liberal,
but one of heroic acts of invention, comparable to,
humane, and rational in its historical sequencing and
and inseparable from, the parallel growth of science
broader cultural existence—historical and rational
around them in the same historical time frame. For
in the simple sense that each moment in its history,
Gombrich the rise of abstract painting, which was in
far from being trapped in a narrow subjectivity,
its heyday as he wrote, was a return of the irrational,
drew like a motif in a symphony on what had gone
a romantic rebellion against that rational human-
before and opened possibilities for what might come
istic tradition of representation—impressive in its
next. This evolution depended, in turn, on stable but
achievements at times, but essentially “primitivizing”
open-minded institutions and audiences in order
and limiting in its expressive range and vision of the
to do this; a scrawl might suggest freedom because
world. The abstract artist could say only one thing,
a splash had before suggested the Self. The abstract
again and again.
artist might seem to say one thing—reiteration was
Varnedoe wanted to show something like the
part of his rhetorical arsenal—but abstract art could
opposite: that abstract art was not an undifferenti-
say many things. The practice of artists and viewers
ated wave of negations or calls away from order, but
had for fifty years supplied an artistic language for
a series of unique inventions—situated in history,
American art, expressive and world-encompassing,
but responsive to individual agency, and immensely
that could register nearly any emotion or idea, from
varied in tone and meaning. He wanted to show that,
rhapsodic lust to Zen asceticism. What the history of
like the history of representation, the real history of
abstraction gave us was not a series of cri de couers,
abstract painting shows the continuous evolution of
pots of paint flung in the face of the bourgeois, or
a new language for art that, through the slow growth
of Big Brother, but a set of responses to life in a self-
and accretion of symbolic meaning—so that a splash
made language—sly and complicated and varied, and
might come to suggest freedom, and a scrawl the
in need of poetic parsing.
Self—would capture truths about the world, and about modern existence. This language might be
What had intervened between Gombrich and
coded and “corrected,” changed, in ways very different
Varnedoe to create this radical difference of view was,
from the ways that the Renaissance language of art had
of course, a developed and more complicated practice
been changed and corrected, but it was in other ways
of abstract art. But also, and just as important, there
continuous with that language, or to its underlying
had been a series of changes in art history, and these
assumptions about the role of art, and susceptible to
lectures respond to both kinds of change. In fact,
this book represents the culmination of Varnedoe’s
bloody suppression of the Commune in 1870. It was
lifelong attempt to reconcile the sensibility of an
very much a lecture about absences, things evaded
unreconstructed aesthete with the consciousness of
and not shown even in advanced painting: seeing this
an unapologetic postmodern historian. Varnedoe’s last
black hole at the center of Paris at the making of the
major lecture series before this one, his still unpublished
impressionist moment helped us to understand that
Slade Lectures at Oxford in 1992, had been entirely
moment far more fully, as a time of razor-edge uncer-
devoted to untracking and unraveling the debates on
tainties, violence, destruction, and passionate politi-
the idea of “postmodern theory” in art history, which
cal quarrels, very different from the hazy bourgeois
had so changed the field since his youth, let alone
paradise of conventional thought.
Gombrich’s time. (He left them unpublished because,
He never abandoned his commitment to this kind
ironically, those lectures seemed too heavily argumen-
of historical criticism. Varnedoe’s first question on
tative and not sufficiently appreciative or art-loving.)
approaching a work of art was always to ask, Under
These Mellon Lectures are, in a sense, his response to
what circumstances was it made? Rather than, Who
the crisis of postmodernism in art history that he had
made it? Or even, What feelings does it evoke in me?
identified in the Slade Lectures: an example of what he
(That question was crucial, but it came last.) But
thought art history could do without abandoning its
he soon became uneasy with what seemed to him
commitment to historical criticism, while still insisting
too great or too easy a desire among his contempo-
that when we talk about art as a thing unto itself, and
raries to use social history to write away art history.
the presence of art as an experience irreducible to any
That project was not one that he could sympathize
other, we are talking about something real.
with. The presence of the aesthetic—not as a narrow,
For Varnedoe wasn’t, despite long years as a
frightened repetition of a set series of OK forms but as
curator at the Museum of Modern Art, a stranger to
something viscerally thrilling, a frisson, an excitement
the tumult in his discipline that had led to so many
unlike any in the world—was at the heart of his work
fundamental alterations in the way that art history is
and his life. He spent most of his career as a scholar
conceived. His original contributions to his field had
trying to define ways in which you could understand
always belonged to that enterprise. His first impor-
art as history, without looking past the art only to the
tant lecture, presented in the late 1970s and repeated
history around it. “We have no satisfactory account of
many times, “The Ruins of the Tuileries, 1871–1883:
modern art as a part of modern culture,” were the first
The Aesthetics of Shock and Memory” had been a set-
words of his Slade Lectures. The Mellon Lectures were
piece of social history, taking as its subject a seeming
part of his project to help supply one.
nonsubject—the ruins of the ancient palace of the
His attempts to do this involved many kinds of
Kings of France left in the middle of Paris after the
inquiry, lit by much reading, an intellectual journey
whose full and complex history will have to be saved
the 1990s, to the work of the neo-pragmatists and the
for another day. In order better to understand this
philosopher Richard Rorty. (A conversation with the
book, however, it might be helpful to see what had
historian and critic Louis Menand, just as Menand
preceded it. His search for a new model of history
was finishing The Metaphysical Club, his history
brought him first, in his revisionist history of
of the origins of pragmatism in American history,
modern art, A Fine Disregard, and in High and Low:
played a crucial role in deflecting Varnedoe from the
Modern Art and Popular Culture toward a kind of
first subject he had considered for these lectures, the
Darwinian vision of art history. Greatly influenced
history of portraiture, toward this knottier but, in the
by the neo-Darwinian ideas of Stephen Jay Gould
end, more central one of abstraction: it was easy to
and Ernst Mayer, of constant creative change through
see the ground for looking at pictures of faces, but
the recycling of existing parts, these ideas seemed
why at pictures of nothing?) In Rorty and pragma-
to Varnedoe profoundly applicable to the story of
tism he found philosophical reinforcement for his
art. This neo-Darwinian emphasis on evolution as
belief that just going on was enough, that no founda-
a means of using the old to make the new and, still
tion, no ground was needed to make art from—art
more profoundly, on the idea of the individual varia-
made its own ground—and that all the choices were
tion as the only existing thing, illuminated his studies
ours: the artist to choose and make, ours to see and
in the nature of innovation: it helped him to under-
discover. Irony was not limiting if it meant a sense
stand the cycle of perspective passing from Europe
of proportion, an ability to bracket experience. This
to Japan to be remade by Hiroshige and Hokusai,
kind of pragmatism led him back away from mega-
only to return to Europe crucially reimagined for
history, back toward biography and small stories. (He
the advantage of impressionism; or the way that the
sketched the barest outlines of a triple life of Johns,
overhead viewpoint passes from art to photography
Twombly, and Rauschenberg.)
and back again, each time adapting to new meanings through the inflection of familiar form.
This intellectual arc—from the excitement of discovering ways for material and social history to shed
This kind of history made for a thrillingly good
unexpected life on art, through the larger view of the
big-picture story, but in the 1990s Varnedoe began
problem of creativity and change, into a final faith in
to feel that it was inadequate to the specific pictures
art itself, in lives and objects—was in many ways gen-
themselves. Artists had agency, in ways that animals
erational. One sees the same move from a new his-
didn’t. The big picture looked right, but as soon as you
toricism toward a revived attention to biography and
got down to the small pictures, you were in a world of
close reading of single forms and episodes in the work
a thousand conscious choices that had to be honored
of his friend Simon Schama and in that of the Shake-
on their own. He was therefore increasingly drawn, in
spearean scholar Stephen Greenblatt: it is not forces
from outside bearing down on the artist that count,
flowed from that project. It is based on a fanatically
but choices made within the picture from a palette of
close and microscopically detailed study of a period,
possibilities. And, as much as the Tuileries lecture was
yet is rooted in the simple-seeming belief that social
the masterpiece of his first “phase,” and the “Fine Dis-
life already has an artistic structure. It is not simply
regard” lectures of his second, a lecture Varnedoe gave
that culture has its politics, but that all social and
in 2000 on the Van Gogh portrait of Joseph Roulin,
political life has its culture—that our social life is
which he had acquired for the MoMA, was the mas-
inherently artistic, shaped by a set of rhetorical devices
terpiece and keystone of his final phase of thought.
and symbols and ways of speaking and showing
In that lecture he concerned himself with only one
and seeing that exist already, and that artists articu-
image, this single portrait of a man in a uniform with
late. Minimal art takes place within a broader social
a beard, with each element in the picture squeezed
dialogue about the uses of simplicity; this doesn’t put
and poked until the last juice of meaning was pressed
it in its place, but it does place it. The artist is posi-
from it. It was a lecture not about absences but about
tioned among codes and conventions common to her
presences, choices. Roulin’s beard, his uniform, the
time—but she is positioned within them, and they
background behind him, the wallpaper, the Socratic
operate as perplexing and demanding choices rather
nose, the Slavic eyes—every single thing that Van
than as high-pressure systems, raining down whether
Gogh had registered, every choice that he had made,
she has an umbrella or not. The artist is a permanent
was assumed to be lit with the light of the time as it
Hercules at a perpetual crossroads, forever forced to
had passed through the prism of his mind. Everything
make choices in pairs of meaning that are not of his
depended on looking at what was there and how it
own making. But he is a kind of Hercules, and it is he
happened, and every look at the picture led you back
or she who does the heavy lifting. In these lectures, in
into the world in which it was made. This kind of
this book, Varnedoe attempts to practice this kind of
close looking demanded a lot of specialized knowl-
history in the most resistant of contexts, taking this
edge, about the artist and his times, and this meant, in
matter of abstract art in America, which had none of
turn, that looking at pictures, and particularly look-
the easy crannies and nooks—the “hooks” of familiar
ing at modern pictures, had some of the qualities of
imagery and icons—that allow the climber to find his
a learned game; but then, Varnedoe thought, learned
way easily up the mountains of meanings. This was
games have all of the quality of learned games, and no
sheer blank rock face, and to climb it required a deli-
one thinks our taste for chess or football aberrant or
cate touch and an unmechanical sensibility.
fraudulent or imposed by a conspiracy of taste.
It could be objected that what Varnedoe set out
These last Mellon Lectures, the book before us,
to achieve here—a map of choices within circum-
represent an extension and final achievement that
stances, gestures within social givens—is simply what
inspired traditional scholars have always done, and
possibilities, one that saw hope, change, and even a
that a cultural poetics is just another name for good
kind of progress where others saw only pessimism,
art criticism. And, in a funny way, what Varnedoe
individual repression, and constant negation. In this
ended up doing in these lectures resembles what
sense, the key argumentative passage in these lectures
Kenneth Clark did in The Nude, another set of earlier
occurs at the beginning, rather than the end of the
Mellon Lectures that Varnedoe keenly admired, as
book, because it is meant to be an opening onto de-
much as it does what Gombrich did in his study of
scription rather than a closing down on a single view.
representation: a study of seemingly set-piece forms evolving radically different meanings through subtly
Abstract art, while seeming insistently to reject
differing inflections and changing communities of
and destroy representation, in fact steadily
“readers.” Exactly so. (Or as Varnedoe would have
expands its possibilities. It adds new words and
said, “That’s right! That’s right!”) Among his favorite
phrases to the language by colonizing the lead
lines on art, or anything else, were those of Matisse in
slugs and blank spaces in the type tray. Seeming
his Notes of a Painter, pointing out that all the great
nihilism becomes productive, or, to put it
discoveries in art and life were simple, familiar truths
another way, one tradition’s killer virus becomes
seen new. In a sense, that was and became the point of
another tradition’s seed. Stressing abstract art’s
these lectures—that abstract art was art, resistant to
position within an evolving social system of
any procrustean explanation, and requiring the same
knowledge directly belies the old notion that
patient work of re-creation, sympathetic summary,
abstraction is what we call an Adamic language,
interpretation, and historical reasoning, as any other
a bedrock form of expression at a timeless
art had ever done.
point prior to the accretion of conventions. If
To see the long chain of events of which one is mere-
anything, the development of abstraction in
ly another link, but to be acutely aware of that chain,
the last fifty years suggests something more
and to see all of the ways in which creative originality
Alexandrian than Adamic, that is, a tradition of
involves forging a new link within it; to grasp the pres-
invention and interpretation that has become
sure of the past neither as a limiting boundary nor
exceptionally refined and intricate, encom-
as a fixed inheritance; to re-create old value through
passing a mind-boggling range of drips, stains,
new arguments and use old arguments to make new
blobs, blocks, bricks, and blank canvases. The
values—that was, for Varnedoe, exactly the project of
woven web of abstraction is now so dense that,
modern abstraction, and the place where art touches
for its adepts, it can snare and cradle vanishingly
life and reaffirms its connection to our experience.
subtle, evanescent, and slender forms of life and
His was, above all, an optimistic view of art and its
meaning. . . . Abstraction is a remarkable system
of productive reductions and destructions
that borrows most heavily from the familiar dignities
that expands our potential for expression and
of architecture and theater. The number of questions
communication.
that arise is proof of the fertility of the thinking. Which leads to one last, more personal, reflection.
These lectures were his testament of faith—he
Though I wish with all my heart that Varnedoe could
ends the last one by the iteration of the words “I
have lived to polish these lectures, I would not have
believe”—but since the faith was explicitly not dog-
them other than they are. They feel free. For, in an
matic, the faith it demands from us in turn is one
irony that even a writer as keenly aware of the power
of, well, asking more questions. We might ask, for
of irony as he was could not have anticipated, their
instance, if Varnedoe here comes perilously close to
necessarily unfinished nature—their existence as
asserting that the proof of the value of modern art is
lectures, still-breathing sketches toward a final work,
that it makes more modern art—a notion that seems
drafts and researches not yet fully closed—may allow
to invest a lot in pure production, and reminds one
readers more room for exactly the kind of open-
of the cartoon cat who runs across empty air through
ended responses, the inventive reinterpretations, the
sheer belief and pedal-power (an image of art’s power
structured but uncoerced freedom to use another’s
he might have liked). In another way, we might ask
thought to think again for ourselves, that Kirk Varne-
if the search for an abstract art that can rival more
doe thought was at the heart of all creative endeavors.
obviously figural art for power and dignity leads in-
An irony as happy, in its way, for new-arriving readers
evitably to a concentration on that side of abstract art
as it is tragic for those of us who knew him. Adam Gopnik
N ot e to t h e r e a d e r The Mellon Lectures are presented here in large mea-
added a helpful layer of annotation to the first three
sure as Kirk Varnedoe delivered them from the podium,
lectures. (He is identified as “PK” in notes at the foot
extempore and with vibrance. Transcripts made from
of the page.) My colleagues in the department of
the audiocassettes of the six lectures were edited at the
modern and contemporary art at the National Gallery
National Gallery of Art with an effort to preserve not
of Art, headed by Jeffrey Weiss, were scholarly touch-
only their narrative content but the sound and ener-
stones in the editing of the last three lectures. Paulina
getic pace of Varnedoe’s delivery. The change in venue
Wanda Pobocha of New York University tracked down
from lecture hall to printed page necessitated revisions:
sources for some of the more elusive quotations and
the argument has been tightened, the prose manicured,
references in the text and was herself a valuable source
and the number of images reduced; the sequencing of
of information about the illustrations for these lec-
a few paragraphs and many images has been altered to
tures. Tam Curry Bryfogle, in the Gallery’s publishing
improve clarity; summaries and recapitulations have
office, prepared the transcriptions of the audiotapes;
been condensed; and of course audience reaction (the
Alex McSpadden annotated the transcriptions with
transcripts are peppered with laughter and applause)
notes from the videotapes; and Sara Sanders-Buell
and Varnedoe’s personal asides to the audience have
and Evanthia Mantzavinos Granville brought together
been eliminated. Dimensions, whether in captions or
from a complex web of descriptions and reproduction
text, have been converted to metric form.
rights the picture program and captions for this book.
Not all the editing has taken a reductive tack: a
This volume and all of us who saw it through
framework of references directs readers to some of
publication owe a great deal to Elyn Zimmerman,
Varnedoe’s sources; a few explanatory footnotes have
who from start to finish has been as generous with
been added; and descriptive phrases may fill in for at
her time and good advice as she has been steadfast in
least a few of the missing one thousand words that a
her pursuit of a distinctive publication.
picture, projected larger than life on an auditorium screen, is said to be worth.
Apologies to the author and the reader for any errors that may have found their way into the tran-
In the effort to prepare these lectures for publica-
scription, editing, and illustration of these enlighten-
tion, I was greatly assisted by Pepe Karmel, associate
ing lectures. Kirk Varnedoe’s Mellon Lectures series
professor of art history at New York University, who
may be viewed on videotape at the National Gallery
resolved queries, further smoothed the prose, and
of Art by prior appointment with Gallery Archives. Judy Metro Editor in Chief National Gallery of Art
1
W h y A b s t r ac t A rt ?
The main title of this year’s Mellon Lectures,
both nothingness and likeness have a looming
“Pictures of Nothing,” is from an essay by Wil-
presence in these lectures, the borrowing from
liam Hazlitt about one of his contemporaries,
Hazlitt seemed to me an appropriate provoca-
the early nineteenth-century English painter
tion with which to begin.
J.M.W. Turner. Turner was celebrated (or no-
Throughout these lectures I am going to talk
torious) for painting vaporous and indistinct
about abstract art during the last fifty years or
conjurings of atmospheric effects, as you can
so. The big question I want to ask eventually is
see from one of his landscapes of the 1840s,
the one you are entitled to ask up front, and it is
Snowstorm: Steamboat off a Harbour’s Mouth (fig. 1.1). In his essay, Hazlitt reports the remark of a dyspeptic viewer about one such work: “ ‘Pictures of nothing,’ the viewer harrumphed, ‘and very like. ’ ”1 This attitude, skeptical at best,
1.1
dismissive at worst, seems as premonitory of
J.M.W. Turner, Snowstorm:
modern reactions to abstract art as Turner is of abstraction itself. Because such skepticism is what I want to confront, and because issues of
Steamboat off a Harbour’s Mouth, exhibited 1842. Oil on canvas, 91.4 × 121.9 cm. Tate Gallery, London
1.2 Pablo Picasso, “Ma Jolie” (Woman with a Zither or Guitar), 1911–1912. Oil on canvas, 100 × 65.4 cm. The Museum of
the title of today’s talk: Why abstract art? But let
Modern Art, New York, acquired
me dodge that question for a moment and start
through the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest
with a second one: Why abstract art of the last fifty years? The quick answer is that fifty years takes us to the mid-1950s, a crucial juncture in twentieth-century culture. To say why it was crucial requires looking back even farther to the decades before World War II, when modern art in general and abstract art in particular had been dominated by Europe. The fragmentation and reassembling of the world effected by Pablo Picasso and Georges Braque in their Parisian cubism of 1909 to 1914 (fig. 1.2) had allowed, encouraged, even goaded several artists, especially from outlying
1.3
countries such as Holland and Russia, to push
Kazimir Malevich, Suprematist
farther into a world of forms, leaving behind
Composition: White on White,
any trace of reference to recognizable objects
1918. Oil on canvas, 79.4 × 79.4 cm. The Museum of Modern
or scenes (fig. 1.3). The invention of these new
Art, New York, acquisition
kinds of abstract or “nonobjective” art coincided
confirmed in 1999 by agree-
with the cataclysm of World War I, and the artists
ment with the Estate of Kazimir Malevich and made possible with
involved explained their innovations in terms
funds from the Mrs. John Hay
of contemporary revolutions in both society
Whitney Bequest (by exchange)
and consciousness, proposing in numerous manifestos that their art laid bare the fundamental, absolute, and universal truths appropriate to a new spirituality, to modern
PICTURES OF NOTHING
1.4 Pablo Picasso, Accordionist (L’Accordéoniste), Céret, summer 1911. Oil on canvas, 130.2
science, or to the emergence of a changed
× 89.5 cm. Solomon R. Guggen-
human order.
heim Museum, New York, Gift,
In the 1920s and 1930s these principles of
Solomon R. Guggenheim, 1937
abstract art were institutionalized in academies such as the Bauhaus in Germany, and they had a pervasive impact, reconfiguring the look of the man-made world in architecture, graphic design, film, and photography as well as in painting and sculpture. But the original utopian aspirations of the pioneer abstractionists seemed thwarted, and their collectivist optimism discredited, by the rise of totalitarian governments and the eventual collapse of Europe into a second world war. During and immediately after the confla-
made “out of ourselves,” without any accompa-
gration of European culture in World War II, a
nying insistence on the former metaphysical or
new push toward abstract art occurred among
social agendas of abstraction.2
younger artists in America, especially in New
In the mid-1950s abstract expressionism was
York. But this time the artists’ motivations and
exported internationally in important exhibi-
ambitions seem sharply different. What came
tions. It was a key moment in the emergence
to be called abstract expressionism in the art
of this new kind of American abstract painting.
of Jackson Pollock, Barnett Newman, Willem
When Pollock died in 1956 in a car crash he was
de Kooning, Mark Rothko, and others emerged
hailed by his prime champion, the critic Clem-
now from the context of surrealism, with its
ent Greenberg, as the legitimate inheritor of the
stress on visual free association. Abstract expres-
great tradition of European abstract art repre-
sionist painting had its roots in the unconscious
sented by cubist pictures such as Picasso’s Accor-
mind. It was, to paraphrase one of these artists,
dionist of 1911 (fig.1.4). Pollock was said to have
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ?
PICTURES OF NOTHING
“picked up for America the torch of innovations
of painting without any extraneous literary
lit by Picasso,” eliminating deep perspectival
content.3
space, for example, as in Number 1, 1950 (Lav-
Yet if Greenberg could see Pollock’s poured
ender Mist) (fig. 1.5). Greenberg argued that
paintings as extending the European avant-
Pollock had advanced the line of abstraction’s
garde tradition, these same works also displayed
logical progress toward its supposedly destined
some radically new aspects. They brought the
goal of expressing the essential visual qualities
process of art-making to the fore, so that the
1.5 (opposite) Jackson Pollock, Number 1, 1950 (Lavender Mist), 1950. Oil, enamel, and aluminum on canvas, 221 × 299.7 cm. National Gallery of Art, Washington,
painting seemed only like the record of the event
by a then-unknown Southerner in his mid-
documented by Hans Namuth in his famous
twenties. Whereas painting such as Pollock’s
photographs of Pollock pouring and dripping
seemed expressive of a heatedly urgent, physi-
paint onto a canvas in his barn studio on Long
cal, psychic, and emotional engagement, Johns’
lock creating Autumn Rhythm
Island (fig. 1.6). Pollock’s work allowed for the
painting seemed the opposite: coolly detached,
(Number 30) in his barn
forceful expression of chance in the way the
diffident, suffused with irony—an impassive
studio in Long Island, 1950
paint fell uncontrollably in spatters and drips
presentation of commonplace things. Johns
Ailsa Mellon Bruce Fund
1.6 Hans Namuth, Jackson Pol-
across the canvas, dissolving traditional distinctions between figure and ground. A picture such as Lavender Mist shows a nearly even dispersal of pictorial incident over the entire field of the canvas, yielding a new “allover” wholeness that seemed a kind of anti-composition. Moreover, the most celebrated of Pollock’s drip pictures were big, up to five-and-a-half meters across, and this mural-like scale suggested a sharply different relationship between the body and pictorial space. In these ways Pollock’s paintings seemed to offer a thoroughly new point of departure for abstraction. But this moment in the mid-1950s also saw what has come to be seen as the death knell of abstract expressionism and the launch of an antithetical idea of art in Jasper Johns’ White Flag of 1955 (fig. 1.7), a deliberately deadpan work
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ?
1.7 Jasper Johns, White Flag, 1955. Encaustic, oil, newsprint, fabric, and charcoal on canvas, 198.9 × 306.7 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, purchase, Lila Acheson Wallace, Reba and Dave Williams, Stephen and Nan Swid, Roy R. and Marie S. Neuberger, Louis and Bessie Adler Foundation, Inc., Paula Cussi, MarieGaetana Matisse, the Barnett Newman Foundation, Jane and Robert Carroll, Eliot and Wilson Nolen, Mr. and Mrs. Derald H. Ruttenberg, Ruth and Seymour Klein Foundation Inc., Andrew N. Schiff, the Cowles Charitable Trust, the Merrill G. and Emita E. Hastings Foundation, John J. Roche, Molly and Walter Bareiss,
seemed to resurrect a different European tradi-
the way for artists to work in what his partner,
tion of the prewar era, not the tradition of Pi-
Robert Rauschenberg, famously referred to
Lougheed Gifts, and gifts from
casso and cubism but the tradition of Marcel
as the space between art and life.4 Along with
friends of the Museum; Kathryn
Duchamp and Dada, with its subversive pranks.
Rauschenberg’s work, Johns’ flag catalyzed the
E. Hurd, Denise and Andrew Saul,
The ready-made imagery of White Flag recalled
explosion of a new realism in pop art. This was
Duchamp’s decision to select a urinal from a
a realism that embraced photography, advertis-
tion purchase, and Cynthia Hazen
plumbing supplier, sign it, and submit it to a
ing, and the image-saturated world of modern
Polsky and Leon B. Polsky funds;
New York art exhibition under the title Foun-
media—everything that Greenberg’s ideal of a
tain (fig. 1.8). But Johns’ scrupulously hand-
pure abstraction had so strenuously excluded.
Linda and Morton Janklow, Aaron I. Fleischman, and Linford L.
George A. Hearn, Arthur Hoppock Hearn, Joseph H. Hazen Founda-
Mayer Fund; Florene M. Schoenborn bequest; gifts of Professor and Mrs. Zevi Scharfstein and
painted flag transmutes Duchamp’s idea of the
Our starting point in the mid-1950s, then,
Himan Brown, and other gifts,
ready-made into something new. It is a way of
seems simultaneously to present a new form of
bequests, and funds from various
making art rather than a way of not making
abstraction and a new resistance to its premises.
it. Instead of remaining a hermetic in-joke, a
This contradictory development is what I want
piece of art about art, Johns’ White Flag opened
to document and explore. For many people
donors, by exchange, 1998. Art © Jasper Johns/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
P I C T U R E S O F N OT H I N G
1.8 Alfred Stieglitz, Fountain, photograph of sculpture by Marcel Duchamp, 1917. Gelatin silver print, 23.5 × 17.8 cm. Succession Marcel Duchamp,
who think and write about culture, this mo-
Villiers-sous-Grez, France
ment marks an even larger watershed between the end of modernism and the inauguration of a postmodern world, a great divide between the world of, say, Henri Matisse and Picasso and that of contemporary art. I am not one of those people, however, and this dichotomy is not what I am here to talk about. Those who believe in a strict opposition between modern and postmodern art will perhaps be discomfited by the story I have to tell. For instance, I want to
canvas; the black industrial house paint—are a
show how strains from two seemingly opposite
direct response to Pollock’s work. On the oth-
camps—from Johns and Pollock, for example,
er hand, Stella’s stripes, as he himself has said,
or from Picasso and Duchamp—overlapped
come directly from Johns. Stella’s work does not
and blended, and how the emergence of impor-
seem to make sense unless we combine (rather
tant new artistic languages depended precisely
than set in opposition) the modern Pollock and
on those unexpected hybrids.
the postmodern Johns—just as Johns’ hand-
Let us look, for example, at Frank Stella’s
made flag is unthinkable without the seemingly
The Marriage of Reason and Squalor of 1959
antithetical influences of Paul Cézanne and Du-
(fig. 1.9). Stella himself described this work as a
champ.
piece of “negative Pollockism”—a radical reac-
Conundrums such as this interest me a great
tion against Pollock, and yet at the same time an
deal. Moreover, I do not accept the modern/post-
extension of Pollock. Many things about it—the
modern split because I do not put much stock
allover composition, wall-to-wall, edge-to-edge;
in either—or any—“ism.” Epochs do not have
the even distribution of emphasis across the
essences, history does not work by all-governing
5
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ?
1.9 Frank Stella, The Marriage of Reason and Squalor (second version), 1959. Enamel on canvas, 230.5 × 337.2 cm. Collection of the artist 1.10 Detail of figure 1.9
PICTURES OF NOTHING
unities, and works of art in their quirkiness tend
feathered edge of the touch of the picture, and
to resist generalities. These Mellon Lectures will
the dark, espresso-ground, Beat-generation
dwell on experience and works of art. Between
blackness that places the picture in its epoch
the vague confusions of individual experience
(fig. 1.10). This does not translate well in pho-
and the authority of big ideas, sign me up for
tographs, and it is easy to lose in theory, yet it
experience first. Given one minute more to
is critical to the experience of the picture. Hard
either parse critical theory or stammer toward
examination and questioning of the specificity
the qualities of the individual work of art, I will
of works of abstract art, combined with the ex-
use the time for the latter. Now this may sound
perience of the viewer, are our best ways to hold
like dumb anti-intellectualism, but I hope it is
out against and to test “big ideas.” What we want
something better. Abstraction, of course, has
to do is cut through the gas and grab the ideas
a lot to do with ideas and theory. One of the
that flow out of and drive us back toward such
valuable things it does more fiercely than a lot
confusing, gritty particulars of experience, rath-
of other art is to make us think and read what
er than the ideas that constantly and confidently
others think: Greenberg on Pollock, Professor
blend such things into soupy generalities.
Michael Fried, Mellon lecturer in 2002, on Stella,
Still, even though these talks will focus on
and so on. But it is also crucially about experi-
individual works and creators, I am going to try
ence and about particulars. The less there is to
to indicate the connection of these artists and
look at, the more important it is that we look at
their art with broader histories: the Cold War
it closely and carefully. This is critical to abstract
and Vietnam, America versus Europe, capital-
art. Small differences make all the difference.
ism and socialism, and so on. While I make
For example, the next time someone tries to
no pretense to inclusiveness, there is so much
sell you on the mechanical exactitude of Stella’s
ground to cover that I am necessarily going to
stripes, think again about the beautiful, delicate,
paint, time and again, with comically broad
breathing space in these stripes, the incredible
brush strokes. Thus those who prefer reductive
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ?
1.11 Ellsworth Kelly, Colors for a Large Wall, 1951. Oil on canvas, mounted on 64 joined wood panels, overall, 243.8 × 243.8 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of the artist
generalization and crude caricatural summary
not only flawed in itself but also hides more
will probably find a lot to like.
interesting, complex confusions and overlaps
Here are some of the stories I want to tell in
between, on one hand, the prewar tradition of
the course of these lectures. I will begin, in the
constructivism, with its agendas of science and
next lecture, by talking about the 1950s. One of
objective order, both aesthetic and social, and, on
the standard art historical accounts of recent
the other, new styles that utilized similar forms
years tells how, in the 1950s, the CIA and the
but with very dissimilar premises. A key exam-
Museum of Modern Art colluded to promote
ple is the work that Ellsworth Kelly did in Paris
abstract expressionism as an American tool
in the early 1950s, such as the beautiful 1951
in the Cold War battle. This paranoid cliché is
work called Colors for a Large Wall (fig. 1.11). The painting resembles but is crucially different from the math-based, systematic art of the Zurich “concrete” artists such as Richard Paul Lohse, whose Complementary Groups Formed by Six Horizontal Systematic Color Series (fig. 1.12) dates from about the same year that Kelly painted his Colors for a Large Wall. Compared to Pollock’s broad, gestural abstract expressionism, work like Lohse’s seemed very retrograde. It looked back to the beginnings of the concrete art movement in the early 1930s. Suddenly, in the 1960s, Kelly’s work was exhibited along with minimalist avant-garde work by younger artists such as Carl Andre, as if Kelly and Andre were doing the same thing.
1 0 PICTURES OF NOTHING
1.12 Richard Paul Lohse, Complementary Groups Formed by Six Horizontal Systematic Color Series, 1950/1975. 150 × 150 cm. Collection of the Richard
Andre’s floor piece of 1969 (fig. 1.13) seems to
split with Europe. But at the same time the art
have exactly the same modular construction
seems to coincide with and to draw on Euro-
and the same rigor as Kelly’s Colors for a Large
pean art—on the work of Romanian sculptor
Wall.6 In the 1950s, when abstract expression-
Constantin Brancusi, for example, and on Rus-
ism defined the New York School, Kelly left New
sian constructivist art. I also want to contrast
York for Paris. The story of his artistic forma-
the strains of minimalism that appear in New
tion there, and of his co-optation in the 1960s
York and Los Angeles. For example, in 1966
by minimalism, will provide a different view of
New York artist Robert Morris makes a box
the 1950s.
painted neutral gray that has a reductive feeling,
Then in the third and fourth lectures I want
Paul Lohse Foundation, Zurich
a feeling of utter object-hood (fig. 1.14); in the
to turn to the 1960s, and to minimalism in its multiple forms. This new kind of hard-edged abstraction emerged around 1960 in sharp reaction to the loose, gestural abstract painting that had followed from abstract expressionism. Minimalism was so drastically reductive that it appeared utterly nihilistic. But within the dead certainties that it seemed to propose lurk many an ambiguity and contradiction. I want to examine the battles within—and overlaps between— the different readings of this new direction in abstract art. Minimalism claimed to be purely American in its philosophical grounding—in its “I’ve got to kick this to believe it” empiricism. This represented a willed and self-proclaimed
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 1 1
1.13 Carl Andre, 144 Lead Square, 1969. 144 lead plates, each approximately 0.95 × 30.5 × 30.5 cm, overall 0.95 × 368 × 369.6 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, Advisory
same year, the Los Angeles artist James Turrell
Harley-Davidson paint, galvanized metal, col-
Committee Fund (494.1969).
uses light projection to conjure a box that does
ored Plexiglas, for example—materials that
not exist at all, that is purely a light illusion, that
offer a different kind of delicacy and subtlety
has entirely to do with playing on the sensorial
than one finds in Judd’s manifestos.
Art © Carl Andre/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
1 2 PICTURES OF NOTHING
(fig. 1.15). While Turrell on one coast is creat-
I am interested in looking at the degree to
ing inner events, Morris on the other is creating
which 1960s minimalism expresses something
something that only exists outside.
quintessentially American. Some scholars have
Then I want to look at the varieties of mini-
told us that Pollock’s loose gestural freedom
malist art in between. Between the gray neutral-
and broad cowboy scale offered an epitome of
ity of Morris and the shining illumination of
American society, and that the CIA plotted to
Turrell’s Afrum-Proto, one might position some-
promote his work in Europe for just this rea-
thing like Donald Judd’s open aluminum boxes
son.7 More recently, other scholars have told
of 1969 (fig. 1.16). Judd is someone we want to
us the exact opposite: that American society is
explore for his combination of a seemingly rig-
really dominated by corporate capitalism, that
orous reductive geometry and odd materials—
minimalism expresses an industrial aesthetic,
1.14 Robert Morris, Untitled, 1966. Gray painted plywood, 121.9 × 243.8 × 243.8 cm. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York, the Panza Collection
and that it is therefore in collusion with the
Hesse in 1968—one sees a rebellion against
military-industrial complex.
the pure, strict, seemingly neutral geometry of
8
In the fourth lecture I will look at how mini-
minimalism. In the case of Hesse’s piece, with
malism changed very swiftly around 1968, as
its rubber tubing entering the inside of a cube,
seen in works such as Richard Serra’s One Ton
we find a new kind of organicism with entirely
Prop and Eva Hesse’s Accession II (figs. 1.17,
different psychological and social ramifications,
1.18). In this short time span—between the
particularly in regard to the body and women. It
Morris and Turrell in 1966, and the Serra and
is so interesting to think about how the Pollock
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 1 3
1 4 PICTURES OF NOTHING
1.15 (opposite) James Turrell, Afrum-Proto, 1966. Tungsten projection. Michael and Jeanne Klein Collection, Houston, Texas
exhibition of 1967 inflected the change and in-
as Morris’s gray box, Serra’s four pieces of lead
1.16
terpretation of minimalism after it, and how
poised against one another threaten to collapse;
Donald Judd, Untitled, 1969.
two things that represented the macho ideal in
they have a real-time relationship to gravity and
art—Pollock’s bold athletic drip paintings and
to the body that dramatically changes the prem-
× 152.1 × 707.4 cm. Saint Louis
Judd’s stern cubes—in combination became
ises of minimalism.
Art Museum, funds given by the
an ideal vocabulary for feminist art in the late 1960s and early 1970s.
These changes, effected by a younger generation who were inheriting the vocabulary of
Another aspect of minimalism I will explore
minimalism in the late 1960s, also come to bear
is how it changed in its relationship to scale and
on the earlier minimalists themselves and what
the body. In contrast with an inert cube such
they do in later years. Thus the minimalism of
Anodized aluminum and Plexiglas, four units, installed: 120.7
Schoenberg Foundation, Inc. Art © Donald Judd Foundation/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 1 5
1.17 Richard Serra, One Ton Prop (House of Cards), 1969. Lead antimony, four plates, each 121.9 × 121.9 × 2.5 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of the Grinstein family
1 6 PICTURES OF NOTHING
Judd or Morris in the early 1960s that had been
the monumental. It also takes on a new related-
proposed as an art of immediacy—an art of
ness to America and to the American landscape,
awareness of the sensory relationship to the ob-
in works such as Walter De Maria’s amazing
ject in the present tense—becomes in the 1980s
Lightning Field near Quemado, New Mexico,
and 1990s an art par excellence of memory and
an array of stainless steel, javelin-like rods in a
giant, empty Southwestern landscape, making
desire for control into a whole new environ-
up a grid that extends for a mile along one axis
ment, quite different from its containment in
and for a kilometer along the other. A work like
the early boxes of the 1960s (fig. 1.19).
this changes what scale means for minimalism
From works like De Maria’s in the 1970s, I
and releases the potentially megalomaniacal
will move on in the fifth lecture to the 1980s and
1.18 Eva Hesse, Accession II, 1967. Galvanized steel and rubber tubing, 78.1 × 78.1 × 78.1 cm. The Detroit Institute of Arts, Founders Society purchase, Friends of Modern Art Fund and Miscellaneous Gifts Fund
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 1 7
1.19 Walter De Maria, The Lightning Field, 1977. Four hundred polished steel poles, grid array: 1 mi × 1 km. Quemado, New Mexico, © Dia Art Foundation
1 8 PICTURES OF NOTHING
away from weighty issues into apparent jokes.
like one of Stella’s striped paintings, Zambezi,
The opening premise of this lecture on satire
of 1959 (fig. 1.21). It is an extended joke about
and irony will be the truism that an abstraction
the relationship between pop, as Lichtenstein
often inadvertently looks like something. For
practiced it, and minimalism, as represented by
example, Roy Lichtenstein’s Ball of Twine from
Stella’s black painting. It is just one of any num-
1963 (fig. 1.20) was designed to look exactly
ber of examples of pop artists—Lichtenstein,
Andy Warhol, Claus Oldenburg, and others—
what begins to happen in the 1980s, with paint-
thumbing their noses at the pretensions of
ings such as Peter Halley’s Two Cells with Circu-
minimalist art, and bringing those pretensions
lating Conduit of 1985 (fig. 1.22). The joke here
back to earth by showing that exactly the same
is that Halley’s painting looks a lot like a Bar-
designs appear in crass, man-made objects.
nett Newman (fig. 1.23). But Halley’s painting
This forces open an issue—the relationship
is accompanied by an enormous commentary
between abstraction and mere design—that has
in which the joke becomes deadly earnest. Hal-
lingered as a haunting doubt within the idea of
ley argues that there is a resemblance between
abstract art. Yet Lichtenstein’s jibe at Stella seems
Newman’s paintings and diagrams of computer
lighthearted or dryly ironic once compared with
chips, and that this resemblance is not in fact
1.20 Roy Lichtenstein, Ball of Twine, 1962. Magna on canvas, 101.6 × 91.4 cm. Private collection 1.21 Frank Stella, Zambezi, 1959. Enamel on canvas, 230.5 × 200 cm. San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Gift of Harry W. and Mary Margaret Anderson
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 1 9
coincidental, because the strictures and pretensions of hard-edged abstraction emerged at the same time that the hegemony of control and order became the dominant feature of modern society and philosophy.9 Halley’s argument here comes from the French philosopher Michel Foucault.10 Following Foucault, Halley discerns a sinister, constraining order that links together the geometry of prisons, the organization of 1.22 Peter Halley, Two
information in cyberspace, and the inclination
Cells with Circulating
toward geometric abstraction. Hence the pres-
Conduit, 1985.
ence of the word “cell” in the title of so many of
Acrylic, Day-Glo
Halley’s paintings, referring simultaneously to
acrylic, Roll-a-Tex on canvas, 160 × 274.3 cm. Collection of Michael and B. Z. Schwartz
the modular unit of Newman-style abstraction and to the confining spaces of a prison. Another representative figure of 1980s abstraction is Philip Taaffe. In a picture like Blue,
1.23
Green of 1987 (fig. 1.24), Taaffe takes a big blue
Barnett Newman,
arrow shape, quoted directly from early Ells-
Who’s Afraid of Red,
worth Kelly, and doctors it up with wavy lines
Yellow and Blue II, 1967. Acrylic on can-
and flower patterns, cheapening it and making
vas, 305 × 257.7 cm.
it look like a trivial plastic decoration. Where
Staatsgalerie Stuttgart
Halley tells us that abstraction is all-powerful and dominating, Taaffe tells us that it is inconsequential and thin. This kind of politicized
2 0 PICTURES OF NOTHING
critique of abstraction dominates much of the 1980s. From there I want to look at the larger question raised by all of these jokes and satires as to whether abstraction is even possible after Johns’ flag and the triumph of irony in contemporary art. Can artists have it both ways? Can they be ironic and abstract? Among the paintings we will look at are Gerhard Richter’s Gray Streaks of 1968 (fig. 1.25), which has an obvious relationship to Stella’s work (see fig. 1.9), and at Johns’ own paintings of the years 1972 to 1980, when he painted pure abstract pictures in a crosshatch mode that seems like a geometrized variant of Pollock’s allover space and gesture. I want to examine the phenomenon of part-time abstractionists, artists such as Johns and Richter and Twombly, for whom abstract art is not an end-of-the-line distillation but rather one option among many. On one
nomenon unique to the period after World
1.24
day, or in one week, or in one decade, they
War II.
Philip Taaffe, Blue, Green, 1987. Silk screen, collage, and acrylic
might make abstract work, but it would exist
Having moved through the 1960s, 1970s,
in counterpoint with the photographic real-
and 1980s, in the final lecture I will arrive at the
Private collection, courtesy
ist work that they would make on the next day
present day, talking about the remarkable new
Gagosian Gallery, New York, and
or week, or in the next decade. This is a phe-
installations at the Dia Art Foundation facility
on canvas, 219.71 × 172.72 cm.
Thomas Ammann Fine Art, Zurich
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 2 1
1.25 Gerhard Richter, Gray Streaks, 1968. Oil on canvas, 200 × 200 cm. Private collection
status of abstraction, and particularly in the status of minimalism. There are now monuments to the achievement of minimalism all over the country. Following the model of the Rothko Chapel in Houston, the minimalist shrines range from Turrell’s Quaker meeting house in Houston, to Judd’s vast complex in Marfa, Texas, to De Maria’s Lightning Field in Quemado, to Heizer’s complex City monument outside of Las Vegas, and ultimately to Dia Beacon itself. The strange thing is that, despite the enshrinement and monumentalization of mini-
2 2 PICTURES OF NOTHING
in Beacon, New York, which open[ed] in May
malism, abstraction now seems to be in suspen-
2003. The work on view at Dia includes a Michael
sion, or even in eclipse. The great lions of mini-
Heizer piece, North, South, East, West, which
malism, like Heizer and Serra, are into or well
consists of extremely large depressions cut into
past their sixties. It is not clear whether abstract
the floor and lined with Cor-Ten steel (fig. 1.26).
art holds the same attraction for a younger gen-
This was originally conceived in 1967, although
eration, or whether the most contentious issue
it was only permanently realized at Beacon. In a
in visual culture of the twentieth century has
large train shed at Beacon, there is a whole run
now lost its urgency.
of Richard Serra’s “torqued ellipses” designed
Included in these decade-by-decade time
in 1998 (fig. 1.27). Thirty years stretch between
capsules that I have summarized here, there will
Heizer’s original proposal for North, South,
be stories of lofts and deserts, hot rods and phi-
East, West and Serra’s series of torqued ellipses.
losophy seminars, Day-Glo paint and dirt, rust-
In this time span there are huge changes in the
ing steel and shiny brass that will take us from
Patagonia to Paris. My hope is that these selec-
obliged to ask some “why” questions, includ-
1.26
tive histories will offer a chance to review, look
ing ultimately the overarching one I deferred at
Michael Heizer, North, South,
at, and think about some of the best and most
the outset: Why abstraction? Why abstract art? I
challenging art of our epoch. Simply to sum-
believe in abstract art, and I like a lot of it, and
mantled); recreated in 2002 at
marize this history may be more than enough,
obviously part of what I hope to do in these lec-
Dia: Beacon, Beacon, New York.
more than you or I can handle in a handful of
tures is to make you like it too. But whether or
Collection Dia Art Foundation
lectures. But I also think there’s a point to all
not I succeed, there will be a question hanging
these accounts, to this chronology—that is, a
over us. Beyond my liking abstract art, or your
general meaning behind the unfolding of par-
liking it, or even all of Washington, DC, liking
ticular facts. And perhaps there is a basic doubt
it; beyond the commitments of the artists who
haunting everything I’ve laid out so far. So in
make it; and beyond the collectors and institu-
addition to all the “how” stories about the way
tions that support it, What is abstract art good
this art developed over several decades, I feel
for? What’s the use—for us as individuals, or for
East, West, 1967. Steel, Sierra Nevada Mountains, Reno (dis-
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 2 3
1.27 (opposite) Richard Serra, Torqued Ellipse II, 1996; Double Torqued Ellipse, 1997; Torqued Ellipse I, 1996 and 2000. Cor-Ten steel, installation view at Dia: Beacon, New York.
any society—of pictures of nothing? What’s the
(fig. 1.28). Given that the elements of the nat-
use of paintings or sculptures or prints or draw-
ural world have always looked as they do, and
ings that do not seem to show anything except
given that human vision has always functioned
themselves—big holes in the ground, or huge
as it does, Gombrich wanted to know why an-
Nude Woman Posing in
curved pieces of steel?
cient Egyptians and medieval Italian monks
Front of Class (#40987).
I take this topic ultimately because it seems
and baroque ceiling painters depict the world
to me one of the most legitimate and poorly ad-
so differently. He was intensely dissatisfied with
dressed questions in modern art. Put another
explanations that rested on some quasi-mystical
way, I want to ask whether there is any grounding
spirit of the age or zeitgeist. Instead he wanted
for abstraction, perhaps an underlying logic, or
an explanation of the history of art that had
specifically a “logic of the situation,” to borrow
more scientific and philosophical rigor, that
a term from E. H. Gombrich. Almost fifty years
would take into account both the “hard-wiring”
Collection Dia Art Foundation 1.28 Alain, Egyptian Art Class.
© The New Yorker Collection 1955 Alain from cartoonbank. com. All rights reserved
ago, Gombrich gave the epochal Mellon Lectures that became his book Art and Illusion, and I want to recapture some of the excitement that must have filled the National Gallery’s lecture hall in 1956 when Gombrich spoke. He asked at that time one of the most resounding questions of all: Why does art have a history? Gombrich wanted to crack what he called the “riddle of style,” that is, to find an explanation for the succession of odd stylizations by which different epochs and civilizations have represented the visible world.11 He opens Art and Illusion with a cartoon of Egyptian boys drawing from a model
*The joke here is the suggestion that ancient Egyptians actually stood and walked the way they do in their pictures, and that the seemingly peculiar style of their art can therefore be explained as a literal transcription of reality. We assume that this is not the case: that the Egyptians stood and walked more or less the way we do.—PK
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 2 5
1.29 Albrecht Dürer, “A Man Drawing a Lute” from The Art of Measurement, 1525. Reproduced in Willi Kurth, ed., The Complete Woodcuts of Albrecht Dürer, 1927/1963, pl. 338). National Gal-
of human perception and the way knowledge
was taken for granted by the wider public.
lery of Art, gift of Robert Erburu
has progressed cumulatively through successive
Gombrich wanted to reproblematize that com-
ages and societies. Gombrich’s proposal, which
monplace: to show that, far from being a merely
drew on the best minds of his time in areas such
servile copying of nature—we see it, we draw
as perceptual psychology and the philosophy of
it—illusionist representation was a willed,
science, was that within the confounding vari-
hard-fought achievement of human culture.
ety of the history of Western art one could trace
It was the result of a cumulative dialogue be-
a long, halting, but ultimately rational prog-
tween invented conceptual schemas and their
ress toward the development of a credible illu-
corrections—a dialogue that was worthy of be-
sionism, that is, the feat of getting a viewer to
ing regarded, like science, as a unique virtue of
conjure from painted marks on a flat surface a
the Western tradition, stretching from what he
convincing illusion of such things as seamlessly
called “the Greek miracle,” in the vase painting
receding space and three-dimensional volumes.
and sculpture of the fifth century b.c., through
Albrecht Dürer, in his 1525 woodcut of an art-
Dürer and the Italian Renaissance up to John
ist trying to reason out the correct way to show
Constable’s naturalist landscape paintings, such
a lute in perspective, reminds us how long and
as his beautiful 1816 picture of Wivenhoe Park,
hard artists had to work to achieve this illusionism (fig. 1.29). Gombrich delivered his Mellon Lectures in 1956, the year of Pollock’s death, when, as we have seen, abstract art appeared to be spreading triumphant. At the same time, realist illusionism, propagated on every pulp page and street corner billboard by magazine illustrations, advertisements, and above all by photography,
2 6 PICTURES OF NOTHING
1.30 John Constable, Wivenhoe Park, Essex, 1816. Oil on canvas, 56.2 × 101.3 cm, framed: 77.8 × 122.5 × 8.8 cm. National Gallery of Art, Washington, Widener Collection
Essex from the National Gallery of Art collec-
up and interpreting his many writings on the
tion (fig. 1.30).
subject of abstract art—he saw the claim that
But this noble progress foundered when it
modern abstract art might be something more
came up against the wall of the oncoming twen-
than decoration as based either in mystifica-
tieth century. As much as Gombrich cherished
tions about abstraction reflecting hidden meta-
the triumph of illusionism, he disliked and mis-
physical truths or in specious arguments that
trusted its demise in abstract art. The antipathy
the tides of history somehow required such
was partly personal. Gombrich was, after all, a
innovations.
Renaissance scholar, and his tastes and sympa-
It was precisely that lethal combination of
thies were grounded in an earlier humanism.
belief in “higher ideals,” stretching back to Plato,
But his was also an intellectual and even ideo-
and pronouncements about the “requirements”
logical bias. Gombrich thought that abstrac-
of history, grounded in Hegel, that Gombrich’s
tion was understandable as an extension of the
close friend, the philosopher Karl Popper, in
history of decorative pattern-making, as in Al-
his wartime book The Open Society and Its En-
hambra tiles (fig. 1.31), rugs, basket weaves, tile
emies, had recently scourged as the false philo-
work, and the like. But—if I can risk summing
sophical foundations of totalitarian thinking,
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 2 7
1.31 Moorish, Nasrid Dynasty,
free inquiry and criticism in the open society of
Grabados. Marble ornaments
the West. Conversely, Gombrich’s subsequent
above glazed tiles from the
put-downs of abstract art present its excesses as
Alhambra, Granada, 1338–1390
being, at best, whims of trendy fashion, and, at worst, tainted with the most dangerous policies of totalitarian thought. I admire so much about Art and Illusion. Rather than critique the flaws that have become evident in Gombrich’s arguments over time, I want to wonder with you whether there can ever be an argument for abstract art that is as good, as generous, as ambitious, and as challenging as Gombrich’s argument for its opposite. Because as Sir Ernst rightly saw, all the many claims about timeless universal forms and historical
2 8 PICTURES OF NOTHING
propounded by both Fascism and Soviet Com-
destinies that have been used to explain mod-
munism. Thus, to put it far more crudely than
ern abstraction are, however sincere or sophisti-
Professor Gombrich, the implicit message of
cated, intellectually bankrupt. There are not any
Art and Illusion is two-fold. On one hand, Gom-
“hard” reasons why abstract art has to be. Nor
brich argues that the construction of illusion-
any teleology that explains why it developed as
ist naturalism is directly consonant with the
it did. And it is useless to keep looking for those
neurological hard-wiring of human nature. On
kinds of justifications.
the other, he suggests the progressive way illu-
This does not invalidate abstract art. The fa-
sionism developed also makes it the appropri-
miliar arguments that abstraction is just a big
ate “house style” of the best liberal traditions of
hoax, a colossal version of the “emperor’s new
clothes,” perpetrated on a duped public by cyni-
necessitates revising and expanding Gombrich’s
cal art mandarins, seem like tiresome whistling
idea of making, by which he meant the invention
in the dark. Abstract art has been with us in one
of forms and schemas, the mind’s primal work
form or another for almost a century now, and
in building knowledge. Especially in the last fif-
has proved to be not only a long-standing crux
ty years, a lot of abstract art has demonstrated
of cultural debate, but a self-renewing, vital
that our intelligence innovates not by making
tradition of creativity. We know that it works,
things up out of whole cloth or by discovering
even if we’re still not sure why that’s so, or ex-
new things about nature, but by operating with
actly what to make of that fact. To borrow the
and upon the repertoire of the already known:
phrase of the apocryphal contemporary aca-
by adapting, recycling, isolating, recontextual-
demic, “Okay, so it works in practice. But does
izing, repositioning, and recombining inher-
it work in theory?” What is still needed, what
ited, available conventions in order to propose
seems well overdue, is to make the case for a
new entities as the bearers of new thought. In
logic of abstract art, as Art and Illusion made
the case of art, these conventions are dumb,
the case for illusionism, that would describe it
man-made forms like cubes, stripes, and other
(with respectful opposition to Gombrich’s own
architectural configurations. With illusionism,
dismissals) both as a legitimate reflection of the
the argument could be made that art progressed
way we think individually and as a valid and
by a series of corrections, made according to the
valuable aspect of liberal society.
unchanging standard of nature and perceptual
This is, of course, a tall order, not least be-
mechanics. But there obviously is not any stan-
cause at the start of the twenty-first century we
dard of measurement or external resemblance
have very different ideas about how our minds
by which we could correct abstractions such as
work and how a just society functions. Look-
LeWitt’s or Flavin’s, or establish their relative
ing at early minimalist works by artists such as
success or failure. So we have to expand our
Sol LeWitt and Dan Flavin (figs. 1.32, 1.33)
sense of the drives wired into human cognition,
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 2 9
1.32 Sol LeWitt, Untitled Cube (6), 1968. Painted metal, overall: 38.7 × 114.9 × 114.9 cm. Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, gift of Howard and Jean Lipman Foundation, Inc. 1.33 Dan Flavin, “monument” for V. Tatlin, 1964. Flourescent lights and metal fixtures, 243.8 × 71.4 × 11.4 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of UBS
3 0 PICTURES OF NOTHING
recognizing that we are set up not just to make
resemble any number of things, but look like
connections and find resemblances, but also to
nothing in particular. This situation is lovingly
1.34
project meanings onto experience.
summed up in another cartoon (fig. 1.35) that is,
Joseph Jastrow, Rabbit or Duck? 1899
In Art and Illusion Gombrich discussed the
in effect, the modern inversion of Gombrich’s
classic drawing that looks like both a duck and
cartoon of Egyptian boys drawing from a
1.35
a rabbit (fig. 1.34). We can see either the duck
model.
Charles Martin, Little Girl
Dancing in Front of Class.
with its beak to the left, or the rabbit with its
Where Gombrich remains useful, here, is in
ears to the left, but we cannot see both at the
reminding us that abstraction, even more than
same time, so we have to decide to see it as one
illusion, can never reside solely in the inten-
herself (#36784). © The New
animal or the other. Gombrich uses the drawing
tion of the artist, but must also be in the eye of
Yorker Collection 1961 Charles
to illustrate the way that our visual perception
the beholder. Artist x may think he’s making
All children picture her differently than she pictures
E. Martin from cartoonbank. com. All rights reserved
involves what he calls “the viewer’s share,” that is, the active imposition of an interpretation on incoming experience. The point made by the duck-rabbit drawing can be broadened into a suppler and more inclusive notion of cognition as a process of finding meaning in the world. Gombrich’s model reminds us that works of art are vessels of human intention. The problem is that he judges artistic schemas exclusively by how well they transcribe reality. This is a useful yardstick for discussing representational art, but it is not much help in talking about artists whose goal is to have no reference. In abstract art, we face the problem of interpreting images that
Here we see a little girl in kindergarten performing a dance. From the thought balloon above her head, we can tell that she is giving her impression of a flower. Unfortunately, it is not obvious to the other children in the class what the little dancer has in mind, as we can see from balloons above their heads. This is the problem with abstract art: we know that it means something, but we’re not sure what it is. By definition, the art does not give us enough information to decide.—PK
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 3 1
1.36 Donald Judd, Untitled, 1962. Cadmium red light oil and wax on Liquitex, 122 × 243.8 × 19.3 cm. Collection of the artist. Art © Donald Judd Foundation/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
3 2 PICTURES OF NOTHING
something that looks like nothing, but Viewer
weird works is known as the “Letter Box”
y may think the work is just the color of Aunt
(fig. 1.36), while the other is commonly referred
Emmy’s purse, or curves just like the bent blade
to as “The Bleachers” (fig. 1.37). Other early
of his favorite golf club, or involves the key
Judds got nicknamed “The Harp” and “The
principles of 1911 Picasso. I could take the case
Lifeboat.”13
of Judd’s early minimal sculptures as somewhat
Almost as fast as artists can open blank
comic examples (figs. 1.36, 1.37). These early
slates, others hasten to inscribe something on
Judds are what he called “specific objects,” that
them, trivially at first, as in this case, but even-
is, things that do not seem to be either painting
tually with more serious freights of meaning.
or sculpture, that escape category, that are not
Hence the difficulty of enforcing the “abstract-
familiar, that cannot be pinned down as to what
ness” of abstraction. Pollock told an interviewer
they are.12 Judd intended these works to be en-
that when he poured his paintings, he was ever
tirely idiosyncratic, outside the common bounds
mindful to suppress unwanted imagery or any
of descriptive language. But in fact he himself,
apparent figuration that his lines might inad-
and his viewers and critics, immediately started
vertently suggest. “I try to stay away from any
to categorize these objects, and continued to
recognizable image; if it creeps in, I try to do
do so. In the literature on Judd, one of these
away with it.”14 Since then artists have worked
harder and harder to keep the crutch of resem-
then, because the overlays and densities begin
blance permanently kicked out from under
to create a sense of space or depth that is no-
their viewers. They understand that abstraction
where cued by perspective but is suggested by
1.37
is most successful and effective when associa-
the blurring, cloudlike structure, we lose aware-
Donald Judd, Untitled, 1963–
tion and meaning appear to be out of reach. The
ness of the scale of the body as well. My wife,
absence of resemblance allows the work to
who is an artist, said of this picture that it’s so
and aluminum tube with purple
embrace a great range of intuitions barely
large and complex that it has its own weather.
lacquer, 122 × 210.8 × 122 cm.
imaginable before the work was done, and only
We sense that it has a kind of energy to it, a
marginally present in the artist’s conscious
pulse like that of a cosmic nebula. And we keep
© Donald Judd Foundation/
intention.
reaching for analogies—weather, night sky,
Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
1975. Plywood and pine beams with light-cadmium-red oil paint
National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, purchased 1975. Art
Take for example the huge painting—about four by six meters—done in 1970 by Twombly (fig. 1.38). Drawn with what looks like chalk but is actually an oil crayon on gray ground, it is one of his so-called blackboard series; this label is itself a kind of joke, like the descriptive titles people gave Judd’s work. In fact, it is not a blackboard, and this forces us to deal with what it is. But what is it? It is a kind of furious scribbling, a seemingly mindless repetition of the same hand-drawn gesture. But the gesture is repeated so often and on such a scale that it begins to vault into a different set of references. We lose sight of the arm or the wrist, and begin instead to be aware of the scale of the whole body. And
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 3 3
1.38 (opposite) Cy Twombly, Untitled, 1970. Oil-based house paint and crayon on canvas, 397.2 × 640.4 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, acquired through the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest and
impulsiveness—for a vocabulary that in the
At the same time, this expanded, open-ended
the Sidney and Harriet Janis
end describes nothing other than this picture.
process of matching forms with meanings,
We grapple with the combination of things
by means of projection and cued invention,
the picture presents: with minute, intimate,
constantly turns abstractions into represen-
and grand scale; with flatness and depth; with
tations in a broadened sense, and defines the
huge energy and vast, dissolving serenity. And
nature of abstract art in our time. In early
we continually wind around something that
modern art, abstraction was often promoted
never becomes any particular thing but itself,
(or scorned) as a final destination, an ultimate
that has all of the complexity and energy that
endpoint of art, the culmination of a progres-
only it has, and that did not exist before.
sive divorce from appearances, or the terminal
Collection (both by exchange)
3 4 PICTURES OF NOTHING
Gombrich showed that, in representation,
cancellation of everything that art required. But
recognition and resemblance required interpre-
by now we have seen art declared “dead” too
tation. But abstractions such as Twombly’s show
many times, and we’re weary of going to fake
that interpretation does not demand recogni-
funerals. (My colleague Robert Storr taught
tion or resemblance and may in fact profit from
a course in abstract painting a few years ago
its absence. In cases like this, abstract art ab-
that he called “Dead but Won’t Lay Down.”)
sorbs projection and generates meaning ahead
In our model of history, there is not any
of naming, establishing the form of things
progress at all, in the sense of straight-line,
unknown, sui generis, in their peculiar com-
cumulative refinement toward a fixed goal.
plexities. This is one of abstraction’s singular
We have seen the end of the line become a
qualities, the form of enrichment and alteration
departure station frequently enough to under-
of experience denied to the fixed mimesis of
stand that even the seemingly purest abstrac-
known things. It reminds me of the joke about
tion that looks like a fat zero is in fact often
the person who invented the cure for which
an egg waiting to hatch. Not the period at
there was no known disease.
the end of the story, but an ellipsis . . . (to be
continued) within a looping and branching
the abstract artist may colonize a new realm
system that ties together a wide range of visual
of feeling, as Twombly does, unique to his or
representation: loquacious, laconic, dumb,
her forms, and may also invent a new alphabet
and all stops in between. Within that system,
which a great many others—artists, designers,
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 3 5
1.39 Robert Morris, Untitled, 1965. Glass mirrors on wood, four boxes, each 53.3. × 53.3 × 53.3 cm. Destroyed
3 6 PICTURES OF NOTHING
filmmakers, and so on—can use to represent the
thing to do with his desire to produce a totally
world in very different ways.
neutral, industrial-looking form—something
For an example of how things get recycled,
that seemingly is not made by the human hand,
let’s look at the use of mirrors in minimalism
has no room for touch, is absolutely hard—and
and postmodernism. In 1965, Robert Morris
with his desire to force us to recognize the space
created a set of untitled mirrored cubes that were
around the object as part of the work of art.15
just that: cubes with mirrors fixed to the five vis-
Then, in 1968, when a new organicism appeared
ible sides (fig. 1.39). These may have had some-
in minimal or postminimal art (as I described
1.40 Robert Morris, Untitled, 1968. Felt, asphalt, mirrors, wood, copper tubing, steel cable, and lead, 54.6 × 668 × 510.5 cm, variable. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of Philip Johnson
earlier), Morris created a very different piece,
using mirrors from Morris, but his use of them
using mirrors stuck into a pile of thread waste
was radically different. His combination of mir-
(fig. 1.40).
rors with natural materials had to do with a
In the same year, Robert Smithson made
science fiction idea of crystallography, with the
his Red Sandstone Corner Piece (fig. 1.41). This
notion of the inertness of mineral matter as a
is like an inside-out version of one of Morris’s
paradigm for the entropic universe and for the
mirrored cubes, with a pile of broken sandstone
way that life forms lose their energy; it had to
inside it. Smithson may have got the idea of
do with the idea that glass is made by grinding
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 3 7
1.41 Robert Smithson, Red Sandstone Corner Piece, 1968. Mirrors and sandstone from the Sandy Hook Quarry, New Jersey, (3) 121.92 cm mirrors. Art © Estate of Robert Smithson/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
3 8 PICTURES OF NOTHING
up sand, and that the two are different states of
In the 1970s the young artist Jeff Koons
the same thing. For Smithson there was a pseu-
comes along and puts an inflatable rabbit
do scientific rationale to using mirrors, but the
and flower on a mirror in the floor corner
mirrors themselves functioned as abstract ele-
position—the same mirror arrangement that
ments in his work.
Smithson used, but with a completely different
1.42 Jeff Koons, Inflatable Flower and Bunny (Tall White, Pink Bunny), 1979. Plastic and mirrors, 81.3 × 30.5 × 31 cm. Collection of Stavros Merjos
effect. We are no longer in the world of entropy
realization when Koons puts the mirror on the
and crystallography; we’re in the world of bou-
rabbit by recasting the rabbit in shiny stainless
tique design (fig. 1.42). The mirror suggests glitz
steel instead of plastic (fig. 1.43). This amazing
and glamour. This evolution reaches its final
object is often taken to be the ultimate symbol
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 3 9
1.43 Jeff Koons, Rabbit, 1986. Stainless steel, 104.1 × 48.3 × 30.5 cm. The Eli & Edith L. Broad Collection, Los Angeles
of Reagan era glitz, a critique of the commodification of society. So the inclusion of the mirror begins as a neutral, formal element in Morris, becomes a sci-fi image in Smithson, and finally provides Koons with a symbol for the hard sheen and glamour of American consumer culture. In this fashion, abstract art, while seeming insistently to reject and destroy representation, in fact steadily expands its possibilities. It adds new words and phrases to the language by colonizing the lead slugs and blank spaces in the type tray. Seeming nihilism becomes productive, or, to put it another way, one tradition’s killer virus becomes another tradition’s seed. Stressing abstract art’s position within an evolving social system of knowledge directly belies the old notion that abstraction is what we call an Adamic language, a bedrock form of expression at a timeless point prior to the accretion of conventions. If anything, the development of abstraction in the last fifty years suggests something more Alexandrian than Adamic, that is, a tradition of invention and interpretation that has become exceptionally refined and intricate, encompassing a mind-boggling range of drips,
4 0 PICTURES OF NOTHING
stains, blobs, blocks, bricks, and blank canvases.
that requires an M.A. in art history and a sub-
The woven web of abstraction is now so dense
scription to Artforum to understand what goes
that, for its adepts, it can snare and cradle van-
on in the Chelsea galleries. Dealing with recent
ishingly subtle, evanescent, and slender forms
abstraction is neither like falling off a log nor
of life and meaning. The tradition of abstract
like solving differential equations. But the fact is
art has recently shown time and again that, for
that it does profit from some prior knowledge.
those who learn it, it can make something out of
Because contemporary abstract art operates
apparent nothing. All in all, this is a good thing.
within a long tradition, it helps to be aware of
Like Gombrich’s illusionism, abstract art is
the parameters and rules of that tradition.
a construction that began in Western Europe
Understanding the tradition of abstract art
but that has proved useful for a broader world.
sharpens our experience of what we are see-
Early modern society created—and we have in-
ing. The idea that you need to learn about ab-
herited—that paradoxical thing: a tradition of
stract art to enjoy it strikes some primal nerve,
radical innovation. Abstraction is a remarkable
arousing our anxiety about authentic versus
system of productive reductions and destruc-
fake experience. It offends the know-nothings,
tions that expands our potential for expression
who fall back on: “I don’t know art, but I know
and communication.
what I like.” But this cliché flies in the face of
Just the same, this is a risky business. Abstract
our common sense awareness, reinforced a
art is a learned language, and not always easy
thousand times in our life, that some of the
to understand. I do not mean there is nothing
most deep-seated pleasures of our natural
to be had from an unprepared, naïve encoun-
selves—from sex and food on up to music—
ter with Flavin’s “monument” for V. Tatlin (see
involve appetites that had to be educated. If
fig. 1.33), or with a blank, waxy monochrome
these pleasures are rooted in crude instinct,
canvas by Brice Marden (fig. 1.44). Nor do I
they nonetheless grow in depth and power as
mean to endorse the sense of cultish elitism
we acquire hierarchies of discrimination, until
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 4 1
1.44 Brice Marden, Grove Group, I, 1973. Oil and wax on canvas, 182.9 × 274.6 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, Treadwell Corporation Fund
4 2 P I C T U R E S O F N OT H I N G
second nature is nowhere separable from the
ness, dancing on the knife edge of nonsense and
first. Yet visual art—and abstract art most par-
beckoning us to come along.
ticularly—remains one of the last bastions of
Why put up with it? Because we want what
unashamed, unrepentant ignorance, where edu-
only this risk has been able to give us. Of course,
cated experience can still be equated with phony
what we want from many of the forms of our
experience. In regard to abstract art, this syn-
culture is comfort and continuity, a sense of con-
drome becomes ever more acute as the tradition
nection to enduring traditions, a respite from
gets fatter and the works get leaner. What we see
the relentless clocks that drive our individual
gets simpler, and what we can bring to it gets
lives. But, in modern society, we also live with
more complex. So we are constantly worried
a sharply ambivalent, painfully keen awareness
that we are being played for fools by works like
that our lives are irremediably different from
Flavin’s sculpture or Marden’s painting. What
those of the past. We rise each day to a particu-
makes the anxiety even worse is the fact that
lar mix of sharpened pleasures and deepened
this is an art that, by its very nature, willfully
anxieties that quickens our sense of separation
and knowingly flirts with absurdity and empti-
from other days—a century ago, a decade ago,
two years ago. This arouses in many of us a hun-
that abstract art, which was initially advanced
ger for a culture that affirms this sensation, by
by its advocates as a culture of crypto-religious,
giving us new forms that give shape to our feel-
timeless certainties, associated closely with the
ings, our moment in history—as distinct from
new monolithic collectivism in society, should
the feelings of our forebears, even of our youth.
have been reinvented and flourished the last fif-
We torment (and flatter) ourselves with the be-
ty years as a paradigmatic example of secular di-
lief that it has not all been said, that life as we
versity, individual initiative, and private vision.
live it is more complex than has until now been
It is a prime case of modern Western society’s
articulated. And in order to allow room for the
willingness to vest the fate of its communal cul-
new cultural forms we feel might be adequate
ture in the play of independent subjectivities,
to this vivifying hubris and doubt, we are will-
and to accept the permanent uncertainties, plu-
ing to accept the destruction of past cherished
ralities, and never-ending, irresolvable debate
norms, to endure large measures of disorienta-
that come with that territory.
tion in the present, and to sift through a great deal of dreck.
But if we are going to spend time trying to worry out a philosophy of abstract art, we
Abstract art is propelled by this hope and
should also remember that the prime contribu-
hunger. It reflects the urge to push toward the
tion of America to philosophy is perhaps prag-
limit, to colonize the borderland around the
matism. And the pragmatist’s question is basic:
opening onto nothingness, where the land has
“Does it work? What do we get out of it?” What
not been settled, where the new can emerge. That
I am going to try to deliver in the next five lec-
is part of what drives modernity: the urge to re-
tures is a partial answer to that uncertainty, a
generate ourselves by bathing in the extreme,
selective sketch of what we have learned from
for better and for worse. What is remarkable is
abstraction these past fifty years.
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 4 3
N ot e s
1. William Hazlitt, Complete Works. Centenary Edition, ed. P. P. Howe (London: J.M. Dent and Sons, Ltd., 1930–35), 18:95. We here allude particularly to Turner, the ablest landscape-painter now living, whose pictures are however too much abstractions of aerial perspective, and representations not properly of the objects of nature as of the medium through which they were seen. . . . They are pictures of the elements of air, earth, and water. The artist delights to go back to the first chaos of the world, or to that state of things when the waters were separated from the dry land, and light from darkness, but as yet no living thing nor tree bearing fruit was seen upon the face of the earth. All is without form and void. Someone said of his landscapes that they were pictures of nothing, and very like. It should be noted that this was written in 1816, when Turner exhibited The Temple of Jupiter Panellenius. 2. Barnett Newman, “The Sublime Is Now,” 1948; reprinted in Clifford Ross, ed. Abstract Expressionism: Creators and Critics, an Anthology (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1990), 127: “We are creating images whose reality is self-evident and which are devoid of the props and crutches that evoke associations with outmoded images, both sublime and beautiful. We are freeing ourselves of the impediments of memory, association, nostalgia, legend, myth, or what have you, that have been the devices of Western European
4 4 PICTURES OF NOTHING
painting. Instead of making cathedrals out of Christ, man, or ‘life,’ we are making it out of ourselves, out of our own feelings.” 3. Greenberg gave the clearest—and perhaps oversimplified—summary of his theory of the evolution of modern art in his 1960 lecture, “Modernist Painting,” reprinted in John O’Brian, ed., Clement Greenberg: The Collected Essays and Criticism: Modernism with a Vengeance, 1957–1969 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), where he writes that “the stressing of the ineluctable flatness of the surface” was “fundamental” to modernism; to achieve this flatness, modernist painting had “to exclude the representational or literary” (pp. 87–88). Abstraction was, in other words, a kind of by-product of the stress on flatness. Pollock is not mentioned in “Modernist Painting,” and Greenberg’s early writings on Pollock (those that helped make Pollock’s reputation in the late 1940s) did not present him as an abstract painter. It was only in the later 1950s, looking back, that Greenberg discussed this aspect of Pollock’s work, writing that, “By means of his interlaced trickles and spatters, Pollock created an oscillation between an emphatic surface . . . and an illusion of indeterminate but somehow definitely shallow depth . . . it was only at this . . . point in his own stylistic evolution that Pollock himself became consistently and utterly abstract” (“American Painting,” revised version of 1958, published in Greenberg, Art and Culture [Boston: Beacon Press, 1961], 218–219). 4. Statement by Robert Rauschenberg in Dorothy Miller, ed., Sixteen Americans, exh. cat. (New York: The
Museum of Modern Art, 1959), 58: “Painting relates to both art and life. Neither can be made. (I try to act in that gap between the two.)” 5. Stella said that, “I tried for something which, if it is like Pollock, is a kind of negative Pollockism. . . . I tried for an evenness, a kind of all-overness, where the intensity, saturation, and density remained regular over the entire surface.” Cited in William S. Rubin, Frank Stella (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1970), 29. 6. Both artists were included, for instance, in the seminal exhibition Primary Structures, curated by Kynaston McShine for the Jewish Museum in 1966. 7. See Max Kozloff, “American Painting during the Cold War,” Artforum 11:9 (May 1973), 43–54; Eva Cockcroft, “Abstract Expressionism: Weapon of the Cold War,” Artforum 12:10 (June 1974), 39–41; and Serge Guilbaut, How New York Stole the Idea of Modern Art: Abstract Expressionism, Freedom, and the Cold War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983); see also the critique of these views by Michael Kimmelman, “Revisiting the Revisionists: The Modern, Its Critics, and the Cold War,” in The Museum of Modern Art at Mid-Century: At Home and Abroad; Studies in Modern Art 4 (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1994), 38–55. 8. Anna C. Chave, “Minimalism and the Rhetoric of Power,” Arts (January 1990), 44–63. 9. Peter Halley, Collected Essays, 1981–87 (Zurich: Bruno Bischofberger Gallery, 1988); see, in particular, “Nature and Culture,” “The Crisis in Geometry,” and “The Deployment of the Geometric.”
10. Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, 2nd ed. (New York: Vintage Press, 1995). 11. Ernst Gombrich, Art and Illusion, 2nd ed. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961), 33. 12. Donald Judd, “Specific Objects,” Arts Yearbook 8 (1965), 74–82; reprinted in Donald Judd, Complete Writings, 1959–1975 (Halifax: Press of the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design; and New York: New York University Press, 1975), 181–189. 13. For the “Letter Box,” see James Meyer, Minimalism: Art and Polemics in the Sixties (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2002), caption to fig. 34; for the “Bleachers,” see the caption to fig. 40; for “Harp,” see the caption to fig. 45. The piece known as the “Lifeboat” is reproduced in James Meyer, ed., Minimalism (London: Phaidon, 2000), 85. 14. Pollock’s remarks were captured in Dorothy Seiberling’s notes for her profile of Pollock in the August 8, 1949, issue of Life magazine. Seiberling’s unpublished notes are cited in Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith, Jackson Pollock: An American Saga (New York: Clarkson N. Potter, 1989), 591. 15. In “Notes on Sculpture, Part 2,” originally published in Artforum (October 1966), and reprinted in Gregory Battcock, ed., Minimal Art: A Critical Anthology (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1968), 232, Morris writes that: “The better new work takes relationships out of the work and makes them a function of space, light, and the viewer’s field of vision.”
W HY A BSTR A CT A RT ? 4 5
2
s u rv i va l s a n d f r e s h s ta rt s
I was asked by a friend after last week’s lecture
forms from visual experience and those who
why I had settled on the term “abstraction”
claimed that they were creating pure forms not
instead of “nonfigurative” or “nonrepresenta-
derived from vision or nature. Other artists have
tional,” which he preferred. “Abstraction,” after
proposed the term “concrete art” to represent
all, comes from the Latin abstractus, a word
something that is not abstract or drawn out of
meaning to pull or draw away from. It tends to
experience. I always thought this sounded too
suggest that abstraction is somehow a derivative
much like cement, so I am staying with “abstrac-
or second-order kind of art, drawing away from
tion.” I purposely use it because I think everyone
something the artist has actually seen.
understands what I mean by it, and because I
In fact, this distinction between reductive
would rather say something more productive and
and productive ideas of abstraction has been a
positive about the nature of abstraction than that
bugbear in the history of art. When the French
it is “not something else.” I also dislike the oppo-
abstract artists of the 1930s tried to form a group,
sition between abstraction and creation because
they got caught up in a huge debate about what
it seems to me to pose a false dichotomy between
to call their movement: they could only agree
what the eye does and what the mind does.
on a hyphenated term, “abstraction-création,”
As I pointed out in the last lecture, talk-
distinguishing between those who were distilling
ing about Gombrich’s Art and Illusion, there is
4 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
no seeing without some schema in mind, and
Second, the belief that abstract expressionism
certainly there are very few thoughts in the
was killed off around 1960 by the young turks
mind that do not, in some sense, depend on
of pop and minimal art, whose inventions were
experience. You cannot draw a circle around the
simply a reaction to the exhaustion and deple-
mind and say that everything inside the circle
tion of abstract expressionism. On the one hand,
is pure creation and everything outside is mere
we have the conspiracy theory of a CIA plot; on
observation. I prefer to roll with the circle: to
the other, we have the catastrophe theory about
insist on the constant cycling between represen-
the collapse of abstract expressionism and its
tation and abstraction, between drawing forms
replacement by minimalism. It seems to me that
out of the world and adding new forms to it.
each of these theories oversimplifies history and
This is true neurologically, in the way that we
falsifies some very basic issues.
perceive and interact with the world, and it is
Let us look first at the CIA plot. In 1958,
also true socially, in terms of abstraction’s his-
the International Program of the Museum of
tory: there has been a constant cycling between
Modern Art sent abroad an exhibition called
seeing and inventing, representing and abstract-
The New American Painting, which was seen in
ing. This pertains especially to the use of already
London, Paris, Milan, and five other European
extant man-made forms such as those we will be
cities (fig. 2.1).1 Along with other traveling exhi-
examining here.
bitions mounted by MoMA—so the argument
Today’s lecture is largely about the 1950s,
goes—this exhibition was a stalking horse for a
and before we look at any work, I want to begin
governmental or at least an establishment vision
with two pieces of received wisdom about the
of America and American freedoms. Supposedly
1950s and 1960s. First, the belief that abstract
the government, together with various corpo-
expressionism like Pollock’s succeeded because
rate interests (such as those of the Rockefellers),
of a CIA plot, that its triumph was engineered
used the Museum of Modern Art as a cover for
by malevolent and manipulative forces who ex-
exhibitions that were tools in a battle for the
ported it as propaganda for the United States.
hearts and minds of the European intelligentsia.
2.1 Cover of The New American Painting: As Shown in Eight European Countries 1958–1959 (exh. cat., New York: The
were extremely interested in waging a cultural
Museum of Modern Art, 1959)
battle during the Cold War. Major magazines thought to be liberal and independent, like Encounters, were in fact funded by the CIA.3 The same was true on the Left as well: it was not just a right-wing paranoid fantasy that the peace movement in Europe in the 1950s was substantially funded by Moscow. There was plenty of cultural propaganda on both sides. I just don’t think the idea of cultural propaganda applies to The New American Painting or to the Museum of Modern Art. That is, they were Cold War weapons aimed
Perhaps it is because I worked at MoMA for
against the Soviet Union to demonstrate the
almost twenty years that I have a hard time see-
greater freedoms and possibilities of the Ameri-
ing the museum as an efficient tool of any par-
can way. The exhibitions were a way for Ameri-
ticular interest. My friend Adam Gopnik used
cans to show the Europeans that America was
to say that, from the outside, the Roman Empire
not all Coca-Cola and bubble gum but in fact
looked like all aqueducts and legionnaires; but
had a culture worthy of respect. In short, the ex-
from the inside, it looked like rats in the sew-
hibitions were designed to win the intellectual
ers. But even an objective outsider, looking at
leadership of Europe over to the American side
the conspiracy theories about abstract expres-
in the Cold War.
sionism, would notice that they involve a lot of
2
Now there is perhaps more than a grain of
guilt by association and examples of six degrees
truth to this argument. It is well documented
of separation: the protagonists at MoMA are
that many government agencies, such as the
tools of the establishment because someone’s
CIA and the USIA (U.S. Information Agency),
brother’s cousin worked for the Rockefellers, or
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 4 9
2.2
because they were in the OSS (Office of Stra-
the cancellation, for instance, of the exhibition
Jackson Pollock, Autumn Rhythm
tegic Services) during World War II, etcetera,
Advancing American Art organized by the State
etcetera. And the argument, it seems to me, loses
Department in 1946.) I think that no two peo-
a lot of ground just on its particulars.
ple were in more agreement about their dislike
(Number 30), 1950. Enamel on canvas, 266.7 × 525.8 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, George A. Hearn Fund, 1957
5 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
First of all, it would certainly be ironic,
for abstract art than Stalin and President Harry
though not implausible, that America would
Truman, for example. Both of them disliked it
be exporting as a tool against Communism the
a lot.4 It is also ironic that critics discuss these
very art that at the time was being denounced as
shows as if they were imposed on Europe as an
Communistic in the House of Representatives.
act of brutal American imperialism, when in fact
(There was in the late 1940s and early 1950s a
the Europeans strongly beseeched the adminis-
major campaign against modern art, spear-
trators and curators at the Museum of Modern
headed in Congress by Representative George A.
Art to send the shows; that is why the shows
Dondero of Michigan and echoed by politicians
were mounted. The French critics were the ones
and newspapers across the country; this led to
who read abstract expressionism as being echt
American. They were the ones who insisted on
Clement Greenberg and his followers, the logical
2.3
Pollock, for example, as a lariat-swinging son of
consequence of Pollock culturally, in the line
Morris Louis, Tet, 1958. Synthetic
Wyoming, whereas at home Clement Greenberg
that started with Picasso and Braque and ana-
and later William Rubin were insisting on Pol-
lytic cubism, would be a more ethereal, still form
Art, New York, purchase, with
lock’s links to Picasso and Braque and analytic
of abstraction, that is, something more allover,
funds from the Friends of the
cubism of 1911 and 1912.5
even less dependent on line and traditional space,
But the big problem with the idea of these
such as the gorgeous stain paintings of Morris
exhibitions as tools of Cold War propaganda
Louis (fig. 2.3). In Greenberg’s view this would
is that one simply cannot control the outcome
be the logical progression of where an artist
of abstract art such as Pollock’s (fig. 2.2). For
should go having been stimulated by Pollock’s
polymer on canvas, 241.3 × 388.6 cm. Whitney Museum of American
Whitney Museum of American Art
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 5 1
example.6 But for many European artists, Pollock’s example led in a completely different direction. Even before they saw Pollock’s paintings, they had seen Hans Namuth’s photographs of Pollock at work (fig. 2.4). These photographs inspired for them a very different idea of what the next logical step in modern art might be. For example, in 1960 the French artist Yves Klein staged a performance piece, Anthropométries (fig. 2.5), that clearly relates to Pollock’s idea of painting on a canvas laid on the floor. The difference is that, instead of dripping paint from a stick, Klein hires models, covers them with blue paint, and has them dragged across the canvas, while an orchestra plays in the background in front of a suited audience. Considering the complexity of translating Pollock into French, one might say in response, “Vive la traduction” (Long live translation). The photograph could be the frontispiece for an essay on the Frenchness of French art. But I’m not at all sure what it did to change Jean-Paul Sartre’s ideas about Coca-Cola as a symbol of U.S. imperialism. More seriously, however, once abstract expressionism was let loose on the world, it became
5 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
2.4 (opposite) Hans Namuth, Jackson Pollock, 1950. Gelatin silver print, 37.8 × 30.5 cm. National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, gift of
the preferred style of artists and intellectuals
the Estate of Hans Namuth
who dissented against dictatorial governments supported by the United States in Europe, and in
2.5 Yves Klein, Anthropométries
Latin America and the Caribbean as well.7 Thus,
(performances), 1960. “Anthropo-
if the U.S. officials were trying to use abstract
métries de l’époque bleue,” Galerie
expressionism as propaganda, they had picked up a loaded gun, and they were just as likely
Internationale d’art contemporain, Paris, March 9, 1960
to shoot themselves in the foot as to discredit
2.6
Communism. Abstract expressionism just does
Cecil Beaton, “The New Soft
not work that well as agitprop. The [art historical] Left, it seems to me, has
Look,” March 1, 1951, page 158, Cecil Beaton / Vogue, © 1951 Condé Nast Publications Inc.
a contradictory view of abstract expressionism. On the one hand, it is seen as such a powerful carrier of American values that it gets a headlock on its viewers, brainwashing them. Or it is no more than a decorative necktie, something that can be easily trivialized and turned into a fashion accessory, so that Cecil Beaton, in 1951, could use Autumn Rhythm as the backdrop for a Vogue feature on “The New Soft Look” (fig. 2.6).8 The Left is unsure whether abstract expressionism is an opiate or a cocktail, a sinister Trojan horse for American values or a pathetic running dog of American capitalism. Either way, the assumption is that abstraction—and
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 5 3
5 4 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
abstract expressionism in particular—is too
not have been shown or even reproduced in
easy to manipulate, its meaning is too unclear,
Moscow in 1950. Pollock’s painting does not,
and it is too usable by the bad guys.
of course, excuse lynchings in the South or bad
From a leftist point of view, Autumn Rhythm
wages in Detroit or poverty in Appalachia at
functions as an oversized allegory: the enor-
that time, any more than the peace movement
mous scale of the painting stands for the vast
in Poland excuses the Gulag. As for the read-
space of the North American continent, while
ing of minimalism as a coded representation of
the freedom of Pollock’s gestures stands for the
power, it seems to me that minimalism is just
freedom of the individual. Such paintings could
plain odder than that. Judd’s metal works were
be promoted and hyped as seductive symbols
not mass-produced but fabricated at a kind of
for America and for capitalism. But if abstract
mom-and-pop metal shop, Bernstein Brothers
expressionism promoted a fake Americanism,
in Long Island City, using galvanized iron, stain-
the Left sees a true Americanism embedded
less steel, aluminum, brass, colored Plexiglas,
in minimalism, with its repetitious structures,
and the kind of translucent enamel paints used
its hard-edge geometry, its dependence on
to customize Harley-Davidsons. The results
large scale, its regularity, and its cold efficiency
are not overpowering or impersonal; in fact
(fig. 2.7). From this perspective, minimalism is
they are often kind of fussy, slick, and decora-
seen as a technocratic or corporate kind of art,
tive. There is something small-time and pecu-
an art covertly about the side of American life
liar about the fabrication of a lot of minimalist
that is all about power and production.9
works that suggests not industrial mass pro-
Thinking locally, one could easily argue this
duction, but old-fashioned craftsmanship. In
fake versus real Americanism another way. It is
this sense, minimalism seems to express a nos-
a contingent but meaningful fact that a paint-
talgia for small-product America, for chopper
ing such as Pollock’s Autumn Rhythm of 1950,
shops and body shops or businesses that make
with its allegorical expression of freedom, could
metal door frames or install aluminum siding.
2.7 Donald Judd, To Susan Buckwalter, 1964. Galvanized iron and blue lacquer on aluminum, 76.2 × 358.2 × 76.2 cm. Addison Gallery of American Art, Phillips Academy, Andover, Massachusetts, gift of Frank Stella (PA 1954)
This minimalist nostalgia might dovetail, for
Brothers bears the same relationship to Ray-
example, with the nostalgia in Lichtenstein’s
theon that True Romance comics bears to the
embrace of romance comics, or Warhol’s love
mass media. So looking closely at the question
for the faded glamour of Marilyn Monroe. The
of fabrication leads you to a very different view
leftist view of minimalism sees Judd’s sculptures
of minimalism.
as symbols for industrial defense contractors
Be that as it may, the question of the [art his-
like the Raytheon Corporation; but Bernstein
torical] Left’s reading of the fake and the true
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 5 5
5 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
Americanism in abstract expressionism and in
intentions give rise to similar forms. We need to
minimalism begs a much larger question: Can
look extremely closely at the particular things
abstract art have a fixed meaning? As I pointed
before us, because in art we do not make things
out earlier, abstract art makes bad agitprop, be-
any simpler by making simpler things. Reduc-
cause the only way to control its meaning is to
tion does not yield certainty, but something
control the people who view it. If viewers have
like its opposite, which is ambiguity and mul-
the right to make up their own minds about Pol-
tivalence. So rather than taking an extremely
lock, some are going to feel that his work is about
complicated and thorny situation and trying to
savage energy, others about lyricism; some will
make it simpler, I am trying to sow complexity
think it dances, others that it explodes; etcetera,
and confusion.
etcetera. And when the Left asks abstract art like
My test case for demonstrating the com-
Pollock’s to be more resistant to bad uses, when
plexity of simplicity is the hard-edge geomet-
it calls for greater rebellion and greater intransi-
ric art of the 1960s. I will take as my starting
gence on the part of the art, it seems to me that
point an exhibition called Art of the Real, an-
what is being called for is a monolithic social
other Museum of Modern Art exhibition sent
solidarity that would limit the potential mean-
abroad, this one in 1968, ten years after The New
ings produced by the art.
American Painting. There is ostensibly a shared
As we have seen, the same abstract form can
aesthetic among all the objects in the show
give rise to very different meanings. That is the
(fig. 2.8); its thesis was that, after the weak-
reception end of it. Today I want to concentrate
ened, second-generation, Tenth-Street-gallery
on the inception of this art, that is, on the
abstract expressionism of the late 1950s, there
way that different meanings and intentions
emerged in the early 1960s an art of a greater
can give rise to, or attach themselves to, very
certainty, a greater decisiveness, a greater clar-
similar forms. Similar forms give rise to dif-
ity, a greater sharpness. This art had nothing
ferent meanings, and different meanings and
to do with angst or metaphysics or psychology.
2.8 Installation view of the exhibition Art of the Real. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, July 3 through September 8, 1968
It had no hidden cards; everything was on the
appears Lincoln-Log simple and gruff in a way
surface. It was a new, echt American art: brash,
that fits in with Andre’s reputation as a former
hard-nosed, and empirical. It was all about the
brakeman on the Pennsylvania Railroad in the
immediacy of sensory apprehension, about
early 1960s. But this is a brakeman who went to
things that were real, that were hard, that you
Phillips Academy Andover with Stella. Andre’s
could test out by kicking them.
piece may look simple, but it is involved in a
One of the works in the show was Cedar
broad and complicated reinvention of mod-
Piece by Carl Andre, which was originally con-
ern art, breaking with the tradition of con-
ceived in 1959 but then destroyed and rebuilt
structed sculpture that had dominated modern
for an exhibition in 1964. In a photograph of
art from Picasso through David Smith. Such
the 1959 ur-version, now lost (fig. 2.9), the piece
sculpture seemed to Andre to retain a residual
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 5 7
2.9 Carl Andre, Cedar Piece, 1959 (remade in 1964). Wood, 5.08 × 10.16 cm fir (1959), 10.16 × 10.16 cm cedar (1964), 74-unit stack, 10.2 × 10.2 × 92.1 cm each, 92.7 × 92.7 × 174.6 cm
anthropomorphism, a kind of head-and-torso
overall. Kunstmuseum, Basel
structure. It also displayed a residual pictorial-
2.10
ism in the way it hung on a wall or was arranged
Constantin Brancusi, The
in a plane. Instead of looking back to that tra-
Endless Column in Tirgu
dition, Andre reached back to another point in
Jiu, c. 1938. Gelatin silver print. Musée National d’Art Moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris
early modern art, to the art of Brancusi. What he admired about a work like Brancusi’s Endless Column in Tirgu Jiu (fig. 2.10) was that it seemed to eliminate the idea of the head and foot, because it was equal parts of each: turned upside down, it would look exactly the same. Andre also liked the way that the column avoided being pictorial: instead of having a pedestal or an implied frame, it sat directly on the floor, with no symbolic separation from us, but instead an immediate involvement in the present tense. Andre’s Cedar Piece, sitting directly on the floor, with its upside-down/right-side-up symmetry, its four identical sides, and its rough, hand-cut edges, had a lot of the same sculptural qualities as Brancusi’s work, in contrast to the cubist tradition of constructed sculpture.
*As a rule, constructed sculpture was meant to be seen from the front like a painting, not from all sides like sculpture.—PK
5 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
2.11 Aleksandr Rodchenko, Spatial Construction No. 18, 1921. Wood, 18.5 × 15.5 × 4 cm. Photographed by Aleksandr Rodchenko in 1924, entire series
This is just part of the broader remaking of
destroyed in 1920s and 1930s
the modern tradition that takes place between 1955 and 1960. In the same years, we see a revival of Duchamp in the United States and in Britain, accompanied by a revival of Italian futurism, flowing directly into pop art of the 1960s. There is a revival of modern traditions outside the School of Paris, outside the PicassoMatisse mainstream; in the mid-1950s, these are used against both the School of Paris and the New York School deriving from Pollock and de Kooning.
two-by-fours. In doing so, Andre seems to be
Andre, in particular, is doing something
invoking Russian constructivist works such as
more complicated and tougher than just
Aleksandr Rodchenko’s Spatial Construction
reviving Brancusi. Although he revives some
No. 18 of 1921 (fig. 2.11).
of Brancusi’s forms, he gets rid of the romance
Russian constructivism, like futurism and
of carving that was so important to Brancusi.
Duchamp, was being revived and thought about
The repeated units of the Endless Column look
in a new way in the late 1950s. The year 1958
the same, but they were all hewed by hand,
saw a major Malevich show in Amsterdam, for
and so are subtly different from one another.
example, and in 1962 the British art historian
In contrast, Andre’s Cedar Piece is assembled
Camilla Gray produced The Great Experiment,
from modular units. Instead of the custom-
the first widely available documentation of
made volumetric solids of the Brancusi—a
the early years of constructivist experiment in
series of back-to-back pyramids—Andre works
Russia, which had been so effectively suppressed
with ready-made materials like railroad ties or
by the Soviets since the 1930s.10 What Andre
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 5 9
2.12
and others learned from Gray was that Russian
So a constructivist like Rodchenko, at the same
Aleksandr Rodchenko, Pure Red,
constructivism was a two-pronged tradition.
time that he was exploring the basic elements
On the one hand, the constructivists wanted to
of painting, was also designing advertisements
Smooth Color, 1921. Oil on
analyze the primary elements of all experience:
(fig. 2.13).
canvas, 62.5 × 52.7 cm
to go back to a modular two-by-four art, to
Art, as such, was less interesting to the con-
strip away everything until only the fundamen-
structivists than was visual experience and its
tal, elemental basics of art remained. This led to
productiveness in a new society. Their grand
works like Rodchenko’s painting Pure Red, Pure
project was to remake art and society from stem
Yellow, and Pure Blue Colors, which consists of
to stern and top to bottom. After flourishing in
nothing more than three panels—one red, one
Russia for around a decade, constructivism was
yellow, one blue—placed in a row (fig. 2.12).
then suppressed in the climate of the 1930s, when
Simultaneously, the constructivists strove to
the Soviet government demanded a more under-
make art useful, a tool of mass persuasion.
standable kind of art that could get its message
They wanted to remake everything from towers
across to the people—in other words, socialist
to teacups, and especially the means of mass
realism. Meanwhile, however, the double tradi-
communication [billboards, public address sys-
tion of elemental analysis and public outreach
tems, reading rooms, newspaper kiosks, etc.].
worked its way into European and American
Pure Yellow, and Pure Blue Colors (from the triptych The
each. Museum of Private Collections, Moscow
6 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
2.13 Aleksandr Rodchenko, advertisement for cigarettes, 1924. Gouache on photographic paper, 13.4 × 32 cm. Rodchenko Archive, Moscow
culture via the German Bauhaus. The elemental
that both paintings are organized around
strain found expression in pedagogical works
concentric squares. If a graduate student pro-
such as Josef Albers’ Homage to the Square
posed the Albers as a “source” for the Stella, the
series (fig. 2.14); the interest in communication
professor would probably sneer at the student’s
led to a revolution in the look of advertisements
naiveté.*
and posters, such as those designed by Herbert
Let’s go back and look closely at another
Bayer (fig. 2.15). By the 1930s and 1940s, the
descendant of Albers. Thousands of students
fiery ideology of Russian constructivism had
trained in good design and good advertising
been institutionalized, banalized, and commer-
at the Chicago Bauhaus, or Black Mountain
cialized by the Bauhaus and its clones; instead
College, or Yale under Albers must have been
of preaching revolution, artists were teaching
asked to study works such as Albers’ lithograph
geometric abstraction as a model for “good design” in advertising and publishing. Stella’s 1962 Gran Cairo (fig. 2.16) looks a lot like one of Albers’ homages. But in real life, Stella’s 217-centimeter square is powerful and aggressive merely in its dimensions—as big as
*When American artists like Stella started making hard-edge geometric abstractions in the late 1950s and 1960s, they were excited to discover the revolutionary roots of abstraction, but the last thing they wanted was to be associated with the seemingly exhausted tradition of “good design.” When you look at the Stella and the Albers in reproduction, the difference between the two is not so obvious; the crucial differences are in the details that get lost in reproduction.—PK
a man—and its colors are as jazzy and bold as the colors in the paintings of the contemporary pop artists. It is very 1960s. The Albers is a lot smaller—just 46 centimeters high—and its colors are more harmonious and demure. It seems staid and didactic, the residue of an old system. The differences between the paintings seem a lot more important than the fact
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 6 1
2.14 Josef Albers, Homage to the Square in Wide Light, 1953. Oil on masonite, 46 × 46 cm. The Josef and Anni Albers Foundation, Bethany, Connecticut
6 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
2.15 Herbert Bayer, Architecture Slide Lecture, Professor Hans Poelzig (Architektur Lichtbilder Vortrag Professor Hans Poelzig), 1926. Letterpress, printed in color, 48.6 × 65.1 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, Gift of Philip Johnson
of 1942, To Monte Alban (fig. 2.17). It is an
world into the world of art. Morellet’s Paint-
image that exploits repetition, conundrums of
ing of 1953 (fig. 2.18) clearly anticipates Stella’s
recession and projection, and qualities of line,
1959 canvas, The Marriage of Reason and Squalor
such as the contrast between thick and thin—
(see fig. 1.9), but there is a huge and important
all basic elements of design. Yet certain artists
physical difference between these works. The
trained in this tradition of diluted or so-called
Morellet is 60 centimeters on the long side; the
diaspora constructivism tried to bring it back
Stella is over 2.3 meters on the short side. The
into the realm of painting. The French artist
Morellet feels like a small demonstration piece,
François Morellet was one of them. He worked
while the Stella is a big physical object, with a
as an industrial engineer or designer for most of
stretcher as thick as your fist. Stella takes the
his career but became interested in moving his
idea of parallel lines—the systematic repetition
sense of abstract design out of that utilitarian
of stripes—and elevates it to something larger.
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 6 3
2.16 Frank Stella, Gran Cairo, 1962. Synthetic polymer on canvas, 217.2 × 217.2 cm. Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, purchase, with funds from the Friends of the Whitney Museum of American Art
2.17 Josef Albers, To Monte Alban, 1942. Zinc plate lithograph, 48.3 × 60.9 cm. The Josef and Anni Albers Foundation, Bethany, Connecticut 2.18 François Morellet, Painting, 1953. Oil on canvas, 40 × 60 cm. Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo, The Netherlands
The difference in size corresponds to an impor-
a kind of socially productive anonymity that
tant conceptual difference.
would encourage social solidarity through
Morellet’s systematic approach is an echo—
its universally apprehensible forms. It is an
a ping!—of the constructivist tradition, an
unromantic, antibohemian aesthetic related to
approach that revives the movement’s ideals of
the positivist belief in modern technology and
impersonality and objectivity. Morellet espouses
modern science as models for a better society.
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 6 5
6 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
It reflects the situation of postwar France,
compare the catalogue for Max Bill’s Fifty Years
and the need for a constructive art that would
of Concrete Art, a 1960 exhibition in Switzer-
regenerate European culture after the debacle of
land, to the catalogue for Eugene Goossen’s Art
World War II. In contrast, Stella’s impersonality
of the Real, seen at MoMA in 1968, you will find
is likely a reaction against the sloppiness of
many artists whose work appears in both shows.
second-generation
expressionism.
Bill claims that he is showing the reflowering of
Stella’s canvases have the scale and the same
a long constructivist tradition; Goossen claims
immediate physicality, even the same house
that he is showing the birth of a new, hard-edge
paint you find in Pollock’s big paintings of 1950
American art style. The 1960s saw a collision
(see fig. 2.2). At the same time, they express the
between revivals and fresh takes, but these fresh
year they were done, 1959, in their black espres-
starts often take the form of a leap back, over the
so-grind kind of darkness, which gives the sense
diluted version of the constructivist tradition to
that they are the last breath of the beat genera-
its roots in Russian art of 1920 or 1917. So in the
tion. (It’s no accident that many of Stella’s titles
early 1960s, we find Donald Judd writing about
refer to bars and dives in New York.) So between
Malevich, Carl Andre going back to Rodchenko
Morellet and Stella you have two very different
(and Brancusi), Dan Flavin naming his neon
motivations for systematic composition. Morel-
pieces for Vladimir Tatlin, and so on.
abstract
let gets there from commercial design and con-
The place where it is easiest to see the confu-
structivism. Stella gets there from Pollock and
sion between old and new ideas about systems
from the stripes in Jasper Johns’ flag paintings.
and impersonality is in the work of the sculptor
This collision between different traditions, it
Tony Smith. The minimalists embraced Smith’s
seems to me, made the art scene in the 1960s
large-scale geometric sculptures of the 1960s.
a world of confusion, a world in which over-
And yet Smith was a close friend of Pollock’s
lapping claims are made on very similar art
in the heyday of abstract expressionism in the
forms to argue for very different points. If you
early 1950s, and the roots of his aesthetic are
2.19 Tony Smith, Untitled (Church), c. 1950. Ink on paper, 35.1 × 55.6 cm. Tony Smith Estate
beehive (fig. 2.20). He used an even more com-
2.20
plex, octahedral pattern for sculptures such as
Tony Smith, Bees Do It, 1970.
Smoke (fig. 2.21), designed for Scale as Content, a
Wood model, 34.3 × 38.7 × 27.9 cm. Tony Smith Estate
1967 exhibition at the Corcoran Gallery.11 Here, Smith looked completely at home next to younger geometers like Ronald Bladen, with his large X (fig. 2.22). Everyone saw their work as closely anchored in that group. Before his involvement
related, even though they belonged to different
with the abstract expressionist painters, Smith
generations. We are back then, as with Albers,
had trained in architecture, and architecture of
Stella, and Morellet, at a confusing crossroad,
a very particular kind. In his drawings of the
where the juxtaposition of work—because it is
1950s, such as his plan for a Catholic church
similar in form—leads to a misunderstanding
(fig. 2.19), we see nested hexagons and a lat-
of intent. If you look at his origins, it is clear
tice structure reflecting his interest in organic
that Smith is coming from a different place than
form. Smith’s organicism connects in part
Bladen. Therefore, minimalism scholars—and
to the Bauhaus, but more specifically to his
Smith scholars—often talk about him as an
training with Frank Lloyd Wright, who wanted to draw an ideal geometry out of the complexity of nature and use it to reform our lived environment. After 1960 Smith plucked this sense of organic geometry out of its architectural context and used it to make sculpture. One of his later, quasi-minimal sculptures, with the delightful title Bees Do It, looks literally like a section of a
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 6 7
2.21 Tony Smith, Smoke, 1967. Painted plywood mock-up, 61.0 × 121.9 × 86.4 cm. Installed at the Corcoran Gallery, Washington, DC, October 1967–January 1968, in the exhibition Scale as Content, subsequently destroyed
6 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
anomaly: it is a misunderstanding, they tell us,
and reinventing the past, on the one hand, and
to place Smith within minimalism. And yet, I
on the other of translating from architecture
wonder whether that is true, whether when you
and architectural concerns into painting and
look closely at this pattern of look-alikes that we
sculpture and art.
are building here, Smith doesn’t seem to be part
A more interesting and complex case than
of this larger picture in the 1960s of recouping
Smith’s is that of Ellsworth Kelly, the last
2.22 Ronald Bladen, The X (in the Corcoran Gallery of Art’s 1967 exhibition Scale as Content), 1967. Painted wood, later constructed in steel, 670.877 × 731.943 × 366.183 cm
American artist of stature, certainly of his
boom years of abstract expressionism. Kelly was
generation, to have depended crucially on train-
away from the United States in the late 1940s
ing in Paris as the foundation of his work. It had
and early 1950s, and only returned around 1953.
once been necessary for any American artist to
At the moment he came back, his work looked
go to Paris, but Kelly chose to go to Paris at what
pretty retardataire, or backward. But, come the
seems like exactly the wrong time, during the
1960s, it was embraced as a precursor of the
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 6 9
7 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
2.23 (opposite, left) Ellsworth Kelly, Window, Museum of Modern Art, Paris, 1949. Oil on wood and canvas, two joined panels, 128.3 × 49.5 × 1.9 cm. Collection of the artist
new hard-edge American art. Kelly’s work was
O’Keeffe, insisting that the new “art of the real”
featured in the Art of the Real exhibition, along
had to do with seeing, with empiricism—that is,
with Andre’s Pyramid. In fact, Kelly’s black-and-
with sensory apprehension rather than with any
white relief of 1949 (fig. 2.23) was placed on the
smarmy idealism or metaphysics. Rooting the
vas, 101.6 × 76.2 cm. The
opening wall of the exhibition, next to Georgia
new art in actual experience of the world was a
Museum of Modern Art, New
O’Keeffe’s 1929 painting, Lake George Window
way of accenting this difference. Together, Kelly
(fig. 2.24). Both objects are roughly the same size,
and Goossen repositioned Window in the world
which is not very big. The Kelly is a fragile lattice
of American empiricism.
of wood struts with a canvas behind it, rather
In the 1990s the connection between Kelly’s
like a kite. Goossen placed it next to O’Keeffe’s
painting and its source was revised yet again,
painting for a couple of reasons. For one thing,
this time in Duchampian terms. The claim was
he wanted to root the new hard-edge work of the
made that Kelly’s Window represents not merely
1960s in echt American art like O’Keeffe’s. The
a natural impression, but a radical act of mind
precisionist detailing of Lake George Window
and strategy akin to Duchamp’s subversion of
belongs to a vernacular current in American art
authorship, cutting out the idea of composing
going back to the Shakers, and the juxtaposition
or inventing and replacing it with acts of discov-
placed Kelly’s spare, geometric construction in
ery and appropriation as a means of making art.
the same tradition. The second reason was that
Whereas Goossen and Kelly in the 1960s push
both works represented windows. Originally,
against the ideal in the direction of seeing, in
Kelly’s black-and-white relief had been unti-
the 1990s the push is against the ideal in the di-
tled, but he now decided to rename it Window,
rection of thinking, toward a Duchampian sense
Museum of Modern Art, Paris, taking pains to
of strategy and subversion. In the 1960s, then,
reveal to Goossen and others his exact source
Kelly is more like Judd; in the 1990s, he seems
for the image. In the catalogue, Goossen made a
more like Johns. The same two ideas are being
good deal of the connection between Kelly and
pushed back and forth.
2.24 (opposite, right) Georgia O’Keeffe, Lake George Window, 1929. Oil on can-
York, acquired through the Richard D. Brixley Bequest
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 7 1
2.25 Piet Mondrian, Composition No. II, 1930. Oil on canvas, 50.5 × 50.5 cm. Collection Van Abbemuseum, Eindhoven, The Netherlands
At the risk of piling still more on this deli-
in a walkway there, but this real-world source
cate structure, is there not something missing in
does not disguise its uncanny similarity to the
this equation, some kind of middle road lead-
idealist geometry of Mondrian, van Doesburg,
ing back to the actual relief in black and white?
Georges Vantongerloo, and many other Dutch
After all, it is not just any window in Paris that
artists of the 1920s and 1930s.
Kelly has depicted. Anyone who has been to the
When Kelly was painting in Paris, Mondrian
Palais de Tokyo or the Musée d’Art Moderne de
was a relatively unknown artist, but the built
la Ville de Paris, which is now housed in that
environment of the 1930s and 1940s, like the
building, knows that its architecture has a some-
building from which Kelly’s window was taken,
what Fascist feeling but also has strong echoes of
was suffused with the diluted principles of
modern design. It is right at home with a paint-
Mondrian’s painting. Kelly’s eye absorbed these
ing like Mondrian’s Composition No. II of 1930
principles in an unconscious way. The point
(fig. 2.25). Just as Mondrian drew inspiration
is not to point out a particular source, but to
from architecture, architects drew inspiration from Mondrian. The elongated proportions and the parsing of the tripartite division at the bottom of the museum window echo the formal ideas of artists like Mondrian. And then Kelly comes along and brings those ideas back into the world of painting. So we are again moving in a circle from high abstract art into the broad world of modern design and back again. Another Kelly, Neuilly, is identified solely by its locale, a suburb of Paris (fig. 2.26). Kelly later explains that its pattern was traced from paving stones
7 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
recognize a world of forms. Kelly’s earliest
Josef Albers’ Interior of 1929, with its interest in
2.26
training, before he entered the army and World
proportions, black-and-white reversal, and so
Ellsworth Kelly, Neuilly, 1950.
War II, was at Pratt Institute, where the curricu-
on (fig. 2.27). Presumably because of his design
lum had recently been redesigned in imitation
skills, Kelly served in a camouflage battalion. It
of the Chicago Bauhaus. At that point, Kelly
was only after the war that he moved to Boston,
aspired to be a commercial artist, so he took
where he attended the School of the Museum of
design classes that were based on exercises like
Fine Arts, and then to Paris, deciding to become
Gesso on cardboard mounted on wood, 58.4 × 79.7 × 3.8 cm. Collection of the artist
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 7 3
2.27 Josef Albers, Interior, 1929. Sandblasted opaque flashed glass, 24.8 × 20.7 cm. Josef Albers Foundation, Bethany, Connecticut
Window is the result of neither a pure act of seeing, as Goossen would have it in Art of the Real, nor a pure act of thinking and appropriation, as in the Duchampian interpretation. The widespread diffusion and dilution of Mondrian’s art in modern architecture and design meant that both the thing seen and the way the artist saw it were already corrupted, already impure. Let me drill this home further with a slightly a “high” artist rather than a commercial de-
later example of Kelly’s work, La Combe I (fig.
signer. Thus one could argue that Window, Mu-
2.28), which is divided into sectional planes with
seum of Modern Art, Paris represents a marriage
a beautiful rhythmic structure. Like Neuilly, it is
between the two sides of Kelly’s early life. It is, I
identified only by the place in France in which
think, a self-conscious statement about the pro-
it was made. Much later, Kelly revealed that the
motion of minor forms to major status: their
painting was based on shadows falling on a set of
transformation from design back into art. (I
stairs (fig. 2.29). A quick comparison shows that
think, for example, of my friend Adam Gopnik’s
the painting was not a direct translation of the
argument about the process by which Picasso
photograph. There are, in fact, many versions of
took the deforming, aggressive, caricatural style
La Combe that reuse the staccato beat, the broken
of his sketchbooks and transferred it to the can-
forms, and the diagonals in different ways. When
vas of the Demoiselles d’Avignon, elevating an
Kelly looked down on those stairs, something—
innate, already acquired language into the realm
perhaps his training at Pratt years before—gave
of art, where it was changed by its new con-
him the ability to apprehend the patterns and
text and in turn changed that context, radically transforming the language of modern art.12)
7 4 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
According to the artist, the photograph was made after the painting, not before.
2.28 Ellsworth Kelly, La Combe I, 1950. Oil on canvas, 96.5 × 161.3 cm. Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, gift of the American Contemporary Art Foundation, Inc., Leonard A. Lauder, President 2002.249
2.29 Elllsworth Kelly, Shadows on Stairs, Villa La Combe, Meschers, 1950. Silver gelatin print, 35.6 × 27.9 cm. Collection of the artist
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 7 5
2.30 Josef Albers, Steps, 1931. Gouache with pencil underdrawing on paper, 45.7 × 59.2 cm. Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution, gift of Joseph H. Hirshhorn, 1966 2.31 (opposite) Richard Paul Lohse, Geilinger & Co., New Year’s card for 1962, Frohe Fesstage und beste Wunsche zum Jahreswechsel. 21.5 × 21.2 cm (open). Collection of the Winterthur City Archive, Winterthur, Switzerland
7 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
counterchanges between light and dark, to see
the advertising of the time. For example, a 1962
the flat pattern in a three-dimensional scene.
poster by Richard Paul Lohse takes a familiar
The composition is reminiscent—and again,
object and makes it unfamiliar by breaking it
this is not an argument for a source but a more
up with fields of overlay—a good constructivist
generic reference—of a 1931 design exercise by
principle that has been in play since the 1920s
Albers called Steps (fig. 2.30).
and 1930s (fig. 2.31). Lohse is an interesting
One could find dozens of similar examples,
figure, almost forgotten in the United States, but
because this is the same vocabulary found in
important in the history of European abstrac-
tion. Lohse was a concrete artist in Zurich, very close to Max Bill, and like Morellet, he made his living in commercial design and graphic work but aspired to be an artist. There is an obvious similarity between Kelly’s 1951 painting, Colors for a Large Wall, and Lohse’s 1950 conception, Complementary Groups Formed by Six Horizontal Systematic Color Series (see figs. 1.11 and 1.12). The difference is that Lohse’s work is just a conception: a small sketch for a large painting that he did not actually make until 1975 (fig. 2.32). In actuality, Kelly’s 2.4-meter-high painting has a completely different relationship to Lohse’s 1950 sketch than it does to the 1975 painting based on it. As with the paintings by Morellet and Stella that I discussed earlier (see figs. 2.18, 1.9), the difference in size leads to a dramatic difference in effect. Although Kelly was working on the same continent at the same time, he was coming from a completely different place. He was in contact with John Cage in New York, with Jean Arp in Paris, and with a residual Dada tradition. Just as Cage’s musical compositions incorporated random tones and intervals, the arrangement
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 7 7
of Kelly’s Colors for a Large Wall was based
new (and dramatically different) buildings. In
on chance, not on a scientific analysis of the
the recently relocated 1978 work of Kelly’s in the
spectrum or a systematic organization of colors.
atrium of the National Gallery of Art, just outside
Serendipity rather than system was Kelly’s way
this auditorium, we can see a distant cousin of
to get outside himself—to escape subjectivity.
Kelly’s early 1950s desire to reunite constructivist
Kelly’s faith in serendipity meant that his work
abstraction with architecture. Corbusier’s exam
was surprisingly sensitive to his environment.
ple seems to have inspired Kelly to find his own
Colors for a Large Wall was painted shortly after
way of uniting constructivist abstraction with
he came back from a visit to the south of France,
architecture. In 1957, after returning to the United
and one gets a strong sense of Matisse in some
States, he makes a huge relief for the lobby of a
of Kelly’s colors (late Matisse was very much a
Philadelphia office building, which takes the anal
factor in art of the early 1950s); the white panels
ysis of art and color and the spirit of his serendip
evoke the white light of the Mediterranean basin.
itous arrangement of colors from Colors for a Large
The more you look at Kelly’s picture, the more
Wall and projects it back onto the wall at a much,
you see its syncopation, its jazziness, its bright
much bigger scale (fig. 2.33).
ness, its upbeat personality—qualities that make
We find something similar in a polychrome
it unpredictable and constantly interesting. In
wall designed by the artist Alejandro Otero
contrast, Lohse’s work looks more static, more
(fig. 2.34) for the school of architecture at the
stable, more inert, with its deadened, scientific
University of Venezuela, in Caracas, which was
impersonality. On his trip to the south of France,
being built by architect Carlos Villanueva in the
Kelly also visited Corbusier’s Unité d’habitation
decade from 1950 to 1960. But there is a differ
in Marseille, where he saw how Corbusier had
ence between Kelly’s work and that of his peers
painted large blocks of colors on the walls of his
in other countries. In 1951 Kelly painted a pic
According to the artist, it was painted while he was in the south of France.
7 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
ture called Cité, which he imagined in a sketch as a giant mural (figs. 2.35, 2.36). In this case, Kelly
2.32 Richard Paul Lohse, Complementary Groups Formed by Six Horizontal Systematic Color Series, 1975. Oil on canvas, 150 × 150 cm. Collection of the Richard Paul Lohse Foundation, Zurich
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 7 9
8 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
2.33 Ellsworth Kelly, Sculpture for a Large Wall, 1956–57. Anodized aluminum, 104 panels, overall, 354.5 × 1987.6 × 30.5 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of Jo Carole and Ronald S. Lauder
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 8 1
Max Bill helped export constructivism from Europe to Latin America, where Venezuelan artists like Otero and Soto made it into a new high art of socialist solidarity with definite political associations. Venezuela was run by a dictator who had overthrown an elected civil government. Contrary to our usual assumptions about avant-garde art and politics, abstraction became a kind of official style, as seen in numerous murals at the University of Venezuela. Kelly is on the fringes of this quasi-official resurgence of hard-edge constructivism. He is acquainted with artists like Soto, and he even applies to teach at Max Bill’s school in Ulm. (Lohse taught in the Zurich branch of the same school.) What makes Kelly different is his interest in chance, 2.34
began with a composition of roughly parallel
his refusal to make an art of the necessary. In
Alejandro Otero, Polychrome
slanting lines, of different widths, which he cut
that sense, I think, Kelly is premonitory of much
into squares and then reassembled by chance.
of the abstract art of the 1960s.
Façade for the School of Architecture, Universidad Central de Venezuela, Caracas,
The resulting picture has an odd combination
Finally, I want to look at another artist
1952–1960. Carlos Raul Villa
of freedom and gridlike rigidity, and it is this
represented at the University of Venezuela in
nueva (architect), Universidad Central de Venezuela, Caracas
combination that distinguishes Kelly’s work from the very similar work of artists such as Jesús-Raphael Soto (fig. 2.37), a Venezuelan artist who becomes an acquaintance in Paris.
8 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
In the diasporic phase of constructivism, hard-edge abstraction can be associated with either left-wing ideals (as in the cases of Lohse and Bill) or with right-wing regimes (as in the cases of the Venezuelan artists); in either case, it is associated with the idea of social solidarity and a powerful state.—PK
2.35 Ellsworth Kelly, Cité, 1951. Oil on wood, twenty joined panels, 142.9 × 179.1 × 5.08 cm. San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and anonymous private collectors, © Ellsworth Kelly
2.36 Ellsworth Kelly, original sketch for Cité. Ink, 4.8 × 5.4 cm. Collection of the artist
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 8 3
2.37 Jesús-Raphael Soto, Parallèles interférentes noires et blanches, 1952. Tempera on hardboard, 120 × 120 × 6 cm. Fundación Museo de Arte Moderno Jesús Soto, Ciudad Bolívar, Venezuela
8 4 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
Caracas: Victor Vasarely, who painted a mural,
art. When he first came to Paris, he did not go to
Positive Negative, for the university’s concert
the Louvre for years. He was astonished to find
hall. Vasarely is the forgotten man of geomet-
out that his favorite artist, the poster designer
ric art. He follows the profile that we have
A. M. Cassandre, was in fact just mimicking
already identified: he trained as a Bauhaus-style
forms that had been invented years before by
commercial artist and only later turned to fine
Corbusier and others. He is purely a product of
2.38
design, of corporate advertising; and yet, in the
Victor Vasarely, Ilile, 1956–1959.
1950s, he takes the techniques of tricking the
Oil on canvas, 107.95 × 100.012
eye, the techniques of diluted constructivism,
cm. Collection unknown
and turns them back into a new ambition for a globally meaningful, scientific art. He is the head of a group called the Center for Research in the Visual Arts, a team of artists who aim to be anonymous—not bohemian or romantic. They want to promote a kind of vision that depends on the purely optical, on the retinal vibrations of the eye (fig. 2.38). It is an utterly democratic kind of vision because it requires no elite training, because it speaks directly to every person; it harkens to an ideal of social solidarity at the same time that it venerates science. Vasarely’s work is intriguingly close to Stella’s (fig. 2.39). Both use stripes, and yet there is a
2.39 Frank Stella, Palmito Ranch, 1961. 30.5 × 30.5 cm. Collection of the artist
crucial difference between them: Vasarely wants a form built-up out of an optical illusion, as in Albers, and Stella does not. In fact, Vasarely was Stella’s great bugbear. In a famous 1964 interview Stella insisted that, in spite of the fact that Vasarely’s work used many of the same basic schemes, “it still doesn’t have anything to do with my painting. I find all that European geometric
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 8 5
painting—sort of post–Max Bill school—a kind
Morellet, Vasarely, and Soto, and the leap back
of curiosity—very dreary . . . I can’t think of any-
to the original sources in the work of Stella and
thing I like less.” Stella is at pains to insist that,
Judd—set the stage for a ripe confusion. Very
whatever the formal similarity between his work
different ambitions and intentions gravitate
and Vasarely’s, it is extremely different because,
toward the same set of forms. It is a classic split
in Stella’s work, “What you see is what you
between European and American views of the
see.” He wants to insist that there is no social
world: between rationalism and empiricism, be-
agenda in his work, no theory, no rationalism
tween an idealist hope for a universal language
in the European sense. Stella’s relationship to
of forms and a pragmatic insistence on particu-
constructivism is like Pollock’s relationship to
lar realities (“what you see is what you see”), be-
surrealism. A Pollock like Autumn Rhythm (see
tween the belief that you make art more demo-
fig. 2.2) offers a translation or extrapolation of
cratic by reducing it to the essence of form and
surrealism: certain principles of the earlier style
the belief that you make it democratic by reject-
are reimagined and transformed by a new scale
ing the whole idea of essence. In Vasarely, Soto,
and a new physicality that leaves behind the earlier
and other European and Latin American artists,
style’s ideological baggage and its metaphysical
the tradition of hard-edge geometry deriving
claims. Similarly, Stella gives a new lease on life
from constructivism assumes a fixed meaning
to the formal language of constructivism by
as the art of a social collective, whereas Stella,
dropping the baggage that it formerly carried;
Judd, Andre, and other North American artists
the forms of abstraction are now literally put
use the same geometry to make an art of indi-
into play.
vidualism that does not attribute meaning to
13
The revival of the Russian constructivist tradition on two sides of the Atlantic Ocean—the
8 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
form, but instead emphasizes the praxis of the artist, which we will get to in the next lecture.
contrast between the diluted constructivism
We are back where we started: with the prob-
that rises out of design in the work of Albers,
lem of the eye and the mind. Vasarely stresses
the mind, while Stella calls for a purer, more
with conspiracy theory or catastrophe theory.
immediate opticality that does not involve the
It is not about fixed intentions, clean demises,
mind. Both rebuff subjectivity and make a claim
or new inventions. Rather, it is a history of con-
to objectivity. What results are two very differ-
stant argument, of constant recyclings of form.
ent utopias, each flawed in its own way. The next
Indeed, the reinvention of the old as something
chapter will explore what might be wrong with
new is the engine that makes this history go.
the minimalist vision, with the pragmatic phi-
Forms are endlessly mobile, moving from art to
losophy of “what you see is what you see.” Here
architecture, and then from mere design back to
I only want to stress that we are dealing with a
high art. Even at its most reductive, even when
more confused picture of geometric abstraction
it gets pared down to pure geometry, to a bare-
than we started with. What emerges from the
bones “art of the real,” abstraction provides no
collisions and confusions that I have discussed is
respite from interpretation, nor any retreat from
a certain vision of history. It does not have to do
the contingencies of history.
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 8 7
N ot e s
1. The New American Painting, As Shown in Eight European Countries, 1958–1959, exh. cat. (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1959), expanded edition including a sample of European reviews. The exhibition was seen in Basel, Milan, Madrid, Berlin, Amsterdam, Brussels, Paris, and London. 2. See Max Kozloff, “American Painting during the Cold War,” Artforum 11:9 (May 1973), 43–54; Eva Cockcroft, “Abstract Expressionism: Weapon of the Cold War,” Artforum 12:10 (June 1974), 39–41; and Serge Guilbaut, How New York Stole the Idea of Modern Art: Abstract Expressionism, Freedom, and the Cold War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983); see also the critique of these views by Michael Kimmelman, “Revisiting the Revisionists: The Modern, Its Critics, and the Cold War,” in The Museum of Modern Art at Mid-Century: At Home and Abroad; Studies in Modern Art 4 (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1994), 38–55. 3. See Frances Stonor Saunders, The Cultural Cold War: The CIA and the World of Arts and Letters (New York: The New Press, 1999), chap. 16 and passim. 4. See ibid., 252–253, and William Hauptman, “The Suppression of Art in the McCarthy Decade,” Artforum 12:2 (October 1973), 48–52. 5. For the American view of Pollock as the heir to cubism, see Clement Greenberg, “‘American-Type’ Painting,” 1955, reprinted in Art and Culture: Critical Essays (Boston: Beacon Press, 1961), 218; and William Rubin, “Jackson Pollock and the Modern Tradition,” 1967, reprinted in Jackson Pollock: Interviews, Articles, and Reviews, Pepe Karmel, ed. (New York: The
8 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
Museum of Modern Art, 1999), 150–165. For the European view of Pollock as a cowboy flinging paint, see Claudio Savonuzzi, “Polemica su Pollock cow-boy della pitura,” Il Resto del Carlino (Bologna) (March 21, 1958); Jean Rollin, “Eclaboussures et peinture au lasso au Musée d’art moderne,” L’Humanité (Paris) (February 2, 1959); and Jean-Paul Crespelle, “Pollock: Peintre-Cowboy,” Le Journal du Dimanche (Paris) (October 7, 1979). 6. On Greenberg’s analysis of Pollock and the logic of his development, see lecture 1, note 3. Greenberg’s analysis was extended by Michael Fried, who traced the evolution between Pollock and Morris Louis in his introduction to Three American Painters, exh. cat. (Cambridge, MA: Fogg Art Museum, 1965), 4–20. 7. David Carrier, Aesthete in the City: The Philosophy and Practice of American Abstract Painting in the 1980s (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994). 8. T. J. Clark, “Jackson Pollock’s Abstraction,” in Reconstructing Modernism, Serge Guilbaut, ed. (Cambridge: MIT, 1990), 172–243. 9. Anna C. Chave, “Minimalism and the Rhetoric of Power,” Arts 64:5 (January 1990), 44–63. 10. Camilla Gray, The Great Experiment: Russian Art, 1863–1922 (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1962). This was a crucial text for American artists in the 1960s. Kasimir Malevich, 1878–1935. An exhibition of paintings, drawings and studies organized in association with the Stedelijk museum, Amsterdam, October– November, 1959. Pref. by Bryan Robertson. Introd. by Camilla Gray (London: Whitechapel Gallery, 1959).
11. See Joan Pachner, “Sculpture,” in Tony Smith, Robert Storr et al., exh. cat. (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1998), 128–183. 12. On the caricatural style of Picasso’s notebooks and its relevance to the development of cubism, see Adam Gopnik, “Caricature,” in High & Low: Modern Art and Popular Culture, Kirk Varnedoe and Adam
Gopnik, exh. cat. (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1990), 123–126. 13. “Questions to Stella and Judd,” February 1964 interview by Bruce Glaser, edited by Lucy Lippard; originally published in ARTnews (September 1966); reprinted in Gregory Battcock, ed., Minimal Art: A Critical Anthology (New York: E.P. Dutton, 1968), 149 and 158.
s u r v i v a l s a n d f r e s h s ta r t s 8 9
3
Minimalism
This is the third in a series of six lectures, so we
these, I took Gombrich’s Art and Illusion, based
are approaching halftime, a moment to reflect
in his 1956 Mellon Lectures, as a starting point.
back on where we have been. In the first lecture,
Gombrich argued that illusionism—the de-
I tried to explain that I was starting fifty years
piction of things in a convincing and credible
ago, with the death of Jackson Pollock, because
fashion—was one of the great achievements of
it was a moment when people recognized that
Western civilization. My rhetorical question in
he had introduced a new kind of abstraction.
this first lecture was, Could we ever have an ar-
The wholeness of Pollock’s work, the lack of
gument for abstraction as good as Gombrich’s
compositional hierarchy, the allover dispersal
argument for illusionism?
of paint in his poured paintings—these things
To construct such an argument, we would
seemed to set a new direction for abstraction in
have to wrench abstraction away from the tra-
America in the mid-1950s. I also talked about
ditional arguments about ultimate platonic
Johns’ White Flag, which at roughly the same
forms, and also from the Hegelian or histori-
time started a countercurrent to abstraction: the
cist argument that the spirit of the times in-
advent of pop art, a new imagery, a revival of
evitably demands certain forms—a teleological
Duchamp and Dada that seemed to go against
view that has been used to defend the advent of
the grain of traditional abstraction. Along with
abstraction in the twentieth century. I tried to
9 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
suggest that one might make an argument for
different.” And the other person said, “Really?
abstraction that avoided both the platonic idea
I thought he was saying that even though
of absolute form and the Hegelian idea of his-
everybody says these things are different, they’re
torical necessity. Instead, the argument could be
really quite similar.” They were both right: I said
based on what Gombrich called the logic of the
both of these things.
situation: an argument that abstract art is con-
Albers and Stella represent two very, very dif-
nected both to the way we think and to what we
ferent ends of a long geometric tradition. What
are—a modern, liberal society.
Albers does with the square or with stripes in his
In the second lecture, I set out to deal with
design courses at Yale is very different from what
the 1950s, and particularly with the constructiv-
Stella does in his paintings, where he comes to
ist or hard-edge tradition as it was disseminated
these motifs through the models of Johns and
from Russia in the early 1920s to Germany and
Pollock. Stella is recovering the original impetus
the Bauhaus—leaving a legacy of pedagogy,
of constructivism, as it appeared in the work of
basic design, commercial design, and so forth,
Malevich and Tatlin. He is working in an en-
before being resuscitated in the 1960s in the
tirely different scale from Albers. And he has no
work of Andre, Judd, and others. Comparing
sociological or ideational agenda.
Albers’ Homage to the Square in Wide Light of
For any who remain confused, I offer as a
1953 and Stella’s Gran Cairo of 1962 (see figs.
solace or epigram for last week’s lecture, and an
2.14, 2.16), I claimed that I was out to sow
opening for this week’s, a quotation from Donald
confusion, that I wanted to make what seemed
Judd. He said in 1964—and many of us blessed
simple more complex. I believe I succeeded, be-
him for this comment—“The history of art and
cause I heard secondhand about an exchange
art’s condition at any time are pretty messy. They
in the audience after last week’s lecture. One
should stay that way. One can think about them as
person said, “I thought it was really interesting
much as one likes, but they won’t become neater;
that he was saying that, even though these two
neatness isn’t even a good reason for thinking
things look very much alike, they’re absolutely
about them.”1 With that, let us move on.
3.1 Stanley Kubrick, still from 2001: A Space Odyssey, 1968. © Turner Entertainment Co., a Warner Bros. Entertainment Company. All rights reserved
In 1968 when Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C.
very much in the ordinary: a wall in a handball
Clark made the film 2001: A Space Odyssey, they
court, a giant transistor radio, a dawn-of-man
needed a form that would indicate the presence
tape deck (fig. 3.2). A form as clear and simple
of something unknowable and ultimate. What
as a monolith thus lends itself to paradoxical
they came up with was a great, gray, forbid-
interpretation as something absolute and other-
ding slab that first appears to a group of apes
worldly on the one hand, and completely mun-
at the beginning of the movie and later reap-
dane on the other. And it sits on the razor’s edge
pears on the moon, sending out a piercing sig-
between the two.
nal in the direction of Mars (fig. 3.1). Kubrick
The proximate source for Kubrick and
and Clark reached for a form that was at once
Clark’s monolith was probably a 4.6 meter slab
absolute and ambiguous, a form that had a tre-
sculpture by Los Angeles artist John McCracken
mendous amount of authority and an unruly
(fig. 3.3) and was part of the widespread
indecipherability. Yet the form they found was
vocabulary of what came to be called mini-
quickly mocked in Mad Magazine not as hav-
malist sculpture. The term “minimalism” was
ing dropped in from Mars, but as something
adopted from a 1965 essay entitled “Minimal
minimalism 93
3.2 Panel from Dick de Bartolo and Mort Drucker, “2001 Min. of a Space Idiocy,” Mad Magazine, no. 125, March 1969, 5 3.3 John McCracken, Blue Column, 1967. Polyester resin and fiberglass over plywood, 457.2 × 68.58 × 50.8 cm.
Art” by British philosopher Richard Wollheim.2
say that the reverse, or inverse, seems to be true
Museum Associates/LACMA,
Wollheim’s subject, however, was not the art
about the art of the 1960s. Here we are in the age
itself, but the minimal conditions that might
of Kennedy’s New Frontier space program, of
satisfy the definition “work of art.” The term
political assassinations, of Vietnam, of huge stu-
“minimalism” was borrowed from his specula-
dent protests, of the sexual revolution—possibly
tions and applied to the work of artists such as
one of the most dramatic and exciting periods
McCracken, Judd, and Robert Morris, to the
in the life of our times—and what do we get
gift of Friends of Leonard B. Hirsch, Jr., through the Contemporary Art Council
great distaste of most of the artists thereby implicated. They did not like the name at all, despite the fact that defining minimal conditions for art in the face of these extremely reductive, mute objects did seem apt at the time. When I look at the installation by Morris from 1965 of two 2.5 meter-long L-beams (fig. 3.4), or other early minimalist installations, I am reminded of what I would call Kenneth Clark’s “Rembrandt problem.” In his great television series Civilization, Clark says, You know, here is seventeenth-century Holland, the most philistine, crass, mercantile, money-grubbing society imaginable, and what do they get in the way of art? They get Rembrandt.3 Well, I can
9 4 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
3.4 Robert Morris, Untitled (L-Beams), 1965. Stainless steel in three parts, 243.8 × 243.8 × 61 cm. Whitney Museum of American Art, gift of Howard and Jean Lipman
in the way of art? We get dumb boxes, lattices
imalism. To be honest, even art experts were ask‑
that look like jungle gyms, metalwork rugs that
ing the question, couched in another way: Was
spread on the floor, and things that seem to be
this a new manifestation of the Dada tradition?
mute and inert in the face of the insane dyna‑
Minimalism seemed like a revival of the kind of
mism of the time. In a provocative and challeng‑
anti-art made by Duchamp, who in 1917 pur‑
ing world, we get art that seems as dumb as a
chased a urinal, signed it “R. Mutt,” and submit‑
post. Now many people must have asked when
ted it to an exhibition of avant-garde art, initi‑
they went to an installation such as Morris’s, “Is
ating the long tradition within modern art of
this a joke!?” It is a fair question, and while it
the subversive joke, of anti-art—art that decon‑
has been asked many times about modern art,
structs and disengages the category of art itself.
I think it has never been more to the point and
In a 1965 article called “ABC Art,” art critic
more poignant than at the advent of min‑
Barbara Rose also attempted to make sense of
minimalism 95
the then-unnamed art and to respond to its
and Duchamp as patron saints seemed to pair
3.5
elemental quality. Rose, who at that time was
two incompatible models. Whereas Malevich’s
Kazimir Malevich, Black
married to Frank Stella, proposed that Duchamp
attempt to find an essence of painting—to re-
and the Russian avant-garde artist Malevich
duce painting to its fundamental building block,
National d’Art Moderne, Centre
were the patron saints under which the new
to its ultimate reduction, the black square—
Georges Pompidou, Paris
art was emerging.4 But the return of Malevich
seemed to be part of a modernist tradition of
Square, c. 1923–1930. Oil on plaster, 36.7 × 36.7 cm. Musée
innovation by distillation (fig. 3.5), Duchamp’s art seemed only to be about subversion, about getting outside the narrative of history, getting outside any chain of innovation, any teleology, and instead simply demoralizing and subverting the whole enterprise of art. So is early minimalism, like Malevich, trying to purify the spring of modern art? Or is it, like Duchamp, trying to defile it? Is early minimalism saying “yes!” in a hard, concrete, reductive, but affirming way? Or is it saying “no!” as a way to subvert and pull out the rug from under modern art? We find these goals constantly confused in the art of the early 1960s. Take, for example, Flavin’s “monument” for V. Tatlin from 1964 (see fig. 1.33). Flavin’s title links his work to the same Russian revolutionary strain represented by Malevich, to the same idea of high idealism and purity in art. On the other hand,
9 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
his materials are bought from the hardware
have objected to being aligned with geometric
store; they are “found” objects, just like Duch-
abstraction as it had been practiced in the past.
amp’s urinal. Which is the operative side of the
They wanted nothing to do with Mondrian, for
work? Does Flavin mean this to be a contribu-
example, or with the idealization of the square,
tion to the history of art, or a demoralization
or with the traditional notion that the union of
and deconstruction of it? Is it anti-art or pro-
vertical and horizontal summed up something
art? Is it yes art or no art?
special about the universe. They wanted geom-
It was very hard for people in the early 1960s
etry for its graphic impact; they wanted it for
to find the answer to this question, to say wheth-
its visual power; they wanted it as a means to
er or not such art was a joke. It was easier to
reduce the sense of human gesture and to get a
define the new art by what it was not. (Indeed,
clean anonymous edge to their work. Geometry
that is always the easiest way to deal with chal-
itself was ultimately meaningless for them, and
lenging new ideas. We often characterize what is
they wanted to draw attention to its meaning-
new by its abandonment of the things that we
lessness. Therefore, they rejected their place
know. That is why we have the horseless carriage
within a geometric tradition of art history.
and the wireless phone.) The surprising thing
Andre would also have claimed, and Judd
about this new art is that the few positive terms
would have claimed on his behalf, that their
we might give to it, such as “geometric,” “ab-
art was not abstract, and this takes a little more
stract,” or “rational,” were rejected by the artists
explaining. Phil Leider makes it wonderfully
who made it.
clear in an early article in Artforum, where he
Kenneth Noland’s chevron piece of 1965 and
opposes the terms “abstract” and “literal,” using
a Carl Andre sculpture called Redan of 1964
“abstract” for Noland and many other artists
share a common hard-edge vocabulary (figs. 3.6,
like him, and reserving “literal” for Andre, Judd,
3.7). Like a lot of other art of the time, they have
and others of their group.5 This differentiation
geometric compositions. Yet each artist would
involves two different readings of Pollock.
minimalism 97
3.6 Kenneth Noland, Drive, 1965. Acrylic on canvas, 176.5 × 151.1 cm. Saint Louis Art Museum, museum purchase
9 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
Noland, Morris Louis, Helen Frankenthaler,
that they continued to abstract in the way that
Jules Olitski, and many other painters of the
Pollock had, continued to pull away from repre-
early 1960s were supported and nourished
sentation. In the eyes of Greenberg, Fried,6 and
by a nexus of critics, beginning with Clement
Rubin, modern art had an innate tendency to
Greenberg and then including Michael Fried
pull away from any literary reference to things
and William Rubin, who read their art as de-
outside itself and to refer only to the essential
scending legitimately from Pollock, in the sense
properties of painting per se: flatness, line, and
color. By staining their paint directly into raw
its immediacy and physicality. It had a specific,
3.7
canvas, Noland, Louis, and Frankenthaler had
material quality, without reference or meta-
Carl Andre, Redan, 1964.
eliminated any residual sense of space, becom-
phor. Pollock reinforced this material quality by
ing even more abstract than Pollock. In these
stepping on the canvas where it lay on the floor,
work comprised of 27 units).
critics’ view, the artists had taken the next step
by stubbing out his cigarettes on it, by pushing
Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto,
in a grand tradition.
his hand against the surface of it. He affirmed
But others looking at the same paintings by
that the painting was an object in the world, an
Pollock saw something different. Judd, for ex-
extension of the physicality of the world, not a
ample, wrote, “The dripped paint in most of
window onto anything else.
Pollock’s paintings is dripped paint. It’s that
The swing vote in the debate over Pollock
sensation, completely immediate and specific,
was the reading of Stella’s work. As I mentioned
and nothing modifies it.”7 When Judd or Andre
earlier, Andre had been Stella’s classmate at
looked at Pollock, they did not see pure optical-
Andover; he, Judd, and the other literalist art-
ity; they saw house paint poured out of a can,
ists were all closely involved with Stella’s work.
with no mediation. What was thrilling and ex-
The literalists, as Leider dubbed them, argued
citing to them in Pollock’s paintings were the
that Stella’s stripe paintings, such as Empress of
properties of paint as a material: its relation-
India of 1965 (fig. 3.8), were not merely abstrac-
ship to gravity, the way that it hit the canvas;
tions distilling some essence of the painterly
Twenty-seven fir timbers, 30.5 × 30.5 × 91.4 cm (each unit;
purchased with assistance from the Women’s Committee Fund, 1971. Art © Carl Andre/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
minimalism 99
3.8
tradition. Rather, by conforming the stretchers
making new work. On the other hand, he was
Frank Stella, Empress of
of his shaped canvases to the internal order of
being beckoned in a powerful career sense by
his lines, and by making the stretchers of ex-
the critics and curators who supported Noland,
canvas, 195.6 × 569 cm. The
traordinary thickness, Stella was producing
Louis, and others.
Museum of Modern Art, New
objects that generated space outside of them-
An art not geometric, not abstract, not
York, gift of S. I. Newhouse Jr.
selves and that activated the space around them.
rational. What, then, is this new literalism or
A huge tug-of-war over Stella ensued between
minimalism, opposed to the mainstream tra-
the Greenberg-Fried-Rubin school, who wanted
dition of abstract art? It is easier to say what it
Stella for the history of abstract painting, and
is not than what it is. Judd, for instance, argues
the Andre-Judd group, who wanted him to be
that the chief difference between his work and
a progenitor of minimalism. This same battle
traditional abstraction is that his work is not
was fought, I think, within Stella’s soul. He was
“rational.” Rationality, as part of the European
ambivalent about whether to bond with the
philosophical tradition, is something that Judd
powerful critics and institutions of the estab-
wants to reject. He associates rationality with
lished art world or with the radical new edge of
what he and Stella in a 1964 interview call the
a younger generation. By youth and character,
“relational” character of European geometric
he was inclined to be with the artists who were
abstraction. As Stella puts it: “Their whole idea
India, 1965. Metallic powder in polymer emulsion paint on
1 0 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
is balance. You do something in one corner and you balance it with something in the other corner.”8 In the United States, this kind of “relational” composition was still being utilized by David Smith, the great sculptor of the abstract expressionist generation. Smith reached a new peak with his geometric work of the early 1960s, which Judd greatly admired. Nonetheless, he felt that a 1964 work like Cubi XIX was still too
Pragmatism is uncomfortable away from facts. Rationalism is comfortable only in the presence of abstractions. . . . The pragmatist clings to facts and concreteness, observes truth at work in particular cases, and generalizes. Truth, for him, becomes a class name for all sorts of definite working-values in experience. For the rationalist, it remains a pure abstraction. . . . Your typical ultra-abstractionist fairly shudders at concreteness: other things equal, he positively prefers the pale and spectral. If the two universes were offered, he would always choose the skinny outline rather than the rich thicket of reality. It is so much purer, cleaner, and nobler.10
close to its European sources (fig. 3.9). Smith, he
Rose argues persuasively, I think, in the article
argued, retained a cubist sense of composition,
I cited earlier, that Judd and Andre—in their
with a large mass balanced against a small mass,
literalness, in seeing dripped paint as dripped
with things in the upper corner matching things
paint, in seeing painting as an object that
in the lower corner. In addition, he noted the
pushes out toward literal space rather than as a
residual anthropomorphism of Smith’s work,
window onto something else—are involved in
the way that the verticality of his sculpture sug-
an empirical, pragmatic, American insistence
gested the presence of a body, with legs and a
on concreteness and fact. Furthermore, she
head. In contrast, Judd, Stella, and contempo-
claims that Judd’s famous statements about get-
raries like Andre were exploring a new “nonre-
ting rid of European thought and getting away
lational” kind of composition, characterized by
from the European model have to do with his
symmetry and repetition.9
aversion to the rational and his preference for
The literalist sensibility that we find in Judd
the pragmatic, literal, and concrete.11
and Andre seems to derive from the American
It goes without saying that Andre took a
philosophy of pragmatism. William James, one
radical step in translating the way that Pollock
of its founders, wrote that:
worked up his paintings on the floor into a literal,
minimalism 101
gravitation-bound sculpture. Andre’s “carpets” of metal plates laid in a grid on the floor are just as literal and symmetrical as Judd’s stacks (see figs. 1.13, 3.10). In their wholeness, their allover sameness, and above all their flatness, they translate Pollock’s drip paintings into sculpture without a base, sculpture that hugs the floor in an assertion of its absolute gravity. It is this move—the translation from Pollock’s pictorial values into sculptural values—that becomes increasingly imperative for the generation of Judd, Andre, and Morris. In order to produce in three dimensions an art of literalism—of concreteness and immediacy—they needed to get away from painting, from the rectangle that hung on the wall like a 3.9
window, and also from traditional sculpture,
David Smith, Cubi XIX, 1964.
perched on a pedestal that isolated it from the
Stainless steel, 286.4 × 148 × 101.6 cm. Tate Gallery, London.
real space around it. Instead, they wanted to get to
Art © Estate of David Smith/
something that engaged with its surroundings—
Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
that “activated” it, as the artists said.12 This notion of the activation of the immediate space around the work was anathema to
1 0 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
3.10 Donald Judd, Untitled (Stack), 1968. Stainless steel and Plexiglas, 22.9 × 101.6 × 78.8 cm, 9 units; each unit total height with intervals of 22.9 cm × 480 cm. Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto, gift of Mr. and Mrs. Roger Davidson, 1970, donated by the Ontario Heritage Foundation. Art © Donald Judd Foundation/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
minimalism 103
Greenberg and Fried. Fried’s famous article “Art
by the act of perceiving. For Merleau-Ponty
and Objecthood,” published in 1967, was in re-
there was no such thing as pure opticality, be-
sponse to the sculptures and writings of Judd,
cause the act of looking always depended on
Morris, and their contemporaries. Responding
the engagement of the body. In contrast to this,
to works such as Robert Morris’s installation at
you can see Fried as standing for the Kantian
the Green Gallery in December 1964 (fig. 3.11),
tradition of pre-established, fixed categories
Fried agreed with supporters of minimalism
of perception. Fried argued from a residual es-
that the suppression of internal relationships
sentialism: he believed that formal reduction
and the abandonment of composition forced
was a way of getting to the essence of paint-
the viewer’s attention away from the work and
ing, that the more you reduce a work of art, the
out into the space around it, thereby drawing
more it becomes pure and true to its own in-
the viewer into the “theater” of the object. But
ternal self. In contrast, for the minimalists, the
whereas the supporters of minimalism liked this
process of reduction rebounds in a completely
activation of the space around the work, Fried
different direction: by squeezing the work here
hated it. It seemed to him to be a residue of the
and reducing there, you end up expanding and
Dada tradition, turning art into a joke, negating
activating the space around it. Against Fried’s
the work of art by turning it into a performance,
essentialist emphasis on the work and noth-
so that the work itself hardly mattered. Fried
ing but the work, the minimalists propose a
condemned the activation of real space as a
pragmatic insistence that the work is part of
mere theatrical effect, contrary to the “modes of
the world around it, and that the world is part
seriousness” found in the art of Pollock, Louis,
of the work.
and Noland.13
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Minimalism presented the art world with
Many sculptors of the time were interested
a cruel choice. Make no bones about it! Imag-
in Merleau-Ponty’s philosophy of phenomenol-
ine going back to the early 1960s and trying to
ogy, which described experience as constituted
choose between the painters championed by
3.11 Robert Morris, installation of the exhibition at the Green Gallery, December 1964
Fried, on the one hand, and the minimalists
Yet the right choice, I think, was to go for
on the other; between Morris Louis’s fabulous
Morris, Andre, and Judd because, in the long
Tet and Robert Morris’s dumb gray forms (see
run, their work is the source from which some-
figs. 2.3, 3.11). The Louis is noble, serene, and
thing new is going to spring. Still, you cannot
ethereal, a lushly beautiful statement of humane
avoid the art world equivalent of the question
values, the triumphant culmination of a tradi-
the kid in the backseat keeps asking: “Are we
tion of modern painting. You are being asked
there yet?” Or, in our case, “Is it art yet?” Let’s
to choose between this and a work that is in-
face it, this is a hard question. Minimalism was
tentionally dumb and banal, whose only virtue
an evolving art and, especially in the early 1960s,
is its quiddity, its insistent “thereness”—and in
you could not always tell when it was serious and
the case of Andre’s lead rugs, the kind of art you
when it wasn’t. Were you looking at a Dada stunt,
can step on. It was a hard choice.
or at the beginning of some new kind of art?
minimalism 105
1 0 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
The most sophisticated critics of the time felt a
of the individual artists. Morris, for example,
sense of deprivation and unease. This sense of
seems to me in retrospect to have been radical
disquiet was precisely what Judd wanted in his
in a more academic sense than Judd. Along with
art. He said this about the objects that he was
his gray forms, he made baroque works with
making and about some other painters that he
dangling ropes and felt, and after the 1960s he
liked: “Ordinarily these things look pretty plain
began making wild, painterly renditions of the
and not important. I think a lot of people want
Holocaust. Morris’s work seems to have evolved
instant importance. They want the importance
as a dialogue between a devotion to Johns and
of several decades instantly, when what you
a devotion to pure abstraction. As time passes,
really want to do is get rid of this notion.”14
Morris’s gray-painted plywood forms take on
The idea of producing something that was
a didactic sameness. They are rarely seen first-
religiously and intransigently unimportant,
hand, in part because they were designed to be
with no redeeming value, was shared by many
constructed for exhibitions and then discarded.
of the artists that we call minimalists. In that
A bunch of them were remade for Morris’s 1994
sense, they were doing something very similar.
retrospective at the Guggenheim Museum, and
And yet, with the passage of time, it has become
I have to say that they seemed to me to be com-
clear that there is a world of difference between
pletely inert, no more than demonstrations of a
the temperament of the different minimalists—
certain aesthetic position.
between the boxes made by Morris and those
Judd’s objects, with the passage of time,
made by Judd, for instance (figs. 3.11, 3.12).
seem increasingly quirky, and not at all didac-
Behind the seemingly blank, machine-made
tic. They have a wonderful peculiarity that is
look that they have in common, these works
related to his temperament, and they seem to
are very different. What makes them art, and
transgress the limits he set for himself, for ex-
what makes them different from each other, is
ample, by being more beautiful than he would
the temperament, intelligence, and creativity
allow. Judd was nearly thirty-two by the time he
3.12 Donald Judd, Iron Floor Box, 1965. Brown enamel on hot-rolled steel, 142.24 × 322.58 × 238.76 cm. Judd Foundation. Art © Donald Judd Foundation/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
had his first important show in the 1960s. He
Judd is a curmudgeonly critic: you feel a kind
had already tried out several careers: studying
of frustrated impatience (rather than a young
painting at the Art Students League in the late
man’s eagerness) seeping out of everything he
1940s, philosophy at Columbia night school in
says about the art of his time. He rejects phi-
the early 1950s, and art history at Columbia in
losophy and high ideals with the impatience of
the late 1950s; signing on as a critic for Artnews
someone who has been there and tried that and
in 1959; and finally deciding to concentrate
does not want any more of it. He knows what it
on making art in the early 1960s. Like Warhol,
is he wants to reject.
Lichtenstein, and many of the young turks of the
What differentiates Judd’s works from those
early 1960s, Judd emerges suddenly as a mature
of his contemporaries are the small quirks that
artist after enduring long years of anonymity.
reveal themselves as you spend time with the
minimalism 107
3.13 Donald Judd, Untitled, 1966. Amber Plexiglas and stainless steel, 50.8 × 122 × 86.4 cm. Froehlich Collection, Stuttgart. Art © Donald Judd Foundation/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
work: for instance, the odd edge at the top of
sides give a view to the interior of the work.
his Iron Floor Box (see fig. 3.12). Why did he
One is constantly aware of Judd’s rigor and pre-
put this little edge here? Because he loves the
cision, of his skeletal sense of structure. He is
idea of thinness. (He spoke of it often.) Judd’s
against mass and volume, but he is for a picto-
work is not about mass or weight or volume. He
rial kind of sculpture. Despite Judd’s rhetoric
wants to sink that top precisely because it de-
about directness and immediacy—his claim to a
clares right away that the object is not solid but
“you can kick it” toughness—he constantly
is made out of sheet metal. He does not want to
pitches an illusionism, as, for example, where
make an inert object. He is drawn to sheet metal
the metal edge of a sculpture might seem to
because it imparts a greater rigor or sharpness.
extend right through the bottom and into the
He likes the precision of that edge.
floor. There is also a kind of slick illusionism
If there ever were a clear declaration of Judd’s resistance to volume and mass, it would
1 0 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
about Judd’s materials, which redeems and lightens his work.
be the Plexiglas floor box of 1966 (fig. 3.13),
The material power of these objects sepa-
and the many others like it in which Plexiglas
rates Judd not only from Morris but also from
3.14 Carl Andre, 8001 and 8002 Mönchengladbach, 1968. Hot-rolled steel, 0.8 × 50 × 50 cm each, 0.8 × 300 × 300 cm overall. Städtisches Museum Abteiberg, Mönchengladbach. Art © Carl Andre/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
Andre, to whom he is very close, emotionally
and is weighty. His floor piece in steel is true to
and intellectually. While Andre, as we have
an ideology that counters what we saw in David
shown, translates Pollock’s interest in grav-
Smith, which is the figure raised up, head above
ity and flatness into sculpture with his carpets
the ground. There is a “we don’t need any more
of metal squares (fig. 3.14), he is nonetheless
heroes” kind of anti-idealism to Andre’s big steel
concerned with the problems of sculpture, not
plates on the ground, and unlike Judd, Andre’s
painting. For Andre weight—the gravity of
ideology is very much related to sculpture.
Pollock translated—was honesty itself. Sculp-
Judd’s classic form, exemplified by his un-
ture weighs. Let’s not have any base; let’s not
titled stack of 1968 (see fig. 3.10), shares a com-
have any mediation between us and the work;
mon internal order with Andre’s work. It is
let’s just declare that the thing hugs the floor
not a balancing act like Smith’s sculpture, but
minimalism 109
1 1 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
a composition based on simple contiguity, on
Judd and the minimalists want to get rid of
the repetition of one thing after another. But
the hands-on ethic of abstract expressionism;
Judd does not share Andre’s interest in weight.
they want to get rid of the idea that the char-
For Judd, weight, mass, and solidity in sculpture
acter of art resides in the touch of the artist.
are part of the whole European tradition that
Think about the way Judds are made, for exam-
he dislikes so much. Judd wants his work to be
ple. In his untitled plywood floor box of 1976
light and about light in every way. One of his
(fig. 3.15), the plywood is chosen for its thinness
favorite artists, curiously enough, is Matisse. He
and fineness, but also because he wants a rela-
constantly talks about Matisse’s light and light-
tively humble material, one not associated with
ness, the thinness and fineness of his edges and
the patina of fine art. Yet I would disagree with
15
materials, the transparency of his volumes.
those who claim that minimalism in general and
There is no place for light and color in the stern
Judd in particular have a fetishistic involvement
rhetoric of much of Judd’s writing, but it is an
with industry and with industrial materials.16
essential part of his work, making it very dif-
It is true that Judd was happy to have his work
ferent from the work of Andre, for instance,
made by fabricators. But the Bernstein Brothers,
although these two artists are constantly and
who made a lot of Judd’s work, were not exactly
commonly lumped together. The rhetoric of
industrial. They were more of a mom-and-pop
minimalism makes it sound like a simple, sane,
operation in Long Island City specializing in
organized aesthetic that dictates “a way” to all of
galvanized metalwork. Judd did use industrial
its followers. In fact, the minimalists are a group
paints, but they were the kind of lacquers used
of very different artists, with very different tem-
on cars and motorcycles, and he selected them
peraments, bound together by a common desire
with a connoisseur’s eye.17
to make something new. Temperament, more
This body-shop aesthetic is a defining fea-
than theory, defines the quality of their work
ture of Judd’s work. Unlike Andre, who insisted
and gives it its resonance in history.
on the elemental quality of magnesium or lead,
3.15 Donald Judd, Untitled, 1976. Plywood, 121.9 × 304.8 × 254 cm. The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, gift of Leo Castelli. Art © Donald Judd Foundation/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
Judd was interested in finish and slickness. His
(fig. 3.16). Despite Judd’s glossy materials, his
use of lacquer and Plexiglas brought him closer
box is simple and straightforward. In contrast,
to California artists like McCracken (see fig. 3.3)
Bell’s vacuum-sprayed cube is full of subtle-
and Larry Bell. Indeed, art-world lore has it that
ties: the vacuum-sprayed mists of gray change
Sol LeWitt, visiting a Judd show in the mid-
the reflective properties of the glass, dissolving
1960s, turned to a friend and remarked, “Well,
the geometry, creating something veiled and
this establishes Judd as our leading West Coast
beautiful.
artist.” The fact is that Judd is an exception: on
Bell’s sprayed glass cubes and McCracken’s
the whole, New York produces rustic, rough-
sprayed lacquers are examples of a “finish fetish”
and-ready art (like Andre’s metal carpets); for
that comes directly out of the L.A. culture of
high, gleaming, sophisticated work you have
customized cars and choppers (or, as they are
to go to Los Angeles. You can get a sense of the
called on the East Coast, motorcycles). It is an
difference by comparing Judd’s Plexiglas box
aesthetic of high color, without the grim insis-
(see fig. 3.13) with one of Bell’s glass cubes
tence of the East Coast version of minimalism.
minimalism 111
3.16 Larry Bell, Untitled, 1968. Coated glass, metal, 50.8 × 50.8 × 50.8 cm. Orange County Museum of Art, Newport Beach, gift of Edwin Janss Jr.
1 1 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
“Finish fetish” means that an immense amount
culture to things like Robert Irwin’s projecting
of labor, multiple coats of lacquer, and a high
disk of 1967 (fig. 3.17). This is an aluminum
degree of control are expended in order to get
disk, slightly convex. Multiple spray lacquers
something approaching virginity: that is, an
produce a beautiful, pristine surface. Sur-
absolute, pure, scratchless surface. On the West
rounded by light projectors, the disk casts shad-
Coast this degree of perfection is called “cherry.”
ows that seem more substantial than the disk
It makes for a kind of minimalism very different
itself. In this work the disk appears to lose its
from what you find on the East Coast.
solid form, to dissolve into a hole in the middle
West Coast minimalism starts from a dif-
of the world; in other works from this series, it
ferent point: from Rothko and Olitski rather
seems to oscillate between convex and concave.
than Pollock and Stella. And it leads from car
Irwin has controlled and composed the act of
3.17 Robert Irwin, Untitled (Disc), 1967. Sprayed acrylic lacquer on shaped aluminum, 121.9 cm diameter. George H. Waterman II, New York City
perception itself. The finish fetishism that starts
of opticality described by Greenberg and Fried,
with McCracken’s luscious, custom car colors
but it goes way beyond that, because it is not
has now been ascetically reduced to a virginal
an optical style of painting, it is an actual opti-
state of ultimate whiteness, where the only thing
cal experience. It points toward uncertainty, as
to look at is optical experience itself.
opposed to anything essential or concrete. One
In the Los Angeles aesthetic, reduction does
does not know what is concave or convex, pres-
not lead toward pragmatic concreteness, as
ent or absent, tangible or intangible. In Irwin,
it does in East Coast minimalism. Instead, it
and in a lot of Los Angeles work, purification
pushes toward a dissolution and disembodi-
and reduction lead to a loss of certainty, a kind
ment of experience. West Coast minimalism be-
of ambiguity and disorientation that is exactly
comes purely retinal. This sounds like the kind
the opposite of Andre’s assertive engagement
minimalism 113
3.18 (opposite) Robert Irwin, scrim installation, 1971. Synthetic fabric, wood, fluorescent lights, floodlights, 243.8 × 1,432.6 cm. Collection of Walker Art Center, Minneapolis, gift of the artist, 1971
1 1 4 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
with weight and physicality, with a standard
simple gesture of installing the veil points to
foot-on-the-ground experience.
what is happening at the end of the room.
West Coast minimalism is all about ambigu-
The version of the minimal aesthetic that you
ity. Another way to look at this is to see what
find in Irwin and some other Los Angeles artists
Irwin does with that sense of place, that the-
concentrates on the empirical act of looking,
atrical activation of the space around a work
on seeing what is actually there. In the Renais-
that we saw in the Morris installation or in the
sance, the Florentines concentrated on the
Andre metal rug. In Irwin’s installation at the
tougher, more sculptural aspects of art, while
Walker Art Center in 1971, he takes note of an
the Venetians concentrated on color, on captur-
existing large skylight at one end of the gallery
ing the look of light dancing on water. Similarly,
and stretches a large scrim of fine white fabric
if minimalism in New York is Tuscan—angular
from the ceiling to the floor in order to make
and hard-edged—Los Angeles posits a softer
a volume of what had been a diffuse input of
Venetian minimalism. Los Angeles artists are
light. Irwin’s work at this point intervenes in
interested in time and movement. Instead of
found spaces and makes things visible by veiling
skyscrapers descending into cold water, you get
them, creating something out of nothing, forc-
long Pacific horizons, dissolving cloud patterns,
ing people to attend to the thing they did not
slow changes in the long-term weather. The
see was there (fig. 3.18). He orchestrates the act
coasts offer two different kinds of reduction-
of perception, producing extremely rich effects
ism, both typically American: on one coast, we
with economical gestures and simple acts of
get the pragmatist’s insistence on the concrete;
intervention. From one position in the gallery,
on the other, we get the transcendental,
you can almost see the structure of the ceiling
Emersonian search for the absolute and the
overhead (fig. 3.19); but as you move up to the
sublime.
scrim, the ceiling becomes lost in a fog and the
Irwin has a considerably younger partner in
end of the room dissolves into pure light. The
crime: James Turrell, who is in the late 1960s a
minimalism 115
3.19 (opposite) View of fig. 3.18 from a different angle
1 1 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
student of perceptual psychology. Where Irwin
up and down, right and left. These are spaces
uses light to dissolve solid objects, Turrell uses
where one is forced to attend to the limits of
projected light to create what looks like a solid
perception.18
object. For example, the “cube” in Turrell’s
Turrell and Irwin break off their collabora-
Afrum-Proto of 1966 does not exist (see fig.
tion after a year, but it has a profound effect on
1.15). It is simply a patch of light projected
both of them. Turrell moves into a studio at the
into the corner of a room. Turrell’s inter-
Mendota Hotel and turns it into a kind of labo-
est in perception and optical illusion is re-
ratory for studying perception. He puts curved
lated to Irwin’s, and in 1968 the two artists
coving where the walls meet the floor and the
come together and begin researching a project
ceiling, so that there are no sharp corners, no
sponsored by the Art and Technology Program
discernable edges to the space. The studio as a
at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. They
whole becomes a Ganz field of utter pristine-
collaborate with an engineer named Edward
ness. Turrell then cuts slots into the studio walls
Wortz, who is working for the American space
that can be opened and closed, orchestrating the
program, trying to figure out what will happen
intrusion of exterior light and sound into this
to the astronauts in outer space—or, to put it
pure white space (fig. 3.20).
another way: what is human experience like in a
Turrell has often said that one of his major
vacuum, with no atmosphere to diffuse light or
influences is the music of John Cage. Most of
transmit sound? Wortz introduces Turrell and
you may know Cage by his composition 4’33”,
Irwin to a new world of sensory deprivation.
which is essentially four minutes and thirty-
He is working with anechoic chambers, rooms
three seconds of silence: the musician comes
constructed so that no sound can get in, or even
onto the stage, lifts the cover on the piano key-
resonate within them. He is also working with
board, sits for four minutes and thirty-three
Ganz fields, spaces filled with a perfectly even
seconds, and closes the top of the piano. All that
light, so that there is no differentiation between
is heard is ambient noise: people’s programs
minimalism 117
bridge from Duchamp into the reductive art of the early 1960s. The difference between them is that Duchamp’s anti-art utilized the arbitrary as a demoralizing device, whereas Cage uses chance and the arbitrary as a device of revelation and the marvelous. Cage’s 4’33” transforms negation into acceptance. The openings in Turrell’s studio walls bring in a kind of music of streetlights and passing cars. The particular character of this music depends upon the time of day it is performed, but also on larger phenomena: celestial movements, the phases of the moon, or the timing of the summer and winter solstices. The studio is part John Cage and part Temple of Karnak: it deals with both the quotidian and the cosmological, one’s place in the mundane world and one’s contemplation of higher order. For Turrell and Irwin, the emptiness of the box, the mute3.20
rustling, the wind in the leaves, or rain on the
ness of the slab, is not simply negation or dep-
James Turrell, Mendota Stop-
roof. This is Cage’s way of forcing you to attend,
rivation but an invitation to contemplate, an
to take in what is otherwise on the margins, to
invitation to look harder, to think harder. They
of stages 5 and 6, 20.32 × 25.4 cm.
hear things not usually heard, in the same way
are drawn to the same contemplative power of
Private collection
that Irwin’s scrim installation forces you to see
the void that attracts Cage and so many artists
things not before seen. Cage is very much the
of this generation.
pages, 1969–74. Black and white photograph, multiple exposures
1 1 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
3.21 James Turrell, Laar, 1976. During the exhibition James Turrell: Light and Space (October 22, 1980–January 1, 1981) at the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York
Perhaps the best way to evoke the power of
very subtle, extremely luscious in some ways.
Turrell’s later work is to describe my own expe-
You start walking toward it. As you do, your eye,
rience of his 1976 work Laar, which is perhaps
like the auto-focus mechanism on a camera,
the ultimate Los Angeles painting. It occupied
continually tries to get hold of the surface of the
the first gallery in Turrell’s 1980 retrospective
piece, but somehow it can’t. Finally, you arrive
at the Whitney Museum (fig. 3.21). Here’s what
at the painting and discover that you can’t get
it felt like: You get off the elevator. Directly in
a fix on the surface because there is no surface.
front of you, on the far wall of the gallery, is a
You are looking at a razor-sharp edge framing
huge gray painting. You cannot quite discern
a second room beyond you. There is no light
what the surface is, but it is quite thick, it has
source visible in this second room, but some-
a visible texture. You are looking at it, and it is
thing is filling it with this eerie gray light so that
minimalism 119
1 2 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
the empty space looks, from a distance, like a
Panza’s villa, I was admitted into a dark ante-
solid surface. What you have perceived as a gray
chamber, which led into an utterly dark room. I
painting turns out to be empty space. Suddenly,
sat and sat and sat, watching absolute darkness,
in a stomach-turning way, you are forced to
trying to figure out what was going on. I had no
change substance for void, reality for illusion.
idea of the dimensions of the room. After three
Think of Judd’s distrust of illusion, of his
or four minutes, when my eyes had adjusted to
almost ethical rejection of anything that was
the darkness, I became aware of a wall at the far
not concrete. Then think how the Los Angeles
end of the room. Now that I understood the
minimalists embrace illusion. For them, the way
parameters of my situation, I felt more com-
to truth is to understand the power of illusion,
fortable. But when I walked toward the wall, it
to instruct us that what we see is not what we
completely dissolved. I suddenly realized that
see. By pointing out these deceptions, they make
what I had taken to be a wall was nothing more
us aware of the confluence between the internal
than a thin sliver of light introduced through a
and the external. They too defeat the mind / body
slot in the side wall, daylight falling across the
split of the European tradition, but in a very dif-
side of the room and hitting the dust motes sus-
ferent way from Judd.
pended in the air. Once this “wall” dissolved, I
Turrell comes out of a larger group of artists
could see into the far end of a room, which was
doing similar experiments, collectively known
much deeper than it had appeared a few sec-
as the California light and space movement.
onds earlier. As with the Turrell at the Whitney,
One of these is Maria Nordman, whose Varese
what seemed like a solid plane turned out to be
Room, installed in the villa of Count Giuseppe
empty space.
Panza di Biumo, near Milan, offers a similarly
Turrell’s Wedgework pieces produce a similar
mind-bending experience. No still image can
disorientation when the diagonal wall dividing
convey the effect of this work; again, I can only
the space in front of you suddenly dissolves,
describe my experience of it: From the stable of
and you realize that there is nothing tangible
blocking you off from the far end of the room,
sophistication of the art that minimalism killed
only a spillage of light from behind the wall at
off? What compels me to choose Turrell and
the side. The beauty of a piece like Wedgework IV
Andre over Louis is that minimalism revives and
(fig. 3.22) lies in the way that the reddened air
renovates what it seems to kill. On one hand, it
takes on a palpable thickness, so that you feel
is a radically new kind of art, not a sophisticated
you are looking at your own blood. Turrell pow-
variation on traditional modernism. It is satisfy-
erfully orchestrates the relationship between the
ing, in part, because it provides the feeling that
space you are in and the internal awareness of
we are attending to the present, not the past. It
your body as a receptive mechanism.
is our art. And yet it does not simply jettison the
Turrell’s art, like Nordman’s and many
past; it brings it back to life. The minimalists
others’, is an art of time as well as space. Some
give us a new vocabulary for everything that we
of his most characteristic pieces are observing
formerly admired about high modernism: com-
rooms, where the razor-sharp edge no longer
position, order, and even painterly values. All of
frames an empty room but the open sky. The
these qualities come back, in new forms. A really
viewer sits below and watches the orchestration
attentive observer might have seen already that
of light as time changes and the light within
Flavin’s “fluorescent light” installation at the
the room radically alters. What you experience
Green Gallery, in November 1964, was not sim-
over a span of perhaps four or five hours is the
ply low-budget constructivism, assembled from
palpability of space, the thickness of color, the
Canal Street cast-offs, but a push toward a new
sky as it becomes alternately deep space or a flat
kind of luscious beauty made from everyday
roof over you.
stuff—something sublime from the five-and-
When we come to a moment like this in re-
dime (fig. 3.23). People think of minimalism
ductive art, do we still regret Rothko? Do we
as reticent and dumb. But Flavin’s later instal-
still regret Morris Louis? What have we gained
lations at Count Panza’s villa in Varese are loud
in return for giving up the painterly beauty and
and extravagant (fig. 3.24). They are hungry for
minimalism 121
3.22 James Turrell, Wedgework IV, 1974. Fluorescent light, in James Turrell, an exhibition at the Hayward Gallery, 1993. Lannan Foundation Collection, Santa Fe, New Mexico
1 2 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
space, indeed imperious in their demand for it. You cannot hang these things next to anything else. They take over; they eat the world around them. Far from being mute and huddled into themselves, they are lavish and operatic. How was one to know at the beginning that this was where Flavin’s career would lead? There is a similar transformation in the career of Flavin’s contemporary, the composer Philip Glass. His music starts out as something very simplified, reduced to a basic vocabulary of repeated sounds: di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di. But with the
in a piece called Cage II of 1965 (fig. 3.25), a
3.23
passage of years, this simplification leads to lav-
restrictive little environment referring to John
Dan Flavin, installation view, dan
ish operas on big, heroic themes: Gandhi, Nero,
Cage and perhaps also to a 1931 sculpture by
Akhnaten.
Giacometti, and LeWitt in his lattice piece of
What I am getting at here is that implicit in
1966 (fig. 3.26). At this moment in time these
the reduction that we have been talking about
artists’ works look pretty similar, but they then
with regard to minimalism is an idea of expan-
go in very different directions.
flavin: fluorescent light, Green Gallery, New York, November 18–December 12, 1964 3.24 (overleaf) Dan Flavin, Ultraviolet fluorescent light room (Kas-
sion. We should think of minimalism’s order not
LeWitt’s work is all about logic, module, and
just as “stripped down” but as “pent up.” It has
repetition. It starts simple but becomes more
from the beginning displayed an urge toward
complex as it proliferates (fig. 3.27). The planes
compression that wants back out, that has in
and cubes of the modular structures overlap
Foundation, New York, the
itself the opposite desire, for expansion. Let me
until they get lost in a kind of fog; it feels like
Panza Collection (Panza Gift)
try to make this clear by looking at two very dif-
the analytic cubism of 1911. There is a sense of
ferent temperaments again: Walter De Maria
fugue-like composition; it is like the music of
sel, Documenta IV), 1968. Installation: Villa Menafoglio Litta Panza, Varese Collection, the Solomon R. Guggenheim
minimalism 123
3.25 Walter De Maria, Cage II, 1965. Stainless steel, 214.0 × 31.1 × 36.2 cm, edition 2/2. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of Agnes Gund and Lily Auchincloss 3.26 Sol LeWitt, Open Modular Cube, 1966. Painted aluminum, 152.4 × 152.4 × 152.4 cm. Art Gallery of Ontario, purchase 1969
minimalism 125
Glass, where the repetition of equal notes keeps building until it becomes mesmerizing, operatic, and sublime. LeWitt has a dry, light touch that produces profusion without losing its sense of precision. There is a teeming, musical delight to his big wall decorations, even though they are built up from simple arcs like the decorations of the Alhambra (fig. 3.28). LeWitt’s work expresses the optimism of mathematics, the clarity and beauty of pure logic. Starting with a very stripped-down vocabulary, he gets complex and then simple again, arriving at the big heraldic decorations of his recent work (fig. 3.29), which revive the high humanism of the Renaissance. 3.27 Sol LeWitt, Incomplete Open Cubes,
De Maria is doing something quite different.
1974. Installation, 30.5 × 304.8 × 548.6
Compare LeWitt’s Incomplete Open Cubes and
cm. San Francisco Museum of Modern
All Combinations . . . Lines (see figs. 3.27, 3.28)
Art, Accessions Committee Fund: gift of
with De Maria’s Bed of Spikes of 1969 (fig. 3.30).
Emily L. Carroll and Thomas Weisel, Jean and James E. Douglas Jr., Susan and
Now we are dealing not with the abstract music
Robert Green, Evelyn Haas, Mimi and
of logic, but with the idea of weight, as in “what
Peter Haas, Eve and Harvey Masonek,
happens if your body falls on that spike?” Bed
Elaine McKeon, the Modern Art Council, Phyllis and Stuart G. Moldaw, Chris-
of Spikes is a mean piece in a double sense: in
tine and Michael Murray, Danielle and
its reductiveness but also in its hostility. Where
Brooks Walker Jr., and Phyllis Wattis
the LeWitt proliferates, the De Maria bristles.
1 2 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
3.28 Sol LeWitt, All Combinations of Arcs from Corners and Sides; Straight, Not-Straight, and Broken Lines, 1975. White chalk on black wall; wall drawings (one room), 487.6 × 1,188.7 × 426.7 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York
minimalism 127
physicality. The work ends up seeming transcendent and ascetic in a new way. De Maria’s The Broken Kilometer of 1979 (fig. 3.31), a kilometer’s worth of brass rods cut into pieces and put into a gallery on West Broadway in Manhattan, once again starts with a simple idea and then both extends and compresses it. There is a clash between the conceptual and the physical, between our idea of a distance, based on the notion of measurement as a mental activity, and the collapse of that idea, confronted with the fragility and instability of what is in front of us. De Maria’s choice of pristine brass rods gives Broken Kilometer a hold-yourbreath kind of preciousness. (For all the weight, clarity, and logic of minimal art, much of it is in fact precious.) The sense of orchestration of the body, the sense of fragility, of noli me tangere, around the De Maria, is counteracted by the fact 3.29
It goes from the isolated spindle spike rising from
that the copper rods constitute a veritable Fort
Sol LeWitt, Wall Drawing #601:
the first plate in the series to a forest of spikes at
Knox—or at least the space around them does.
the far end. What begins as a single unit of naked
If you know anything about real estate values in
ink wash, overall 789.9 × 753.1
aggression ends up suggesting a yogi sleeping on
New York, then you understand the lavishness
cm. Des Moines Art Center,
a bed of spikes: the contemplative renunciation
of the gesture of devoting a huge, ground-floor
purchased with funds from the
of physical sensation, transcendence beyond
loft space to a single work of art. The fact that
Forms Derived from a Cube (25 Variations), 1989. Color
Coffin Fine Arts Trust; Nathan Emory Coffin Collection of the Des Moines Art Center
1 2 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
3.30 Walter De Maria, Bed of Spikes (photo view: installation Kunstverein St. Gallen, Switzerland, 1981), 1968–1969. Five solid, stainless steel works in the series, each base: height 6.5 × width 199.6 × depth 105.6 cm; individual spike: height 26.6 × width 2.5 × depth 2.5 cm. Kunstmuseum Basel, Switzerland 3.31 Walter De Maria, The Broken Kilometer, 1979. Five hundred polished, round, solid brass rods, each measuring 2 m in length and 5 cm in diameter. Long-term installation at Dia Center for the Arts, New York
minimalism 129
3.32 Walter De Maria, The Lightning Field (with lightning), 1977. Four hundred polished steel poles, grid array: 1 mi × 1 km. Quemado, New Mexico
1 3 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
the installation opened in 1979, and that the Dia
This is also true of De Maria’s The Lightning
Art Foundation maintains it to this day, adds
Field, which the Dia Art Foundation sponsored
another layer of meaning to the notion of exten-
in 1977 in Quemado, New Mexico (fig. 3.32).
sion. There is a powerful contrast between the
Here is the Bed of Spikes extrapolated into a
roundness of the brass rods, which look ready
field one mile deep by one kilometer wide. In-
to roll off somewhere, and the protracted still-
stead of spikes, it is filled with rods that all reach
ness of the work. So too is there a contrast be-
the same height but are shorter or longer de-
tween the mute reductiveness of the work and
pending on the slightly rolling terrain around
the expansiveness of maintaining it, between
Quemado. The title Lightning Field is a canard,
the work’s logical clarity and the complex social
in that lightning almost never strikes the piece.
framework that surrounds it.
Many people know the work from a so to speak
3.33 Walter De Maria, The Lightning Field (with moon), 1977. Four hundred polished steel poles, grid array: 1 mi × 1 km. Quemado, New Mexico
electrifying photo that shows a bolt of light-
and of the way the field of rods changes as the
ning hitting a rod, but in fact lightning more
light around it changes. You don’t simply gaze
often falls in the fields and hills surrounding
at De Maria’s work; you allow Lightning Field to
De Maria’s work.
make you aware of everything around it—the
The real experience of the Lightning Field is
desert, the sky, the changes orchestrated by time
about something else. People are taken by car in
and light. The rods are stainless steel, and they
small groups to a cabin at the edge of the field
vibrate with incredible oranges and pinks at
of rods and left there to view it for twenty-four
sunset and at dawn. They stand out in the des-
hours. This is a long time to stare at a single work
ert like the pixels on a computer screen or the
of art. As the hours pass, you become aware of
dots in a Seurat painting. At other moments—
the broad, flat land around the Lightning Field,
at high noon, or at night when the moon rises
minimalism 131
overhead—they virtually disappear, and you
ing alone in a desert like this, where you can see
can almost convince yourself that they are not
for miles, and not spot a single set of lights. The
there (fig. 3.33). The transition from one state
only way to get this kind of absolute command
to the other occurs in tiny, incremental steps.
of the landscape is to own it: the Dia Art Foun-
The experience is mesmerizing.
dation owns not just the Lightning Field but
It is like the effect of Irwin’s scrim in the gallery space, only tremendously aggrandized. De
1 3 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
everything around it. This is not an example of institutional patronage on the normal order.
Maria forces you to pay attention to what is. He
I noted before that Flavin’s light sculptures
does not simply orchestrate an order within the
require a room to themselves, but what is that
piece, he orchestrates an order outside it. This
compared to the megalomaniacal reach of De
is the activation of real space that Fried saw as
Maria’s reductive art, which requires a perma-
the negative virtue of minimalism; here it seems
nent gallery on West Broadway and a private
like a positive. Other things become clear as you
desert in New Mexico (so that lights don’t in-
sit and watch. You sense that the sharp spike is
terfere with it). Oddly enough, it tends to be
a military form—a lance or a javelin. You no-
Europeans who make this all-American art
tice that birds have learned to light on the top
possible. Count Panza’s villa in Varese was the
of those sharp spikes in order to pursue ro-
great shrine of minimalism in the 1970s. It was a
dents below; from a Darwinian point of view,
German art dealer, Heiner Friedrich, along with
you intuit that the birds that did not learn to
the De Menil family, who provided the first im-
light there just haven’t survived. You realize that
portant patronage to Judd, Turrell, De Maria,
putting up pointed stainless steel spikes is not
and others. It is the Dia Art Foundation, created
a neutral way of organizing a landscape. You
by Dominique de Menil and her children, that
can’t help reflecting that, like the loft on West
maintains De Maria’s work and makes it acces-
Broadway that houses the Broken Kilometer, this
sible to viewers. So when you hear that min-
place cost someone a lot of money! Imagine be-
imalism reflects the values of corporate America
or the military-industrial complex, think again.
are dedicated to viewing certain positions of
This art is more courtly than corporate: the
Venus. Turrell is producing his own personal
scale is public, but the vision and the support
Stonehenge here: what he describes as a kind of
are individual—and without that support, one
ruin for the future. Despite the elaborate tech-
doubts that art on this scale would ever have
nology that it has taken to build it, Turrell wants
been made.
it to work on its own—to be independent, for
Let us look at two more large projects,
example, of electricity. What began in Irwin’s
Turrell’s Roden Crater Project (figs. 3.34, 3.35)
and Turrell’s experiments of the late 1960s as a
and Judd’s installation at Marfa, Texas (figs. 3.36,
concentration on the virginal empty field and
3.37). Having begun by making rooms with
the individual minute vibration of the retinal
little windows on the sky, Turrell has been work-
nerve, has now become a whopping monument
ing since the mid-1970s to make a really huge
that does not just shape the space in a room but
window on the sky, which is the Roden Crater
orchestrates an alignment between the viewer
in the Arizona desert. Turrell has reshaped the
and the theater of the cosmos.
dish of the crater so that it functions as a giant
We find a similar change of scale in our
oculus, in which you lie down and watch the
first protagonist of minimalism, Donald Judd,
dome of the sky as it shifts from twilight into
who in 1973 purchased an abandoned army
dark. The internal plan for Roden Crater depicts
barracks and camp in Marfa, Texas. Before he
long, complicated channels and tunnels cutting
died in 1994 he had transformed the industrial
through the mountain, with a central viewing
spaces of the former army camp into a beauti-
room here, a smaller viewing room there, the
ful set of installations of his own work, and of
tunnel leading to the viewpoint for one solstice
work by other artists he admired. His alumi-
on one side of the rock colliding with the tunnel
num pieces are shown in two former artillery
leading to the viewpoint for the other solstice,
sheds, while his concrete pieces are arranged
on the other side of the mountain. Some rooms
in the landscape outside them. It is an amazing
minimalism 133
1 3 4 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
3.34 (opposite)
proliferation of minimalist work in an unex
whether it is an army barrack, a volcano, or a
pected environment.
big empty field. These expanses are also places
Project, 1972–present. The
Judd thus adds his own Fort Apache to
where the artist is free to exercise power and
Painted Desert, Arizona
Turrell’s primordial volcano and De Maria’s
control. I have been talking about the am
virginal desert. They all come to the open space
bivalences of minimalism—its combination of
3.35 (above)
of the West, whether from Los Angeles or New
power and authority versus its preciousness and
James Turrell, Roden Crater
York, because it is the great American palette, a
fragility, its need for a sympathetic context, its
Project, 1972–present. The
zone of freedom or emptiness, where it is still
quest for immediacy, and its ambitions for con
possible to become the owner of a vast area,
templative duration. All of these things come
James Turrell, Roden Crater
(aerial view, 1989)
Painted Desert, Arizona (view of sky from crater dish with rim, dusk, 1981)
minimalism 135
3.36 Donald Judd, North Artillery Shed (side view), with permanent installation of 52 mill aluminum works, 1982–86. Permanent collection of the Chinati Foun dation, Marfa, Texas. Art © Donald Judd Foundation/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY 3.37 Donald Judd, North Artillery Shed (interior view) with permanent installation of 52 mill aluminum works, 1982–86. Permanent collection of the Chinati Foundation, Marfa, Texas. Art © Donald Judd Foun dation, by VAGA, New York, NY
1 3 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
3.38 I. M. Pei and Partners, architects, East Building, National Gallery of Art, Washington, opened 1978
together at Marfa, at the Lightning Field, at the Roden Crater. The result is a series of spacious shrines to which a lucky few can make pilgrimages. Yet the impact of minimalism is not only felt in these private spaces for the elite; it has entered every part of our life. The very building in which we are sitting—I. M. Pei’s East Building of the National Gallery, completed in 1978 (fig. 3.38)—is certainly unthinkable without the broad, flat, un‑ articulated, unfenestrated form that is emphasized in the aesthetic of vastly reductive art of the early and mid-1960s. In the purification and simplification of this art, Pei finds a vocabulary of authority that can hold its own with the grandeur and pom-
deliberately ambiguous primal sign. It is not
posity of the classicism of the Capitol and the
just that reductive, minimal forms—such as the
other buildings in Washington. Maya Lin’s Viet-
pyramids—are consonant with an architecture of
nam War Memorial, nearby on the Mall, is even
death or memory; it is also that the mute purity
more indebted to the aesthetic of minimalist
of Lin’s two triangles, together with the literal-
sculpture. What Lin finds in minimalism’s whole-
ness of the names of the dead soldiers inscribed
ness and in its purity is not a vocabulary of author-
on them, provides both a way of speaking while
ity but a vocabulary of ambiguity (fig. 3.39). Here
maintaining a Delphic silence. This was instantly
we are back to the monolith, to its imposing
seen as the only appropriate, and possibly unify-
authority but also to its enigmatic aura of
ing or consensus-building, vehicle for a war about
uncertainty. Lin’s monument functions as a
which there is still strong disagreement. The
minimalism 137
radical values of minimalism—the avoidance of hierarchy, the reduction of verticality, the elimination of internal composition in favor of an external wholeness—here moves out of the cult world of the gallery and into a civic arena of the highest importance. Similarly, if you look at Peter Eisenman’s proposal for a Holocaust memorial for Berlin (fig. 3.40), you can see how he has made use of Andre’s sense of repetition, weight, and modularity, his lack of hierarchy and differentiation, to create a monument about the bureaucracy of evil. Looking at these large blocklike forms, you ask yourself: are these loading cars, are they grave3.39
stones, are they barracks in concentration camps?
Maya Lin, Vietnam War
The forms yield no answers, they are anonymous.
Memorial, 1982. Black granite, 12.5 × 3.1 m. National Park Service, Washington, D.C.
They remind us how repetition and classification, the tools of twentieth-century rationality, also provide a symbolic vocabulary for expressing
3.40 Peter Eisenman, Proposal for
the moral ambiguity of rationality, the ambigu-
Holocaust Memorial, Berlin,
ity of order itself: on the one hand the virtues of
2000. U.S. Embassy, Gehry Bank,
control, on the other hand the extremely negative
Ungers. © Foundation Memo-
consequences. What we are left with in this pared-
rial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Peter Eisenman, 2000
down vocabulary of Maya Lin and Peter Eisenman is immediate sensory perception, which in
1 3 8 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
3.41 Rachel Whiteread, Untitled (Paperbacks), 1997. Plaster and steel, 450 × 480 × 632 cm. Gift of Agnes Gund and Committee on Painting and Sculpture Funds, The Museum of Modern Art, New York
turn forces one to attend to the relationship with
image of and an antithesis to the monolith of
the body. At the millennium, it is this vocabulary
2001 with which we began (see fig. 3.1). Where
that is the preferred style of memory and con-
the monolith is a massive, mute, but deeply im-
templation; it is our contemporary and almost
posing presence, Whiteread’s sculpture consists
inescapable language of solemn monumentality.
of a series of voids, plaster casts of the nega-
Rachel Whiteread’s Memorial to the Victims of
tive spaces above books in a library. The voids
the Holocaust, in Vienna, also uses a vocabulary
are where the books were; the jagged edges are
of repeated forms, only in this case the re-
the tops of the books. If the monolith seems to
peated forms are books. Whiteread’s Untitled
sum up all knowledge, to condense into a single
(Paperbacks) of 1997 (fig. 3.41), one of her studies
block everything that is superior and beyond us,
for this memorial, is simultaneously a mirror
the Whiteread expresses absence and loss. What
minimalism 139
3.42 Andreas Gursky, Times Square, NY, 1997, 1997. C-print, 185.4 × 248.9 cm. Courtesy Monika Sprueth Gallery/ Philomene Magers
1 4 0 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
is absent, in the first instance, is the knowledge
Andreas Gursky, in his Times Square, NY,
embodied in books—earthly knowledge, not
1997, uses a nearly identical vocabulary of
knowledge from Mars. At the same time, the ab-
minimalism—the Judd stacks, the modularity,
sent books function as symbols for the millions
the repetition—to suggest the anomie and the
of lives that were lost in the Holocaust. It seems
sterility in a computer-organized vision of the
safe to insist that Whiteread would not have ar-
soaring atrium of a modern hotel (fig. 3.42).
rived at this metaphor without the examples of
Gursky’s vision is about all that we have lost in a
Judd’s stacks and Andre’s modularity, or without
different sense: the inhumanity of logic, the in-
their insistence that blankness, literalness, and
humanity of repetition. The two sides are never
dumbness could provide a powerful expressive
going to be resolved. One thing is for certain,
language for modern sculpture.
however. No, this was not a joke.
minimalism 141
N ot e s
1. Donald Judd, “Local History,” Arts Yearbook (1964); reprinted in Donald Judd: Complete Writings, 1959–1975 (Halifax: The Press of the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design; and New York: New York University Press, 1975), 151. 2. Richard Wollheim, “Minimal Art,” Arts Magazine (January 1965); reprinted in Gregory Battcock, ed., Minimal Art: A Critical Anthology (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1968), 387–399. 3. “I must admit,” Clark says, “that bourgeois sentiment and realism can produce a vulgar trivial art, and the determinist historian . . . might say that this was what the Dutch were bound to get. Well,” Clark adds, “they also got Rembrandt.” Kenneth Clark, Civilization: A Personal View (New York: Harper and Row, 1969), 201. 4. Stella’s painting provided a kind of role model for the new minimalist sculpture, so Rose was well placed to observe what was happening. Barbara Rose, “ABC Art,” Art in America (October–November 1965); reprinted in Battcock, Minimal Art, 274–277. 5. Philip Leider, “Literalism and Abstraction: Frank Stella’s Retrospective at the Modern,” Artforum 8:8 (April 1970), 44–51. 6. Michael Fried argued that “Line, in Pollock’s all-over drip paintings of 1947–50, has been freed at last from the job of describing contours and bounding shapes. It has been purged of its figurative character. . . . Pollock’s line bounds and delimits nothing—except, in a sense, eyesight. . . . There is only a pictorial field so homogenous, overall and devoid of both recognizable objects and of abstract
1 4 2 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
shapes that I want to call it ‘optical.’” Fried, “Jackson Pollock,” Artforum (September 1965); reprinted in Pepe Karmel, ed., Jackson Pollock: Interviews, Articles and Reviews (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1999), 98–99. Fried’s argument here is a brilliant extension of a passage in Clement Greenberg’s 1958 revision of his essay, “The New Sculpture” (see lecture 1, n. 3, Art and Culture, 1961). 7. Donald Judd, “Jackson Pollock,” Arts Magazine (April 1967); reprinted in Judd: Complete Writings, 195. 8. Bruce Glaser, “Questions to Stella and Judd,” 1964 interview published in ARTnews (September 1966); reprinted in Battcock, Minimal Art, 149–151. 9. Donald Judd, “David Smith,” Arts Magazine (December 1964); reprinted in Judd: Complete Writings, 144–145. In Judd’s stack pieces (see fig. 3.10, for instance), there is no balance between top and bottom; there is just a series of identical units—“one damn thing after another,” as people used to say in the 1960s. 10. William James, “Pragmatism” (1907), in James, Pragmatism and Other Writings (New York: Penguin, 2000), 34–35. 11. It is difficult to find an exact source for the statement that Judd’s desire to get away from the European model had to do with his aversion to the rational and his preference for the pragmatic, literal, and concrete. In Glaser, “Questions to Stella and Judd” (151), Judd denounces rationalism as “a certain type of thinking and logic that is pretty well discredited now.” His preference for concrete rather than
metaphorical qualities is evident in his unpublished December 18, 1967, interview with Barbara Rose (transcript in the Barbara Rose Papers, Special Collections, The Getty Center), where he explains his decision to use stainless steel in a particular piece by saying, “You’re choosing materials because they produce a certain quality . . . you’re using a quality that it [the material] has. I like the quality better than anything I could do to it anyway” (pp. 10–11 of the unpaginated transcript, quoted by permission of Barbara Rose and The Getty Center). Judd’s comments here recall Stella’s remark in “Questions to Stella and Judd”: “I tried to keep the paint as good as it was in the can” (157). 12. Robert Morris, in his 1966 “Notes on Sculpture,” argues for the elimination of “internal relationships” in sculpture because they “tend to eliminate the viewer” insofar as they “pull him into an intimate relation with the work and out of the space in which the object exists.” In contrast, Morris argues, “the better new work”—his own, but also Judd’s and Andre’s— “takes relationships out of the work and makes them a function of space, light, and the viewer’s field of vision. Robert Morris, “Notes on Sculpture,” parts 1 and 2, Artforum (February and October 1966); reprinted in Battcock, Minimal Art, 232–233. 13. Michael Fried, “Art and Objecthood,” Art forum (June 1967); reprinted in Battcock, Minimal Art, 125–128.
14. A thorough search of the Judd literature, including interviews with him, did not produce the source for this quotation. 15. In his December 18, 1967, interview with Barbara Rose, Judd says: “I like Matisse, I’ve always liked Matisse” (p. 33 of the unpaginated transcript). However, it is not clear where Varnedoe found that Judd expresses his interest in Matisse’s “light and lightness, the thinness and fineness of his edges and materials, the transparency of his volumes.” 16. Anna Chave, “Minimalism and the Rhetoric of Power,” Arts Magazine (January 1990). 17. Judd’s working notes show him looking through dozens of different car colors, until he settles on a few favorites, such as “Harley-Davidson Hi-Fi Red” and “1958 Chevrolet Regal Turquoise.” See David Batchelor, “Everything as Color,” in Nicholas Serota, ed., Donald Judd, exh. cat. (London: Tate Publishing; and New York: Distributed Art Publishers, 2004), 65; and William Agee, “Donald Judd and the Endless Possibilities of Color,” in Dietmar Elger, ed., Donald Judd: Colorist, exh. cat. (Hanover: Sprengel Museum, 2000), cited in Batchelor, 74. 18. Jane Livingston, “Robert Irwin and James Turrell,” in Maurice Tuchman and Jane Livingston, A Report on the Art and Technology Program of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, 1967–1971 (Los Angeles County Museum of Art, 1971), 139–143.
minimalism 143
4
af ter minimalism
We have been talking about art of the early 1960s
understanding. Minimalism succeeded, in fact,
that came to be called minimalism—sculpture
in confounding categories and leaving people in
such as Morris’s installation at the Dwan Gallery
honest doubt as to whether its guiding spirit was
in 1966 or Flavin’s “monument” for V. Tatlin I
Malevich, affirming and idealistic, or Duchamp,
of 1964 (figs. 4.1, 1.33). Work like this did not
ironic and nihilistic.
simply seek to escape cognitive definition; that
Now I want to turn from the early 1960s to
is, it did not want to look like a dog, and it did
the later 1960s, the period roughly from the
not want to look like a landscape. More ambi-
Warren Commission to Watergate, when it
tiously, it wanted to resist classification alto-
became all the more difficult for artists to es-
gether, simple niches like painting or sculpture.
cape categories because minimalism had itself
Judd’s now famous essay on this new work of
become a category. It was no longer possible to
the early 1960s was called “Specific Objects,” and
produce a cube that was just a cube; instead, a
in it he argued for a body of work that escaped
cube looked like a reference to Judd. The in-
the standard genres of art, that was “neither
stallation of a minimalist tradition coalesced
painting nor sculpture.” The idea was that this
extraordinarily fast, like everything else in the
work could only be seen exactly for what it was
1960s. Society went through spasmodic, vio-
and not be put into some ready-made bin of
lent mood swings. Just a few months intervened
1
between Woodstock in the summer of 1969 and
This rapid pace of change was felt in the art
Altamont in December of 1969, but those few
world as well. My wife, Elyn Zimmerman, was
months made all the difference in the world.
an artist emerging in Los Angeles at precisely
Those of us growing up then expected a new
this time, and I owe a lot of my thinking about
Beatles album every few months that would
the late 1960s to her experience as a gradu-
change our lives completely: Rubber Soul, Re-
ate student. She remembers the overload of
volver, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,
information coming to art students through
Magical Mystery Tour, and the White Album
magazines such as Artforum, the sudden aware-
Robert Morris Installation,
were like several different universes one had
ness that every twitch on the art network sent
Dwan Gallery, Los Angeles, 1966
lived through in swift succession.
repercussions to its outermost perimeters,
4.1
so that everyone was aware of the latest show at Castelli or the Dwan Gallery and felt pres- sured by an overheated market to develop the next “new” thing. More information, increasing demand for novelty, and faster social change meant that almost before minimalism was born, it had become a tradition, something that had to be addressed. This pressure in the late 1960s leads to a paradox in the art world. The anti-institutional aesthetic and ethic that affects so many people in this period—a rejection of power and the standard social conventions—turns artists away from not only specific objects in Judd’s sense, but any kind of object. They want to make things that are too big, too ephemeral, or too
1 4 6 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
unmanageable to be collected or exchanged on
qualities banished from the “specific objects” of
the market. The odd thing about this move-
the early 1960s.2
ment away from the collectible object is that it
This new generation of artists absorbs the
gives the upper hand to sculpture. In the con-
formal terms of minimalism in the mid-1960s
test between Greenberg’s painterly tradition
but then immediately challenges the basic
(Morris Louis, Jules Olitski, Larry Poons) and
premises of minimalism in the form of an
the minimal object (Robert Morris, Donald
implied critique of minimalism’s claim to blank
Judd, Sol LeWitt, Carl Andre), the object wins.
neutrality. This critique takes hold nearly as
Sculpture in the late 1960s turns out to be the
fast as minimalism itself had crystallized in the
ultimate “none of the above” category. That is,
mid-1960s. (The critique is then catalyzed,
even in the sense that painting is only paint-
powerfully, in a wave of social changes and
ing, it cannot compete with the literalism of,
attitudes that emerges during and after the
say, the three-dimensional appropriation of real
revolutionary events of spring 1968.) The most
materials in the world. As a category, sculpture
obvious challenge is once again the return of
is flexible and expandable in a way that paint-
recognizable imagery, the very thing that artists
ing is not. “Sculpture” can include video instal-
such as Morris and Judd had fought to exclude.
lation, earthworks, and performance; it turns
Young sculptors of the mid-1960s and early
out to be a labile term—just as “art” has been a
1970s found that with just a slight tweaking of
labile term in the twentieth century—a subject
Morris’s forms, for example, they could be rein-
that constantly transforms itself by incorporat-
stalled within familiar categories like purpose-
ing new things. Sculpture, then, is the dominant
built architecture and design. For example Joel
work medium of the period we are about to
Shapiro, in his untitled work of 1975, simply
examine because it can take into account the
places the triangular piece in the background of
literalism of minimalist sculpture—its weight,
Morris’s 1966 installation at the Dwan Gallery
gravity, and “kick-it” specificity—at the same
(see fig. 4.1) on top of one of Morris’s blocks
time that it can reintroduce the pictorial
in the foreground and comes up with a kind of
after minimalism 147
Monopoly house (fig. 4.2). Shapiro’s form has a symbolic resonance with things outside it; 4.2 Joel Shapiro, Untitled (House), 1975. Cast iron, 19.1 × 27.3 ×
it is not merely its own height and width but a form of shelter. At the same time he is also
21.6 cm. The Museum of
rethinking the specificity of height and width
Contemporary Art, Los Angeles,
in minimalism, and for this reason the small
the Barry Lowen Collection
scale of this piece is very important. Comparing
4.3
Shapiro’s 1976 installation at the Museum of
Installation view of David
Contemporary Art, Chicago (fig. 4.3), with the
Gilhooly, Will Insley, Joel
Morris 1964 installation at Green, you can see
Shapiro, Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago, September 11–November 7, 1976
the point exactly (see fig. 3.11). The idea of corporeal scale is itself being recast so that it generates a new set of associations. Morris’s gray boxes are at the same scale as the viewer’s body: we confront them in the present tense. In contrast, Shapiro’s little pieces function metaphorically rather than literally. They are like decoys or models that refer to the imaginative reconstruction of shelter and domesticity, of bins and storage, of things that simultaneously make us feel enormous and send us off into distant spaces. Now the activation of the gallery space begins to be associated with memory and metaphor; instead of a kinesthetic stimulus, works such as
1 4 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
Shapiro’s provide a stimulus to memory and
in fact is less about logic than about memory,
imagination.
fantasy, and dream worlds.
Along with Shapiro’s little houses, there is a
At the other pole is the work of Scott Burton
whole raft of architectural sculpture in the early
(fig. 4.5) and others, who use the forms of
1970s that rewrites the meaning of minimalism.
minimalism to revisit the history of design
When Alice Aycock builds a ramp structure in
and its interchange with the history of abstract
1978 (fig. 4.4), for instance, we then see the wedge
form. For instance, Burton, who comes out of
in the background of Morris’s 1966 installation
performance art, reinvests pure shape with a
as a kind of ramp and this raises questions as to
social dimension. One of Burton’s great heroes
what that circle in the background of the Morris
is the Romanian sculptor Constantin Brancusi,
4.4 Alice Aycock, Ramp Structure, 1978. Wood, 243.8 × 243.8 × 243.8 cm. Collection unknown
might mean (see fig. 4.1). Instead of seeing space as neutral, or as something we respond to simply in terms of bodily experience, artists like Aycock and Shapiro see space as a realm of poetic metaphors, often based on associations with architecture. Many artists of this generation are influenced by a book called The Poetics of Space, by the French scholar Gaston Bachelard.3 For Bachelard, terms like “space,” “enclosure,” “up,” and “down” are not neutral designations but are often suggestive of attics, cellars, facades, doors, entryways, and so forth. This idea inspires a whole body of art that utilizes the modular wooden construction of a LeWitt and the geometric forms of a Judd or a Morris, but that
after minimalism 149
4.5 Scott Burton, Pair of Rock Chairs, 1980. Gneiss, two pieces: 125.1 × 110.5 × 101.6 cm; 111.8 × 167.6 × 108 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, acquired through the Philip Johnson, Mr. and Joseph Pulitzer Jr., and Robert Rosenblum Funds
1 5 0 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
who made his career in Paris. Burton looks
purpose-built, as the minimalists tried to do,
at Brancusi’s studio and studies the relation-
Burton pushes the forms back into the realm
ship between the symbolic forms of Brancusi’s
of utilitarian objects, tweaking them in order
sculpture, the bases he made to put them
to assert that the symbolic, the abstract, and the
on, and the furniture he made for himself
functional are not isolated from but integrated
to sit on. Instead of decategorizing forms,
with one another. This assertion ties Burton to
instead of moving away from the functional or
the Russian constructivist tradition of Malevich
and Rodchenko, who insisted on an intimate
abstract art that is on its way to becoming rep-
link between so-called pure abstraction and the
resentational in a much broader and imageless
transformation of the man-made world.
sense. It is more diffuse, and ultimately more
In the work of artists like Shapiro, Aycock, and Burton the blank forms of minimalism are
powerful, I think, than a pediment or a chair or one image or function assigned to a shape.
reinscribed and tinted with associations. But
Like the minimalists, Heizer, Smithson, and
instead of exploring the return of imagery and
their peers found in Pollock’s drip paintings
function within the language of minimalism, I
the model for an art of simplicity and whole-
want to follow the story of imageless abstrac-
ness with no hierarchies and no detachable
tion as it unfolds in the earthworks of artists like
parts, but instead an allover web of creativity.
Michael Heizer and Robert Smithson. I want
Its composition was determined in large part by
to stay with the life of abstraction, imageless
the unmediated literalness of its processes and
abstraction. For some of the same issues we have
materials. Simplicity, wholeness, order, process,
just visited—of the psyche, the body, and social
and materials—these become the watchwords
order—are invested in the reductive vocabulary
for a new generation of artists who were about
of Judd, LeWitt, and Morris by a new generation
to transform minimalism.
that is in thrall to the powers and permissions
In 1972–74 Heizer created Complex One / City
of minimalism’s new abstract vocabulary, yet
(fig. 4.6), the first of an extensive series of struc-
pressed at the same time by the world in which
tures in the Nevada desert which he continues
they live to speak that vocabulary in another
working on to this day. Their parentage in the
voice, to charge it with unexpected meanings. We
work of Morris is clear: simple geometric forms,
find their work of the early 1970s an art that is a
no internal parts, a unified wholeness. But instead
thoroughly abstract, self-declared descendent of
of opening onto an unfamiliar neutrality, as in
minimalism, but an art that is also at odds with
Morris’s work, Heizer’s complex evokes a differ-
its parent movement. Their art is a transformed
ent sense of the primal. The reductive simplicity
after minimalism 151
1 5 2 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
of Heizer and his peers has a specifically archaic
to the material of the earth itself, and to forms
quality. Heizer’s devotion to Malevich and the
simplified by time: things that have eroded,
Russian abstractionists fuses with an interest in
things that have lost all excrescences, ruins that
pre-Columbian architecture, such as the Mayan
are stumped down, as are the ball courts, to their
ball courts at Chichen-Itza and Uxmal in the
basic underlying form.
Yucatan. In the catalogue for a 1984 retrospective
As the son of an archaeologist, Heizer grew
of Heizer’s work, he came right out and provided
up surrounded by pre-Columbian work and by
photographs of sources for his work: on the one
other kinds of archaeological forms. Therefore
hand, the architectons of Malevich, and on the
his attraction to simplicity is partly a matter
other, Chichen-Itza, the step pyramid of Zoser,
of personal experience and taste. But it is also
the heads on Easter Island, the horse carved into
symptomatic of the mid-to-late 1960s, and then
the ground at Wessex, the rock-cut sanctuaries
the early 1970s, when Heizer matured as an
of Ajanta, the temples carved in living stone at
artist. People of my generation probably all have
Mamallapuram in India, and so forth.4
buried somewhere a library of paperbacks that
In an interview with Julia Brown, Heizer spells
includes Stonehenge Decoded, The Tao of Physics,
out the distinction between what he calls “mega-
The Dancing Wu Li Masters, and, of course, Erich
lithic” and “piecemeal” societies, that is, societies
Von Daniken’s Chariots of the Gods—books that
that express themselves in single, whole forms,
underscore the popular belief of the time that
like the carvings in Ajanta or Mamallapuram,
the most advanced and the oldest forms of un-
versus societies that express themselves by con-
derstanding were the same thing; that advanced
5
structing things from little bits and fragments.
quantum physics and Taoist thought, for exam-
He specifically includes modern society, with its
ple, were one and the same; that Stonehenge was
assemblages of steel modules, in the latter cate-
in fact a giant computer, and so on. Accordingly,
gory, in contrast to the grand solidarity of the old
the future, as we imagined it, was linked to the
stone cultures. Heizer is drawn to forms linked
deep past in a way that sidestepped any idea of
progress. In that context, the timeless forms of
else, makes his book into a minimalist version
4.6
minimalism, that is, the forms that Morris and
of art history. Historians of modern art tend to
Michael Heizer, Complex One /
others had thought made no reference outside
identify formalism with Clement Greenberg,
themselves and had only a present-tense exis-
but Kubler’s theory is, if anything, the antithesis
tence in the gallery, became timeless in another
of Greenberg’s. For Greenberg, the emphasis
sense, insofar as they equated the present and
on form is a way to purify the medium of
the future with the deep past, collapsing alpha
painting—to get down to its essence. For Kubler,
and omega. This is what happens in a work like
on the other hand, formalism is a way of ignor-
Heizer’s Complex One.
ing the differences between arts, and between
A seminal text for understanding works like
the fine and applied arts. Formalism is a leveling
this is George Kubler’s The Shape of Time, pub-
device that allows him to treat everything the
lished in 1961.6 Kubler offers a purely formalist
same way: potsherds, chairs, spears—anything
theory of the development of art and design,
that human beings produce.
eliminating individual artists and their biog-
Just as Kubler wants to eliminate the barriers
raphies, the symbolic dimension of art, indeed
between the fine and applied arts, he would also
any kind of subjectivity. He is interested only in
eliminate any biological metaphors of growth.
the way that forms emerge, develop, and vanish
In contrast, Greenberg’s theory of form and for-
in the course of history. Kubler’s focus on the
mal development is Hegelian and leads toward
forms of things, to the exclusion of everything
increasing perfection or realization. Kubler’s
City, 1972–74, Nevada. Earthwork, 71.6 × 335.3 × 426.7 m
after minimalism 153
theory is based in anthropology and linguistics.
1960s. “Part of my art is based on an awareness
He gives a great, magisterial overview, trac-
that we live in a nuclear era,” Heizer says in an
ing the development of form in fifth-century
interview in 1984. “We’re probably living at the
Greece, in China, and in Mayan civilization,
end of civilization.” His project in the Nevada
noting constantly recurring patterns that have
desert, a great monumental series of abstract
to do with what he sees as the eventual exhaus-
forms, equates the erosive force of centuries—
tion of choices. While Greenberg’s formalism
the blunting of ruins and grand residues of
leads toward a kind of perfectionism, Kubler’s
past societies—with the explosive force of the
formalism suggests there is a degenerative or
present. He makes clear that Complex One is
exhausting aspect, a limited prospect, in the
situated close to a nuclear blast site, and that its
possibilities of form. He has a pessimistic belief
angled front wall is designed to serve as a blast
that the invention of form is a zero-sum game,
shield, deflecting the power of a nuclear bomb.7
that what has been made before reduces the
Heizer’s elemental forms collapse time into a
possibilities of what can be made now. Kubler
view colored by a millennial, almost apocalyp-
speculates—in a way that I think many people in
tic sense of the present. He uses reduction as
the late 1960s may have found appealing—that
a way of hunkering down against the forces of
instead of the modernist notion that we have in
history. Heizer’s expanded concept of time—of
front of us an endless series of options, we may
vast eons that will stretch after us and that have
in fact be approaching the end of a set of possi-
stretched before us—is linked to the idea of
bilities, that there may be much more invention
scale, of making things big and making things
behind us than there is in front of us.
in open space. Simplicity, then, becomes associ-
Kubler’s ideas are in sync not only with the formalism of the minimalist and postminimal-
1 5 4 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
ated with monumentality in Heizer’s work in a very specific way.
ist generations but also with the pessimism that
In much of the art of the late 1960s, the
becomes increasingly apparent at the end of the
theatrics of space that Michael Fried so disliked
about early minimalism becomes vastly extrap-
markings—and it still survives—is Heizer’s
4.7
olated beyond the gallery space. Heizer is one
Double Negative of 1969–70, on the Virgin River
Michael Heizer, Double Negative
of the key exponents of moving literally out of
Mesa in Nevada. As you can see from an aerial
the gallery and into a much broader “canvas.”
view (fig. 4.7), it consists of two trenches incised
Nevada. 240,000-ton displace-
He begins by making vast marks in the desert,
on either side of an eroded canyon and lined up
ment of rhyolite and sandstone,
often drawing huge circles (like something out
so that, standing in one trench and looking across
of Malevich) with his motorcycle, and also
at the other, one joins them as if they made up a
spreading dye to make paintings that are only
single slash. It is as if the hand of God had come
readable from thousands of meters in the air.
down from above and cut straight through the
The most impressive and best known of these
canyon, or as if something that was formerly
(aerial view), 1969–70, Mormon Mesa (Virgin River Mesa),
457.2 × 15.2 × 9.14 m. The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, gift of Virginia Dwan
after minimalism 155
unified had been disrupted by forces of erosion
they are often lumped together, and we can see
or incursion, creating a huge mark on a vast
why, looking at Long’s Line in the Himalayas
space. The idea of a great, simple geometric
of 1975 (fig. 4.8). Like Heizer, Long worked in
gesture in conflict with the erosive structure
nature, making elaborate stone arrangements or
around it takes Pollock’s expansion of scale, and
other kinds of circles with connections reaching
the idea of moving beyond the borders of the
back to ancient stone cairns, stone circles, men-
canvas, into an entirely different dimension.
hirs, and dolmens around the world. This is
Heizer’s work is not to the taste of everyone.
very much Long’s personal vocabulary; inspired
In the mid-1980s, when I included him in an
by forms of the deep past, he projects the
exhibition with the British artist Richard Long,
geometry of minimalism out into nature. Per-
81 × 121 cm. Courtesy of the
I discovered that Long vehemently disliked the
sonal experience in the form of long solitary
artist and Haunch of Venison
kind of work that Heizer was doing. Nonetheless
(and well-documented) walks in the British
4.8 Richard Long, Line in the Himalayas, 1975. Photograph,
countryside—a kind of Lake Country picturesque tradition merged with an ecologically correct pursuit—was also integral to his work. What Long hated about the earthworks of Heizer and Smithson and others was that they seemed to carry out, on a cosmically destructive scale, the vast American ego and power mania built into minimalism in the first place. Theirs was the cowboy recklessness of Pollock realized in an egregious and destructive fashion. But I think something more complex is going on in the Heizer, and I would like to stand up for it and for work like it. In earthworks like
1 5 6 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
4.9 Michael Heizer, Double Negative (ground view), 1969–70, Mormon Mesa (Virgin River Mesa), Nevada. 240,000-ton displacement of rhyolite and sandstone, 472.2 × 15.4 × 9.14 m. The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, gift of Virginia Dwan
Heizer’s it is the play between the close up and
with a brute, unerring simplicity, something
the faraway, between the view with one’s feet on
that stands out as a man-made absolute against
the ground and the aerial view, that is impor-
the geological forces of erosion of the canyon.
tant. The ground view of Double Negative aimed
The idea of simplicity with which we started,
down into one of the trenches is interesting in
then, could be said to depend in these works on
this regard (fig. 4.9). The ground view is about
just how far back you stand. And that sounds
embedded layers of structure, embedded layers
an odd echo of a late-nineteenth-century theory
of geology; in archaeological terms, it represents
of sculpture proposed by Adolf von Hildebrand.
layers of human development, stratified time,
Hildebrand contrasted the experience of view-
time that is accreted, time that is textured, time
ing sculpture from close up as opposed to from
that is the cumulative buildup of minute inci-
a distance, the fragmented uncertainty and the
dents. The aerial view, on the other hand, shows
piecemeal, subjective disarray of viewing sculp-
Double Negative as something globally unified,
ture at close range as opposed to the decisive
after minimalism 157
1 5 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
certainty and clarity of viewing sculpture at a
Spiral Jetty one of the most well-known and
distance.8 For Hildebrand the proper role of
least-seen works of art ever made. Smithson also
classicizing art was to clarify things as if they
made a film about the making of Spiral Jetty,
were seen from a distance, to invest all sculpture
which is in a sense almost part of the artwork
with a kind of fernsicht vision, that is, a kind of
(fig. 4.11). In fact originally he had thought of
far, distant vision. This distinction is brought
having a small theater next to the Spiral Jetty,
into relationship, it seems to me, by works
where the film would be constantly projected.
such as Heizer’s, where the grand aura of clar-
The film promotes both the micro and macro
ity and simplicity is the privilege of the aerial
aspects of the earthwork. On the micro side is
view, whereas on the ground one sees only the
the crystallization of the Great Salt Lake: the salt
brutality and fragmentation of the cut through
crystals forming on rocks, a kind of incrustation
many thousands of layers and the crumbling
in which the salt of the lake will, like rust, engulf
variety and diversity of the earth around it. This
the Spiral Jetty, forming a piecemeal blanket over
contrast presents, I think, not merely a formal
the form that he has made. On the macro level,
problem but one that has social implications as
from overhead, we see a primal form in the spiral
well, these having to do with the relationship
of ambiguous growth and decay: the helical pat-
between individual experience and that of
tern of a nautilus shell on the one hand, and of
collective society.
water going down the drain on the other. What
Another work that has both macro and micro
we do not see in these views of Smithson’s jetty is
aspects is Smithson’s Spiral Jetty, which most
that it constantly makes intercuts between bull-
people know from Gianfranco Gorgoni’s now
dozers pushing rocks and dinosaurs. Again the
canonical photograph of the earthwork when it
relationship between a deep lost and destroyed
was first made in the Great Salt Lake in Utah in
past and the violence and force of contemporary
1970 (fig. 4.10). This photograph, certainly one
society—so apparent in Heizer’s Complex One—
of the great images of art of its time, has made
is replayed by Smithson in another way. Close up
the Spiral Jetty is power, jumble, violence, and
twentieth century, involves a kind of optimism,
4.10
slow, fragmentary accretion; from above it is only
the shock of a new, nonhuman objectivity.
Robert Smithson, Spiral
a great, blank, desolate, cosmic implacability.
Here was something that evaded the pathos of
Jetty, April 1970, Great Salt Lake, Utah. Black rock, salt
I have written elsewhere about the overhead
perspective, where things get smaller as they get
crystals, earth, and red water
view in modernity and what it means. In László
farther from you, and laid out the world in front
(algae), 1.06 × 4.57 × 457.2 m.
Moholy-Nagy’s 1928 photograph from a radio
of you as if it were from a God’s-eye viewpoint.
tower in Berlin (fig. 4.12), this earlier idea of the
The idea of the overhead view, of detachment
direct overhead view, which is very specific to the
from the earth, of impersonality and objectivity,
9
Collection Dia Art Foundation. Art © Estate of Robert Smithson/ Licensed by VAGA, New York
after minimalism 159
4.11 Robert Smithson, Spiral Jetty, 1970. Film stills, Great Salt Lake, Utah. Black rock, salt crystals, earth, and red water (algae), 1.06 × 4.57 × 457.2 m. Art © Estate of Robert Smithson/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
1 6 0 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
became the emblem of the shock of fresh de-
Spiral Jetty re-emerging from the Great Salt
familiarization that would lead to a detached
Lake, the overhead view of things unintelligible
and superior knowledge of the world. Instead
from the earth speaks to enigma and to mystery
of the muddled near-view perspective, where
(fig. 4.13).
things were blocked off from one another, from
One cannot have this discussion without
overhead one saw the schematic truth of the
bringing in Isamu Noguchi’s 1947 sculpture
world exactly as it was.
made to be seen from Mars (fig. 4.14). A little
Today, in an age when artists have been shaped
corny perhaps in its orchestration of pyramids
by the first photographs from space of the earth
and mounds—I mean, there is Heizer’s Com-
as a lonely blue marble in the middle of a great
plex One at the top, and an Egyptian pyramid
black expanse, there is less of a shock in the loss
at the bottom for the nose; it depends on image
of the human viewpoint. Objectivity at a dis-
recognition—but how interesting that it is made
tance and overhead becomes not about the new
just after the atomic bomb is dropped for the first
man but about things primordial, that is, lost
time. Remember the 1960s saying, that we were
civilizations like those who made the Nazca lines
either going to get “stoned into the bomb age
in Peru. It becomes not so much about schematic
or bombed into the Stone Age”—that the two
truth in its freshness as about an aged sense of
things were related and that we were living in an
mystery and distance. Whether it is the Nazca
age of imminent extinction? Heizer’s interest in
lines or the snake mounds in Ohio or Smithson’s
the nuclear blast, for example—linked us back
4.12 László Moholy-Nagy, Berlin Radio Tower, c. 1928. Gelatin silver print, 36 × 25.5 cm. Art Institute of Chicago, Julien Levy Collection, Special Photography
the nuclear age. In the Vietnam War it all comes
Acquisition Fund, 1979.84
back, and with a new fearsomeness. Let me just briefly recap. I began with the idea of simplicity, or wholeness, as something
4.13 Nazca People, Nazca Spiral, 200 BC–600 BCE, Nazca Desert, Peru
that the minimalists derived from an interpretation of Pollock’s canvases. I pointed out that the scale and the idea of objectivity were also important to these artists, and that for all minimalists these were purely formal properties, that indeed the early 1960s minimalists claimed to be pragmatic, neutral, and involved in a present-tense experience. But by the late to a stone age. That is all that was going to be
1960s, under a different set of societal pressures,
left of us after the bomb devastated the earth.
the anti-individual, antisubjective premises of
It is interesting that Noguchi in 1947 prefigures
geometry—simplicity, wholeness—which the
the Smithson in the late 1960s and early 1970s, because there are odd echoes of early abstract expressionism in Heizer’s body of work from the late 1960s, in its combined interest in and dread of science and in the collision between microbiology on the one hand and ruins and symbols on the other. We see this in the Spiral Jetty. In some senses the late 1960s re-evoked the world of Rothko, Gottlieb, and Newman in the late 1940s under the threat of the first advent of
after minimalism 161
1 6 2 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
minimalists were at pains to claim were not
about the order of his canvases, “What you see is
ideal, did not have any of the kind of utopian
what you see,” it is important to remember that
flavor of Mondrian, for example, and of former
his bugbear was Vasarely. He and Judd battled
geometric idealism. Now the problem in the late
against Vasarely’s idea partly because what they
1960s is that, far from being ideal, these forms
disliked about the European nature of Vasarely’s
are no longer merely positivist or pragmatic
order and geometry was that it seemed to have a
but are tied to a millennial pessimism, with a
social agenda attached. Stella and Judd insisted
nostalgia for simplicity, and the power of mam-
that there was no social agenda in their use of
moth illiberal societies of the deep past in thrall
geometry, in what they were making. This is part
to monolithic order. Present-tense experience
of what becomes problematic for artists in the
of simple form is replaced by a kind of melan-
late 1960s, and the most evident shift against
choly of duration. It is as if Claude Monet’s Gare
the early 1960s geometry—post-1968, say—is
Saint-Lazare and its empiricist, present-tense
the simple rejection of geometry in favor of an
modernity is replaced by Giorgio De Chirico’s
organicism. Another contributing factor was
train stations. There is a reduction here of a
the Pollock retrospective of 1967 at the Mu‑
different kind, a reduction not pragmatic but
seum of Modern Art; when the pictures are seen
having to do with the catastrophic and the epic.
again, their liquidity becomes much more inter-
I used the word “order”—monolithic
esting. Early or mid-1960s pieces that had, on the
order—about the megalithic societies, for exam-
basis of John Cage, involved dispersal and ran-
ple, that Heizer talked about. And I want to turn
dom order—such as Carl Andre’s Spill (Scatter
now to the idea of order proposed by the mini-
Piece) of 1966 (fig. 4.15), or many works by Barry
malists, an order taken out of, again, Pollock’s
Le Va also—give way in the late 1960s to works
webs of painting, an order that was nonrela-
like Morris’s thread-waste piece, which is owned
tional, unconstructed, unbalanced, noncompo-
by the Museum of Modern Art, gift of Philip
sitional, decidedly not ideal. When Stella said
Johnson; it is a bag of thread waste, and you pour
4.14 Isamu Noguchi, Sculpture to Be Seen from Mars, 1947. Model in sand, unrealized. Courtesy of the Isamu Noguchi Foundation, Inc.
it out on the floor in whatever order (see fig. 1.40).
no edges, being more liquid, more dispersed on
This falls into place with an article that Morris
the floor.10
wrote precisely in 1968 called “Anti Form,” in
This simple substitution, organicism for
which he argued that the best new work was go-
geometry, is perhaps too easy, in the way that
ing to forsake the geometric rigidity of the early
turning a cube into a Monopoly house is a
1960s and be floppy, scrappy, and chaotic, having
little too easy. But more interesting and widely
after minimalism 163
4.15
evident in the art of the late 1960s and early
seen to fail.” It is not enough for order to be
Carl Andre, Spill (Scatter Piece),
1970s is the staged collision between order and
abandoned; it must be dumped on. As a result,
disorder, between geometric rule structures
order in the work of the late 1960s is something
Powers. Art © Carl Andre/
and recalcitrant irregularity and shapelessness.
that cannot simply be; it must be shown to be
Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
This was not simply a change from one thing
something that is imposed, contrasted, and
to another, but involved an aggressive hostil-
contested.
1966. Plastic, canvas bag, dimensions variable. Collection of John
1 6 4 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
ity against the precedent. You know the saying,
One expression of this idea in the art of this
“It’s not enough to succeed; others must be
time is the widespread interest in mapping
4.16 Robert Smithson, A Non-Site, Franklin, New Jersey, 1968. Wood, limestone, aerial photographs, 41.9 × 20 × 279.4 cm. Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago. Art © Estate of Robert Smithson/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
and in the dualities maps present: the collision
gritty, nonorderly facts of life found literally
between abstract order on the one hand and
on the ground. Smithson’s is a diagrammatic
factual information on the other, between grid
or didactic collision, which again involves the
structure on the one hand and fact on the other,
clarity of the overhead view versus the chaos
between mind on the one hand and nature on
of ground-level reality, in which minimalism’s
the other. A prime example of this new interest
rigidity is made evident by piling it against the
is a series of Smithson works called “Non-Sites,”
rough chaos that it contains and cuts through.
which involved photo-maps with realizations in
As a generic comparison to Smithson’s
the gallery of minimalist-like boxes containing
“Non-Sites,” we might bring in Richard Long’s
rocks and earth from the various points in the
Whitechapel Slate Circle (fig. 4.17), in the
“non-site” (fig. 4.16). The sites are meant to be
National Gallery of Art collection, or a work
utterly banal—Franklin, New Jersey, is one, for
by Tony Smith (fig. 4.18). The geometry of
example—and the idea is to map out a collision
minimalism seems to emerge in the way that
between order imposed by a map and the actual
a beaver dam or a honeycomb is made, in
after minimalism 165
4.17 Richard Long, Whitechapel Slate Circle, 1981. Slate, diameter 457.2 cm. National Gallery of Art, Washington, gift of the Collectors Committee
1 6 6 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
harmony with the order of nature. With Long,
linear city, a honeycomb or crystalline structure
there is a rough justice about the balance
of 1953–55, harkens back to his training with
between the diversity and irregularity of nature
Frank Lloyd Wright and others. It suggests
and the beautiful harmony of the thing created
optimistically that microscopic physicality and
from it that goes back to the tribal notion of
biology can be used as a happy precedent for the
stone cairns or circles. Smith’s drawing for a
strong social organization of humankind.
ideas that the universe is constantly losing heat
4.18
and organization and that the stasis or sim-
Tony Smith, Untitled (Plan for
plicity at the end of it all is moribund death: that is, the end of information, a kind of heat
Linear City), 1953–55. Ink on paper, 27.9 × 35.2 cm. Collection of Chiara Smith, New York
death toward which the universe is inexorably By contrast, Smithson’s work is much less
moving. Arguably Smithson’s best essay is one
optimistic. In fact, it has a dystopian unity, an
he wrote in 1966 called “Entropy and the New
unruliness, a chaotic nature, and a fatally rigid
Monuments,” in which he talks about the life
man-made order. One of the many illustrations
of artists in the late 1960s, spending their time
that he used for his essays shows a tank farm,
watching B movies in bad movie theaters on
repetitive rows of oil storage tanks, blighting a
Times Square.11 There’s a William Burroughs-
landscape (fig. 4.19). Smithson’s idea of crystal-
like, downbeat experience of seedy urbanism in
4.19 Lester Lefkowitz, Oil Storage
lization (on which he spent a great deal of time) was that it was an inorganic stasis, that simplicity in crystallization involved the end of life. Repetition for Smithson did not represent the happy uniformity of Smith’s honeycomb but was more like the repetition in Warhol’s Soup Cans—that is, a repetition that spoke of conformity and stultification. So Smithson’s minimalist order, the order of geometry, the order of repetition, is consistent not with growth and optimism but with entropy, the state attained in heat death. He wrote a great deal about this concept in physics,
after minimalism 167
Smithson that he wants to summon and link to
gory Crucifixions and Descents from the Cross,
the idea of a cosmic vision of where the world
for example. (He wrote an article on Judd—
is headed.
which must have mystified Judd entirely—in
I am reminded of a Woody Allen film,
which crystallization was linked to the idea
Annie Hall, in which Woody as a small child is
of a series of Depositions from the Cross.12)
brought to the doctor by his mother because
Heizer’s personal interest, it seems to me, led
he is obsessed with black holes. He is sure
to work of a much more general and broader
that the world will disappear momentarily, so
interest, whereas Smithson is more interestingly
what’s the point of living? Smithson’s work con
read as a personal case. Judd himself said that
veys something of this idea that the bleakness
Smithson’s science was incredibly sophomoric
of contemporary urban existence is in fact
and that one of his major talents was as a
linked inexorably to the truth of macrophysics.
didactic promoter of certain ideas in which his
He put together the urban and the galactic—the
works become illustrative. Smithson is the kind
experience on the ground and the experience
of artist who, if he didn’t exist, would have to
from the sky—in a way that was uniformly bleak
be invented by graduate students: he’s too per
in its suggestion that art, society, and nature
fect and emblematic a demonstration of every
were all winding down together. Smithson’s
thing that is involved with the Eliotic or pessi
modernism shares a certain kinship with T. S.
mistic tenor of late 1960s and early 1970s art.
Eliot’s The Waste Land.
1 6 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
What I find richer is the work that Richard
It is interesting to compare Smithson to Hei
Serra is doing at about the same time, for
zer in terms of what informs their work. Heizer’s
example his 1969 piece called Cutting Device:
experience as the child of an archaeologist is a
Base Plate Measure [seen here in a 2004–05
critical factor, whereas what informs Smithson
installation at MoMA] (fig. 4.20). The piece is
is a kind of lapsed Catholicism. Smithson’s early
roughly five-and-a-half meters long at its larg
work is full of aggressively expressionist and
est dimension. What is apparently a series of
rolls of lead, big pieces of timber, a piece of
piece was truly formed. That is, Serra obviously
4.20
stone, and several sheets of lead are stacked
had to do a great deal of individual work cutting
Richard Serra, installation view
one upon the other, and then, as if two huge
these elements. But the imagery is not unlike
cutting boards, or chopping blocks, had come
Smithson’s in its collision of order and disorder,
Museum of Modern Art, New York,
down on either side—whack!—everything is
in its staged, violent theater about the meaning
November 20, 2004–July 11, 2005
reduced to the base plate, hence the work’s title.
of reduction, measuring, and simplification,
Everything in procrustean fashion is cut to a
about the meaning of all those minimalist ideas
managed core, and the chaos of the thing flies
put into action. Serra’s piece, however, seems to
out to the side. Of course, this is not how the
me less illustrative and more performative than
of the exhibition Contemporary: Inaugural Installation,
after minimalism 169
1 7 0 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
Smithson’s; without reference to nature, these
This idea of violence is perhaps more evident
ideas of collision, reduction, measure, and their
in Serra. In one of his most famous pieces, done
violence are realized in more absolutely sculp-
for a warehouse show in 1969, he had a tank of
tural and abstract terms.
hot lead and a big dipper, and with the dipper
Serra’s Cutting Device is more like Heizer’s
he flung the hot lead against the corner of the
trench, a brutal cut through things. But it
warehouse. There it formed a cast, and when
has its roots in, it seems to me, and derives
it had cooled, he would pry the lead out of the
its title from, Jasper Johns’ Device of 1962,
corner with a crowbar and begin the process
wherein Johns has nailed rulers onto the sides
again. Each line formed by the lead casting itself
of the picture, and then dragged the rulers in
in the corner was prized out and pulled away to
circular pivots through the paint on the picture
become the sculpture (figs. 4.22, 4.23).
(fig. 4.21). Again, the Johns is probably not
Now this points to another obvious Pollock-
as simple as it looks, and like the Heizer was
like aspect of minimalist literalism, and that is the
staged to look this way. But the message that
evident declaration of process. In 1969, just after
both the Johns and the Serra deliver, it seems
MoMA’s Pollock show, the idea of liquidity and
to me, has a more complex meaning or impli-
the process, the dynamics of Pollock’s work, was
cation than the mere opposition of order and
used against the stasis of minimalism. We see a
disorder. It has to do not with the collision of
lot of work in the late 1960s where the prom-
measurement and chaos but with the fusion
ise of shaping by material, and by program and
of the two things. What the Johns says to me is
method, no longer means the geometric playing
that creating order creates disorder. That is, by
out of possibilities, as in LeWitt’s cube, but rather
imposing one order, you must efface another,
overtly liquid pourings and castings. But I raise
and that all acts of measure and regularity in-
Pollock in connection with this Serra piece only
volve destructive force. There is a kind of vio-
to contrast them, because what I want to point
lence to rationality itself.
out is the difference between the almost lyrical
4.21 Jasper Johns, Device, 1962. Oil on canvas with wood, 101.6 × 76.2 cm. The Baltimore Museum of Art, purchased with funds provided by the Dexter M. Ferry Jr. Trustee Corporation Fund and by Edith Ferry Hooper, BMA 1976.1. Art © Jasper Johns/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
after minimalism 171
4.22 Gianfranco Gorgoni, Richard Serra throwing hot lead, Castelli Warehouse, New York, 1969. Courtesy Leo Castelli Gallery, New York
nature of Pollock’s choreography, of his dance,
others, “To hell with tinsmiths and custom body
and the imagery of manual labor in Serra’s piece.
shops. No more hands-off phoning in the plans
Giacometti once made a sculpture called
for anything.” Instead, they literally go to work
No More Play, and in a certain sense that is the
1 7 2 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
with an earnest, hands-on, blue-collar ethic.
subtitle of Serra’s work. It is all about hot metal,
There are two ways to look at this. One
toxic materials, dangerous work. And this is
of them is by way of a remote analogy with
personal to Serra—as archaeology is personal to
Jacques-Louis David and the stringency of
Heizer—in that he has experience in a steel mill,
his classicism during the French Revolution.
and that his father worked in boatyards. But it
David’s classicism, exemplified in his Oath of the
is also, as with Heizer, symptomatic of the time.
Horatii, has a kind of cool, meticulous line qual-
Heizer and Smithson both work with bulldozers
ity and a certain austerity. But into his studio
and earth-movers to get what they want done,
come a group of young artists who call them-
and now Serra in this lead-flinging piece with
selves the Barbus (“bearded ones”), and they
its steel-mill overtones seems to say to Judd and
take this archaism all too seriously—wearing
togas, not bathing, not shaving, and so on— and they want art that has no color, only line. Compare with this the cool classicism, austerity, and sleek finish of early 1960s minimalism, which is suddenly interrupted in the late 1960s by a hairier, more archaic, primitive, and fundamental view of industry. In both cases the urbane cool of the predecessors is returned to a less refined state by the followers. The second way of seeing this change is perhaps in the long run more interesting and
in New York—Soho lofts such as the one Serra
4.23
less frivolous. Think about Serra and his blue-
worked in then and now—these Yale graduates
Richard Serra, Castings, 1969.
jeans-and-boots industrial imagery as the “new
have moved in with and assumed a blue-collar
left” of the late 1960s in its relation to the “old
ethic.
left” of the 1930s. Think Joan Baez singing
Still more complicated is the element of
“Joe Hill” at the Newport Folk Festival. Think
excessiveness or peculiarity about Serra’s work
the Port Huron Statement of the Students for
in particular. In a work of 1913–14 called Three
a Democratic Society. Think Sartre support-
Standard Stoppages, Duchamp dropped three
ing Maoist militants at the Renault factory.
pieces of string from a given height to produce
Think Grateful Dead singing “Working Man’s
rulers that could be used for the creation of new
Dead.” The whole idea that the New Left would
works of art (fig. 4.24). His was a witty, hands-
recuperate and renew the ideals and ethos of
off, elegant parody of the idea of science. Serra
the 1930s—this idea of a kind of nostalgia for
in the same way, with his repeated casting and
industry—has a strong political implication. By
throwing not of strings but of pots full of hot
inhabiting the spaces of an exhausted industry
lead, is involved in a kind of brutal and ironic
Lead, 121.9 × 762 × 457.2 cm. Installed at the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, 1969
after minimalism 173
parody of production, in which the overtones
is nowhere more diagrammatically evident than
of futility, of pointless overworking, of beating
in some of Smithson’s pieces, like the one he did
your head against the wall, of dogged frustration
in Rome in 1969, where he filled a dump truck
to no particular end, are written into the idea of
full of asphalt and poured it down a cliff (see
labor that it represents.
fig. 6.10). In numerous drawings Smithson’s
The nature of “industrial,” then, has changed a great deal since Pollock used house paint.
imagery of spillage, of wasted industrial materials, is one of destruction and erosion.
The materials of industry mean something
You have to remember that this is the period
new in work like Serra’s Scatter Piece of 1967
of the Report to the Club of Rome, in which
(fig. 4.25). This generation is so much against
everyone seems to be living in a Malthusian
finish, against the tidy completeness of min-
world. It is a time in which people are beginning
imalism, and you can see this in some of their
to get a stereoscopic view of modern society’s
preferred materials: those of scrap and salvage,
vast power and its despoliation of the world.
4.24
as in the rubber, belted items that Serra uses
The soundtrack for this kind of work is maybe
Marcel Duchamp, Three Standard
for Scatter Piece. Living in Soho, they simply
Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush, the combined
Stoppages, 1913–14. Assemblage: three threads glued to three
pick up what is left in the streets—felt, rope,
painted canvas strips, 13.3 ×
leftover rubber. Their materials are the useless
120 cm; each mounted on a
end of the utilitarian world, materials with an
glass panel, 18.4 × 125.4 × 0.64
exhausted functionality, materials that speak
cm; three wood slates, 6.4 × 109.5, 6.4 × 119.7, 6.4 × 109.9, each
the opposite of efficiency, that speak instead of
0.32 cm, shaped along one edge to
overflow, of a society producing too much, and
match the curves of the threads;
consequently of waste, detritus, and garbage.
the whole fitted into a wood box, 28.3 × 129.2 × 22.9 cm. The
These are not just neutral, unconventional art
Museum of Modern Art, New
materials; they imply a combination of overflow
York, Katherine S. Dreier Bequest
and excess with pollution and defilement. This
1 7 4 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
imagery of sitting in a burned-out basement and
in Ohio and simply piles enough dirt on the
imagining spaceships flying through a yellow
woodshed until the beam cracks at the top. It is
haze. This combination of bleak urbanism
about cumulative action: accumulation leads to
with sci-fi overtones is pure Smithson: “Look
collapse, leads to destruction.
at Mother Nature on the run in the nineteen
These same concerns with weight find a dif-
seventies.” This is downer art—let’s face it, it is
ferent and ultimately more complex place in
really downer art—and it is about going down,
Serra’s work. His Delineator of the mid-1970s
“all fall down.” The imagery of gravity in it is
is like an Andre below you and above you
important, and there’s gravity in Smithson,
(fig. 4.26). That is, there is one big plate of steel
again, obviously didactic. He takes a woodshed
on the floor and another huge plate of steel
4.25 Richard Serra, Scatter Piece, 1967. Rubber latex, 762 × 762 cm, variable. Judd Foundation
after minimalism 175
4.26
overhead. For Andre, gravity is a fact—“I’ve
between these two plates. I have done it a couple
Richard Serra, Delineator,
got no base. I’ve got nothing that elevates me.
of times, but I had to force myself. What is in-
I’m just going to sit on the floor.” Think about
teresting about the energy, and the potentially
the neutrality of Andre’s work and what it says
destructive energy, of gravity in Serra is that,
about gravity versus the utter terror and in-
unlike the Smithson, it is an implied rather than
timidation posed by the prospect of walking
enacted threat. Serra has managed to bring the
1974–76. Two steel plates. Ace Gallery, Los Angeles, California
1 7 6 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
dynamics of gravity into a minimalist stasis. The pent-up energy that Fried talked about as a theater of space, the dispersal that an Andre produces in the gallery, has now been realized in terms of a kinesthesia of fear and menace, which is particular to Serra’s work. The power of stasis, the implied power of things held in check, is something that has to be achieved, like order, in these pieces. Obvious examples are of course the prop pieces, such as Equal (Corner Prop Piece) of 1969 (fig. 4.27), part of a series in which Serra reintroduces the idea of com-
much of its silent power. The epitome of this
4.27
position in sculpture. Even the idea of balance
potent delicacy is Serra’s One Ton Prop (House of
Richard Serra, Equal (Corner
that had been anathema to Judd and others is
Cards) of 1969 (see fig. 1.17), which is obviously
brought into play here, albeit by the forces of
a critique of the minimalist cube—a critique
core, overall approximately 132 ×
physics rather than for mere aesthetic pleasure.
of Tony Smith’s Die, of Judd’s cube—that
214 × 234 cm. The Museum
Serra’s corner prop piece has surprising
retains Judd’s antipathy to the idea of massive
poise and delicacy. For all its overtones of
sculpture but still gets back the weight and power
violence and industry, it has a silvery, almost
in a relationship to gravity that is more dynamic
rococo feathering of torn edges, and a delicacy
and evident. The title is not without interest.
and sheen to its light gray surface. There is a
“One Ton Prop” simply describes the amount of
refined side to Serra that I think is underesti-
weight that is put up by these four sheets of steel
mated. Here in this piece an almost ballerina-
balanced against one another to form the cube.
like grace is inextricably wedded to the sense
But “House of Cards” has a different implication
of precarious danger, and this gives the work
that might send us to look at Chardin’s House of
Prop Piece), 1969. Lead plate and lead tube rolled around steel
of Modern Art, New York, Gilman Foundation Fund
after minimalism 177
Cards of 1737 (fig. 4.28), a young man build-
illusionism, for example. His truth was a
ing a house of cards as a metaphor of fragility,
pragmatic, immediate, no-nonsense truth.
transience, and impermanence.
But a different kind of truth, it seems to me,
The Serra cube, like other of his prop pieces
is implicit in the quiet dynamics of the Serra;
Jean-Siméon Chardin, The House
and related works, insists that all human-made
this truth involves a sense of precariousness and
of Cards, 1737. Oil on canvas,
things work against and with the forces of
threat that is particular to the artist and to the
nature or physics, that they exist in a precarious
moment in which he is acting.
4.28
60.3 × 71.8 cm. The National Gallery, London, bequeathed by Mrs. Edith Cragg, as part of
relationship, in equipoise with the pull of their
Look at the difference, if you will, between
the John Webb Bequest, 1925
destruction. Judd wanted from his cubes and
Serra’s 1969 One Ton Prop and Jackie Winsor’s
his objects a kind of truth; he worked against
Burnt Piece of the late 1970s (fig. 4.29). The Winsor too is a critique of Die and the minimalist cube. It seeks a different truth. It was created by a destructive process that leaves scars. Made of cast concrete, it was fired in a wooden cradle, the burning evaporate and remains of which appear as scars. Form is created through a process of loss and is the residue of violent forces and energies. Serra’s lead is also a casting, but Winsor turns on its head Serra’s insistence on an open transparency of construction. By putting large black holes on all four sides of the cube, she brings an insistence on interiority to her geometry. Burnt Piece is about concealment, inwardness, and mystery rather than transparency and immediacy.
1 7 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
Similarly, in Winsor’s Plywood Square of 1973 (fig. 4.30), she covers over geometry, burying it, making it obscure. Whereas Serra’s gestures can be spontaneous and sometimes violent, as in his flinging of lead into a corner, Winsor’s process is a slow, diligent, patient aggression against order, an aggression that uses order itself—discipline, routine, repetition—as a means. The labor, like Serra’s, is repetitive but with a difference. A work such as Four Corners by Winsor is egregiously overdone and impractical, like Serra, but now methodical in a way that is incantatory, ritual, obsessive, and patient
see different personalities certainly, different
4.29
(fig. 4.31).
temperaments and psychologies, but I think as
Jackie Winsor, Burnt Piece, 1977–78. Concrete, burnt wood,
Winsor’s methods are not about cutting,
well that two different ideas of labor arise from
throwing, and breaking, but about binding and
the comparison. Serra’s labor is industrial and
86.4 cm. The Museum of Modern
joining. As in Smithson or Serra, the imagery of
demonstrative. Winsor’s labor is personal and
Art, New York, gift of Agnes Gund
her Bound Square is of a collision or disparity
private, concealing and muffling. Winsor’s is the
between a recalcitrant roughness and the will to
world of John Ruskin and William Morris and
order, the will to regularity, the will to geometry
the redemptive value of handwork and craft,
(fig. 4.32). But in Winsor’s case it seems to have
whereas Serra’s is the world of Walter Reuther,
a built-in pathos of shortfall, which is explicitly
the Teamsters, the AFL-CIO. I refer to a built-in
preindustrial and involves an illogical, almost
ambivalence on the part of the Left of the 1960s,
tribal, pragmatics of making. When we compare
two parts of its ideal expressed metaphorically
Winsor’s work with Serra’s or Heizer’s, we can
in the abstract forms of materials, programs,
and wire mesh, 86 × 86.4 ×
after minimalism 179
4.30 Jackie Winsor, Plywood Square, 1973. Plywood and hemp, 56 × 135 × 132 cm. National Gallery of Australia, Canberra 4.31 (opposite) Jackie Winsor, Four Corners, 1972. Wood and hemp, 72.2 × 128.3 × 131.4 cm. Allen Memorial Art Gallery, Oberlin, Ohio, gift of Donald Droll in memory of Eva Hesse, 1973 4.32 (opposite) Jackie Winsor, Bound Square, 1972. Wood and twine, 184.2 × 193 × 36.8 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, Joseph G. Mayer Foundation, Inc., in honor of James Thrall Soby, and Grace M. Mayer Fund in honor of Alfred H. Barr Jr.
1 8 0 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
attitudes toward work, and ideas of order. When
vatism in this work: in the monastic palette that
you think back about these works of the late
runs to grays and leads, to felt, to scrap, to dirt,
1960s and early 1970s, and about earthworks, it
to tar; in the earnestness it has, even in its
is easy, and it was easy then, to see this as radical
absurdities; in the fin-du-monde nostalgias for
art. But are we not also seeing a kind of conser-
collective order? There is a romanticism, in other
words, about this work that at its worst amounts to a sentimental nihilism of blank despair. It is not just that meaning attaches itself to minimalism in the late 1960s but also that the simple certainties of abstraction that are proposed in the early 1960s become almost instantly, within years, charged with complex ambiguities. The bad news is clearly that despite almost utopian ambitions and despite programs, abstraction cannot remain pure. It cannot remain empty and void of categories. But the good news is that it can revitalize our ability to embody new ideas in the most complex fashion: new ideas of ourselves, of our personalities, of our time. I want to conclude this lecture with Eva Hesse in order to stress the liberating or empowering nature of what to many artists appears exceedingly constraining—that is, the minimalist box, the minimalist order. Hesse is a clear example of what minimalism can do for an artist, positively. Hesse was flailing around in the mid-1960s, trying to find a body of imagery, trying to invent something that was quirky enough, peculiar enough, to contain her odd humor, funkiness,
after minimalism 181
4.33 (opposite)
sexuality, and standing. What she produced was
Winsor falls this odd piece in which thousands
Eva Hesse, An Ear in a Pond,
almost consistently klutzy and usually unorigi-
of holes have been threaded with long rubber
nal. It was only when she gave up this search and
tubes, which are then cut off on the inside. So
pound, papier-câché, masonite,
accepted the rigidity of a simple program of,
what you get on the inside of this cube is neither
wood, 105.7 × 45.1 × 19.7 cm.
for example, drawing circles (fig. 4.33)—when
neutrality nor mystery, but relatedness. The
she extracted that odd organic form out of the
outside and the inside of the cube are related—
middle of An Ear in a Pond and said, “That’s
the outside seeming uniform and nubbly,
not a head; that’s just a circle, just a circle with
and the inside evoking fur or cilia, something
a string coming out of it”; when she said, “I’m
like a soft rug. The repetition of a simple act
just going to make things, I’m just going to be
produces a work that is more than the sum
disciplined, in fact, make the same thing again
of its parts. If one were a feminist critic, for
and again”—then and only then blossomed the
example—or even not—one might find that
very personality, the very intense intimacy and
there was a vaginal reference here, the interior
complexity, that she had sought in her work.
being soft and friction-free as opposed to the
All this was released by being pushed through
severity of its exterior.
1965. Varnish, tempera, enamel, cord, unknown modeling com-
Collection of Norah and Norman Stone. Courtesy Thea Westreich Art Advisory Services
the filter of minimalist work.
1 8 2 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
What saves this piece from being merely an
You can see her obvious dedication to mini-
indulgent reference or evocation of early mini-
malism, and her critique, in works such as
malism is Hesse’s use of industrial materials.
Accession II (see fig. 1.18). Accession II belongs
Accession II has a hard sterility that works
with Serra’s One Ton Prop (see fig. 1.17) and the
against its sensuality and gives it life in both
Burnt Piece by Jackie Winsor (see fig. 4.29) in
worlds at once. So too the untitled rope piece
terms of a critique of the idea of the geometric
(fig. 4.34) certainly relates to Morris’s rope
enclosure of Judd, Smith, and others. But what
piece of 1965 and also to his felt pieces (see fig.
a difference! Somewhere between the indus-
1.40) and to Oldenburg’s soft sculpture. But by
trial hardness of Serra and the organicism of
virtue of its static repetition, à la a Judd wall
piece, it has a different connotation—of hair, of accumulation, of things that the tectonic Morris seems to avoid. Similarly, repetition in the form of the round knobs on Hesse’s rope piece—and in its realization in an Andre-like, if you want, piece called Sequel of 1967 (fig. 4.35)—presses the metaphor of these simple things (cast off of tennis balls in latex) as being in the first example breasts, and in the case of Sequel, frankly, turds. The objects in Sequel have a fecal quality—their gravity and surface speak to a different set of metaphors. Hesse’s material is specifically humble industrial material, not chest-thumping industrial material. It is certainly not rustic and organic like logs and twine. Hesse is about latex. And her discovery of latex is not simply a way for her to get from point a to point b in the casting process, but an expressive means, her equivalent of Johns’ encaustic. Latex imparts a fleshiness to the object, and in Hesse’s case, a creepy sense of nubbly skin. She likes the idea of covering over and layering, as Winsor does; however, the long-range implications of Hesse’s painted latex works turn out to be fecal, epidermal—in other words, bodily.
after minimalism 183
4.34 Eva Hesse, Untitled (Rope Piece), 1967. Latex filler over rope and string with metal hooks, dimensions variable. Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, purchase, with funds from Eli and Edythe L. Broad, the Mrs. Percy Uris Purchase Fund, and the Painting and Sculpture Committee
1 8 4 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
This bodily message permeates a lot of
references are to things not merely flaccid but
Hesse’s work, such as Untitled of 1966, which,
repellent—yielding to gravity in an unpleasant
depending on how one wants to read it, involves
way. Few artists of this period use the vocabu-
either Diana of Ephesus or a collection of scrota
lary that Hesse’s work requires: sag, distend,
(fig. 4.36). As a work about bodily gravity, it is
pucker, crease, flap. But it is the minimalist in-
very different from, say, the hearty, pot-bellied
flection, the repetition, the industrial materials
sag of Oldenburg’s sculpture. Hesse’s uncertain
of Hesse’s work that save this bodily reference,
4.35 Eva Hesse, Sequel, 1967. Latex, pigment, and cheesecloth, 76.2 × 81.3 cm, 92 spheres, each 6.7 cm. Art Institute of Chicago, gift of the Lannan Foundation
this organicism, from being a merely corny,
Look, finally, at one of the last pieces
merely sloppy expressionism. Intriguingly, the
that Hesse made before she died: Right After
ultimate macho lineage—from Pollock flinging
(fig. 4.37), dated 1969. These pieces bring us
paint through Serra flinging lead—gave Hesse
back to where we started, that is, with Pollock’s
exactly what she needed to produce a sharply
drip paintings. Hesse revisits Pollock’s chal-
personal vocabulary that has empowered count-
lenge through the minimalist interpretation,
less feminist artists since.
which stresses the wholeness and simplicity of
after minimalism 185
Pollock, its nonrelational order, and its emphasis on materials and process. Yet she manages to come closer to certain things in Pollock’s work than the minimalists could. She restores Pollock’s lyricism and aeration to pieces about the literal weight of gravity, just as Pollock took gravity—by painting on the floor—and turned it vertical so that in his paintings weightless clouds are created from the weightiness of falling things. She has restored this kind of lyricism to the literalism of gravity. In a piece like Right After, elegance and delicacy, a grace of hanging, are combined with a real humility and funkiness—these things covered in latex are strangled, clumsy, knotted, choked. There is on the one hand the catenary perfection, the simple pull of gravity, and on the other hand the disorderly and unexpected web of tied things. All that is complex and interesting about 4.36
Hesse’s work goes into this piece: her antics, her
Eva Hesse, Untitled, 1966.
insistence on bodily associations, her linking of
Pencil and ink on paper, 29.9 × 22.9 cm. Private
minimalist thinking with viscera and sinew and
collection, courtesy Hauser
the interior of the body. Here the minimalist
and Wirth, Zürich, London
reinterpretation of Pollock is extrapolated as something deeply personal. Hesse’s rope piece
1 8 6 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
4.37 Eva Hesse, Right After, 1969. Fiberglass, 152.4 × 548.6 × 121.9 cm. Milwaukee Art Museum, gift of Friends of Art
after minimalism 187
1 8 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
has a kind of double pathos to go with its antic
given her, its powerful model lives with her, that
nature: not only the pathos of our knowing
she exists within the framework of an emulation
that Hesse died before she could complete this
of something so strong. The combined constraint
piece, but also that for all the permissions and
and power of Pollock’s gift and minimalism’s
possibilities that the tradition of abstraction has
reinterpretation of it is realized in this work.
N ot e s 1. Donald Judd, “Specific Objects,” Arts Yearbook 8 (1965), 74–82; reprinted in Donald Judd: Complete Writings, 1959–1975 (Halifax: The Press of the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design; and New York: New York University Press, 1975), 181. 2. Ibid., 183–184. Judd says, “Oil paint and canvas aren’t as strong as commercial paints and as the colors and surfaces of materials, especially if the materials are used in three dimensions. . . . Actual space is intrinsically more powerful and specific than paint on a flat surface.” It should be noted that in this passage, Judd is actually proclaiming the superiority of specific objects to both painting and sculpture, as traditionally understood. 3. Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, trans. Maria Jolas (New York: Orion Press, 1964); originally published as La poétique de l’espace (Paris: Presses Universitaires du Paris, 1958; first paperback edition, Boston: Beacon Press, 1969). 4. Julia Brown and Barbara Heizer, Michael Heizer: Sculpture in Reverse, exh. cat. (Los Angeles: Museum of Contemporary Art, 1984), 34, 35, 67, 68, 69. 5. Ibid., 34.
6. George Kubler, The Shape of Time (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1961). Kubler looks at the history of art and craft without assuming that it has any goal or hidden, determining logic. For him, new forms emerge in a crude state, get perfected, and then become exhausted. 7. “Interview with Julia Brown,” in Julia Brown, ed., Michael Heizer Sculpture in Reverse (Los Angeles: Museum of Contemporary Art, 1984), 16. 8. Adolf von Hildebrand, The Problem of Form in Painting and Sculpture, trans. Max Meyer and Robert Morris Ogden (New York: G. E. Stechert and Co., 1907). 9. Kirk Varnedoe, A Fine Disregard, “Overview: Flight of the Mind” (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 1990), 216–277. 10. Robert Morris, “Anti Form,” Artforum 6:8 (April 1968), 33–35. 11. Robert Smithson, “Entropy and the New Monuments,” Artforum (June 1966), 26–31. 12. Robert Smithson, “Donald Judd,” in 7 Sculptors (Philadelphia: Philadelphia Institute of Contemporary Art, 1965).
after minimalism 189
5
s at i r e , i ro n y, a n d a b s t r ac t a rt
The question of good faith / bad faith is the
“very like” that I want to start with, because
subtext of today’s lecture on satire and irony
the whole question of abstraction’s likeness to
in abstract art. We expect of abstraction, per-
something—although it tries to be a picture
haps more so than of other art forms, that its
of nothing, it constantly could be a picture of
intentions be whole, that it be meant earnestly.
something—is abstraction’s steadily attacked
Traditionally we think of abstraction as pure and
Achilles’ heel.
unmitigated, a set of black-and-white principles
Let’s begin with a wonderful old cartoon
that will not admit of grays. In other words, we
from the New Yorker that aptly names art as a
associate abstraction with a kind of idealism.
two-way street, as in, there was no fog in London
The question arises, If we are suspicious of ide-
before Whistler painted it (fig. 5.1). Indeed art
alism, are we then suspicious of abstraction? Is
makes us see the world differently, and having
it necessary that abstraction be ideal and that it
seen the world in that way, we go back and see
be in good faith?
the art differently. Rothko may make us think
These questions take us back to the sub-
anew about the evening sky, but having once
title of my lectures and to the lines I quoted
thought about the evening sky, we think about
at the outset from Hazlitt’s essay on Turner:
Rothko differently. Hence, the extreme difficulty
“Pictures of nothing . . . and very like.” It is the
of ever coming up with a pure abstraction that
5.1 James Stevenson, © The New Yorker Collection 1964 James Stevenson from cartoonbank.com. All rights reserved
remains resistant to association and reference.
Man, subtitled Grief Is Mute. And on the visual
In its alleged resistance to association and ref-
side, in 1883, under the name of the celebrated
erence, abstraction was destroyed or at least
humorist Alphonse Allais, they exhibited a
strongly subverted even before it was invented.
pure white sheet of Bristol paper entitled First
Already in the 1880s a group of artists in Paris
Communion of Anemic Young Girls in Snowy
who called themselves the Société des inco-
Weather. Subsequently, the same M. Allais in
hérents, the Incohérents, held a series of exhi-
1884, using a piece of red fabric, exhibited
bitions that produced remarkably premonitory
a small masterwork known as A Harvest of
work. On the music side, for example, the In-
Tomatoes on the Edge of the Red Sea Harvested
cohérents published a blank set of musical bars
by Apoplectic Cardinals. And finally, in 1889,
without notations called Funeral Mass for a Deaf
Allais exhibited his pre-Malevich masterpiece and the end of abstract painting before it began: a dark blue piece of fabric entitled Total Eclipse of the Sun in Darkest Africa. These little bits of satire and irony before the fact are then picked up almost as soon as abstraction is fostered by artists of greater historical stature and consequence. For example, Matisse posited in 1911 in his Interior with Eggplants (fig. 5.2)—a wonderful large work inspired by Persian miniatures and the multiplication of pattern across their surfaces—that abstract pattern could have an independent life. In Matisse’s view of his studio, which includes a still life with eggplants on the table, everything becomes fabric and the flowers independently
1 9 2 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
5.2 Henri Matisse, Intérieur aux aubergines (Interior with Eggplants), 1911. Oil on canvas, 212 × 246 cm.
commercial, and mass-produced artifacts. This
Musée de Grenoble
same little joke that we see happening early on becomes a staple of pop art, specifically in the hands of Lichtenstein. Lichtenstein’s Ball of
5.3 Pablo Picasso, Guitar and Wine Glass, 1912. Collage and
Twine from 1962 (see fig. 1.20), a sort of cheap
charcoal, 62.5 × 47 cm. The
tabloid advertisement whose subtext is its close
Marion Koogler McNay Art
relationship to Stella’s black stripe paintings rid themselves of any association and begin to
of 1959, is meant to thumb its nose at Stella’s
pattern the entire surface, as if in fact it were a
pretensions by showing how the simple codes
decorative textile. The whole question of deco-
of cheap advertising look much like the high
ration is advanced by Matisse as an important
order that Stella is imposing (see fig. 1.21). Even
Museum, bequest of Marion Koogler McNay, 1950.112
form of art that moves one with its rhythms and colors, independently of what it represents. A year later, when Picasso was making collages, as Jack Flam pointed out,1 he deliberately used a piece of flowered wallpaper with a suspicious resemblance to the patterns of Matisse (fig. 5.3). It was as if he were saying, “You want decoration? I’ll give you decoration. How about cheap wallpaper?” And thus begins a series of thrusts and parries between abstract and nonabstract artists in the twentieth century in which the supposedly high, unique, invented forms of abstraction are constantly subverted or demolished by other artists who see them as being perilously close to cheap, commonplace,
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 1 9 3
5.4 Roy Lichtenstein, Composition II, 1964. Oil on canvas, 137 × 120 cm. Courtesy Sonnabend, New York
and Factum II (figs. 5.5, 5.6). Here all the rhetoric that was so important to the epiphanic uniqueness of the moment in abstract expressionist painting—the apparently spontaneous and casual slathering of strokes, the idea of spatter and drip—is in fact nearly duplicated, side by side, in the two pictures, putting a deep chill on the idea of the unique moment of spontaneity in the handling of material. Lichtenstein pursued this idea even more aggressively in works such as Big Painting No. 6 (the title itself has a satirical ring to it) of 1965 (fig. 5.7). He takes the lavish, heated,
1 9 4 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
more notorious is Lichtenstein’s Composition II
inimitable, signature brush stroke of painters
(fig. 5.4), which mocks the idea of composition
like de Kooning, for example, and shows that
and is certainly an amalgam of abstract painting
it can be codified—freeze-dried, if you will—
relating partly to Jack Youngerman but mostly
as if in comics, undermining as insincere the
to Pollock’s black-and-white works after 1950.
rhetoric and scale of these painters. Everything
This snarky and snide relationship to abstrac-
that is supposed to be ethereal, ineffable, ambig-
tion plays an important role in pop art and its
uous, or soulful about abstract expressionism
predecessors. It comes to form an attack art
is rendered as die-cut, stamped form, reduced
whose target is the pretensions of the abstrac-
literally to comic formulae in these hard-won
tion that immediately precedes it.
brush strokes by Lichtenstein. He was interested
Rauschenberg had already entered this arena
in the way these comic conventions for brush
in the 1950s by making two paintings, Factum I
strokes also looked like slabs of bacon—how you
5.5 Robert Rauschenberg, Factum I, 1957. Combine painting, 156.2 × 90.8 cm. The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, the Panza Collection. Art © Robert Rauschenberg/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY 5.6 Robert Rauschenberg, Factum II, 1957. Combine painting: oil, ink, pencil, crayon, paper, fabric, newspaper, printed reproductions, and printed paper on canvas, 155.9 × 90.2 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, purchase and an anonymous gift and Louise Reinhardt Smith Bequest (both by exchange). Art © Robert Rauschenberg/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
took something that was formless and shapeless
and rhythmic repetitions of his entablature
and codified it in comics. He hated comics for
series, for example, are a send-up, certainly, of
their trashiness at the same time that he appre-
Gene Davis, Kenneth Noland, and a lot of hard-
ciated their economy and force of conviction in
edge abstract painters in the 1960s; perhaps
condensing form. He obviously had the same
the rhythmic structure at the top of his 1974
kind of love / hate for the big ambition and rhet-
painting from the series has a bit of Donald Judd
oric of abstract expressionism.
in it as well (fig. 5.8). Lichtenstein is engaged by
Lichtenstein’s satires and ironic comments on
the notion that you cannot get away from the
abstract art run all through his career, and they
history of style. That is, when an artist such as
have at least two different meanings. The stripes
Judd posits a man-made order of geometry, an
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 1 9 5
5.7 Roy Lichtenstein, Big Painting No. 6, 1965. Oil and magna on canvas, 233 × 328 cm. Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, Düsseldorf 5.8 Roy Lichtenstein, Entablature, 1974. Oil and magna on canvas, 152.4 × 254 cm. Private collection
affinity with the history of man-made orders of geometry is inevitably present—in the architectural vocabulary of frets, designs, eggand-dart patterns. So the entablature paintings are about the fine-tuned relationship between the apparent neutral emptiness of minimalist painting and architectural references keyed to an entire history of human invention. The second meaning manifests itself in Lichtenstein’s series of painted mirrors, like the one of 1971 (fig. 5.9). It seems to me that if the entablature series asserts that all abstraction is representational—that with just a tweak one can turn what looks like an abstraction into what looks like an advertisement for a ball of twine, a composition book, or a study in classical architecture—Lichtenstein is saying the opposite with the mirror series. That is, with the mirror paintings Lichtenstein is claiming that all representation is at base abstract, made up of coded distillations of, or removals from, the imitation of nature. Therefore he is particularly interested in Benday dots, for example, and economical codes of the kind that he finds in comic books or in ads in the yellow
1 9 6 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
pages. From small, mundane yellow pages ads
5.9
for mirrors, he draws a series of enormous ab-
Roy Lichtenstein, Mirror #1 (oval
stract paintings, often two or three meters in height. What interests him is the tension be-
720 x 360), 1971. Oil and magna on canvas, 182.9 × 91.4 cm. Private collection
tween a completely abstract, reductive skein of dots, angles, and lines and its conjuration of something as ineffable and mercurial, as intan-
5.10 Roy Lichtenstein, NonObjective I, 1964. Oil and
gible and insubstantial, as reflections on glass.
magna on canvas, 142.2 ×
See what energy arises when that insubstantial
122 cm. The Eli and Edythe L.
and mercurial reflection is made hard-edged
Broad Collection, Los Angeles
and reduced to a code. So Lichtenstein is engaged in both sides of the argument, and he does not want to let go of either representation or abstraction. As a result, in a painting such as his 1964 NonObjective I (fig. 5.10) he pokes fun at the pretensions of simplicity in early modernism, redoing Mondrian in Benday dots as if the work of this highly idealized and unworldly artist were but comic relief. Lichtenstein’s is not a simple jab, however, because he recognizes the secret affinity between the condensed and economical visual language in comic books and the drive to reductive simplicity and purity in modernism. Mondrian’s idea of using only
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 1 9 7
5.11
primary colors, for example, closely conforms to
simple idea of two variations—plus and minus,
Roy Lichtenstein, Plus and
the commercial printer’s use of four ink colors.
on and off, vertical and horizontal—used in
With Lichtenstein there is both aggression and
exactly the same module. Simply by varying the
affection to consider, and he sees the dialogue
degree of tint in the background he begins to pro-
between these two things as having circularity.
duce something that is atmospheric. In other
Minus (Yellow), 1988. Oil and magna on canvas, 101.6 × 81.3 cm. Private collection 5.12
On the one hand, Lichtenstein constantly
words, in Non-Objective I, everything that is
1915. Charcoal, ink, and gouache,
seeks to demote Mondrian’s idealized sim-
textured, individual, atmospheric, or personal is
86.7 × 111.8 cm. The Museum
plicity to its lowest common denominator
reduced to the schematic and industrial. In Plus
of Modern Art, New York,
by recouching it in mass media reproduction
and Minus (Yellow), what begins with the sche-
techniques. On the other hand, he is equally
matic and industrial reaches back up toward
Trust c/o HCR International,
fascinated later in his career by how one takes
the atmospheric quality of Mondrian’s pier and
Warrentown, VA
the simple reductive thing and builds back up
ocean series of 1915 (fig. 5.12). Here Mondrian
from it. For example, in his Plus and Minus
took the dazzle of light on open water, the
(Yellow) of 1988 (fig. 5.11) he starts with the
vastness of the sea, and tried to distill from
Piet Mondrian, Pier and Ocean 5,
Mrs. Simon Guggenheim Fund. © 2006 Mondrian/Holtzman
1 9 8 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
it a language of essence. Lichtenstein enjoys reversing the process: starting with something crude, anonymous, and predetermined, he tries to push back up toward the subtleties and complexities of a mirror’s sheen or the dazzle of fog and light on water. An implied social message is embedded, I think, in the satires of abstraction that Lichtenstein undertakes, and it is not his alone. The quickest route to this message is in a picture such as Keds of 1961 (fig. 5.13), which Lichtenstein has said in interviews was specifically intended as a jab at Vasarely, who as you remember is the bête noire of Stella and others. Stella and Judd disliked Vasarely’s idealized geometry and its pretensions of social
5.13 Roy Lichtenstein, Keds, 1961. Oil on canvas, 123.2 × 88.3 cm. Private collection
order—his claim to defeat elitism and make a broadly and radically democratic art by means of a geometric abstraction that operated on the optical nerve. A good example of Vasarely’s
5.14 Victor Vasarely, Grid, 1959. Oil on canvas, 27.9 × 24.8 cm. Courtesy Michéle Vasarely
optical abstraction is Grid of 1959, in which an intersection of hidden bars disrupts the pattern along its axis and diagonally (fig. 5.14). By pointing out the potential Vasarely in the sneaker tread, Lichtenstein may be trying to argue that what he wants is not a brotherhood
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 1 9 9
5.15
of hard-wired neurology but a brotherhood of
The same thing might be said of Oldenburg
Claes Oldenburg, Proposed
what is shared and exchanged, a brotherhood
in his proposal in 1969 for an inverted Chicago
of democracy that is associated at ground level
fire hydrant posing as a colossal skyscraper;
Fireplug (Model), 1969.
with something as common as a pair of Keds.
you can see the little boats sailing underneath
Cardboard, wood, plaster with
Lichtenstein looks not to the clinic but to the
it (fig. 5.15). The Oldenburg is a direct quota-
souk as the shared meeting ground. What we
tion of Brancusi’s Male Torso of 1917 (fig. 5.16).
have in common, argues Lichtenstein in this
The Oldenburg seems to be thumbing its nose
5.16
debate, is the commonplace of negotiation, of
at Brancusi, just as Picasso’s wallpaper scoffed
Constantin Brancusi, Male
the market, of the sale, of commerce; with all
at Matisse; that is, both are saying that what
of its terrible flaws and tawdriness, it beats the
appears to be rarified and the product of highly
Museum of Art, Hinman
clinical clarity and totalitarianism posited in
individual thinking can often be found in the
B. Hurlbut Collection
Vasarely’s idealized geometry. The found geom-
marketplace or our daily environs. Yet even
etry, the wit, and the imagination of the anony-
more is going on in this satire. I think Olden-
mous artisan who designs the sneaker tread is of
burg wants to bring modernism out of its closet
more interest to Lichtenstein as a model for the
and into the public or civic realm, that is, to take
foundation of a society.
Brancusi’s advances—what Brancusi had done
Colossal Monument for the End of Navy Pier, Chicago:
spray enamel and shellac, 30.5 × 68.6 × 59.7 cm. Private collection
Torso, 1917. Brass, 46.7 × 30.5 × 16.9 cm. The Cleveland
2 0 0 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
in getting rid of the sentimentality of Rodin, in getting rid of pathos, in taking sculpture off its pedestal and putting it directly on the floor— and re-realize them in the fire hydrant, which is of course a denunciation of the traditional civic monument of the man on a horse. It suggests, like the Lichtensteins, that a society should rally around what is most inclusive and commonplace, that we are ill served by idealism, by sym-
Now we come to the high prince of bad
bolism, and by separating ourselves from the
faith, not just in pop art but in the latter half
ordinary by means of pedestals. Instead, work
of the century: Andy Warhol, an original, who
like this encourages us to recognize a civic side,
you think might be a con artist, who you know
which is about the everyday, functional, mate-
found the nerve of the good faith / bad faith
rial things of life. A heroic irony is at work in the
problem and drilled right into its core over and
pop art of both Lichtenstein and Oldenburg, an
over like a malevolent dentist. Warhol is to the
irony that posits knowing skepticism as a posi-
emperor’s new clothes what Chanel is to the
tive ideal, an irony in which bad faith is a nec-
little black dress. He may not have invented
essary ingredient for a good society. And that
the concept, but he has become its spokesper-
is extremely hard on abstraction. Indeed these
son. For nose-thumbing on a bold scale, look at
puns come down very hard on the idealism
Warhol’s Crossword of 1961, which is certainly a
that seems to be embedded in the abstractions
send-up of Mondrian’s Broadway Boogie Woogie,
at which the pop artists aim their barbs. The
or at his Diamond matchbook of 1962, clearly a
little jokes in pop are both less serious and more
Barnett Newman turned on its side, with its zips
serious than they seem: admiring of abstraction
and hard edge (figs. 5.17, 5.18).
and at the same time deeply suspicious of it and looking hard at an alternative.
5.17 Andy Warhol, Crossword, 1961. Synthetic polymer paint on canvas, 112.6 × 160 cm. Private collection
Looking at Warhol’s 1963 painting Orange Car Crash Fourteen Times, which Philip Johnson
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 0 1
that repetition ostensibly to vitiate or deaden the impact of this photograph of someone in a car crash. One cannot help but feel that the staccato beat of the repetition, while perhaps numbing, also has an emotional effect on us that surpasses the impact of showing it just once. The stuttering repetition, like a flickering film or a television screen, strikes this image into us and gives the picture its power. Likewise, the emptiness on the right-hand side reinforces and makes the image on the left more isolated. The imperson5.18
gave the Museum of Modern Art, it is easy to be
ality and deadpan aspect of this picture are in
Andy Warhol, Blue Close Cover
cynical (fig. 5.19). In fact, Warhol told its former
a tug-of-war with its nagging insistence on its
owner David Whitney that he had just added
subject. The huge red emptiness on the right
linen, 40.6 × 50.8 cm. The Andy
the big red side panels to make the picture larger
is not only utterly vacuous but reinforces and
Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh,
and more expensive, and that if Whitney did not
makes more powerful—by the incursion of that
have room in his apartment, it was okay to show
central notch of red, for example—the message
just the left side of the picture with the car crash.
on the left-hand side of the picture. Without the
Warhol frequently undercut his own work this
red emptiness, the picture loses half its power.
way. And yet, having lived with this painting at
So Warhol is using and understands to some
the Modern, I’m fascinated by its minimalism
extent the language of abstraction. For all that
and the extent to which Warhol effectively uses
he is represented as the arch-appropriator and
the forms of abstraction, just as he sniggered at
pop artist, Warhol, at least as much as Lichten-
the repetition and seriality of minimalism in the
stein, is involved in a dialogue with the idea of
Brillo boxes and soup cans, and just as he used
abstract art.
Before Striking, 1962. Acrylic, Letraset®, and sandpaper on
Founding Collection, Contribution the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts Inc.
2 0 2 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
The model of abstract painting regularly
when acids come in contact with them. Warhol
tugs at Warhol; in fact, throughout his career
laid these canvases on the floor, and he and his
he is obsessed with abstraction at the same time
assistants urinated on them in an exaggerated
that he is denigrating it. His most direct insult,
replay of Pollock’s heralded drip paintings.
I would suppose, to abstract painting is repre-
The dry version of the wet Pollock is Warhol’s
sented by Oxidation Painting of 1978, part of a
series of yarn paintings of 1983, which are made
series of 1977–82 canvases in which he and his
up of skeins of yarn of various colors (fig. 5.21).
assistants literally piss on Pollock (fig. 5.20).
These are obviously willfully dumb pictures.
These are large canvases coated with reactive
They are also sort of smart. I think that, for ex-
copper sulfides that oxidize and change color
ample, if one were to think about Sigmar Polke’s
5.19 Andy Warhol, Orange Car Crash Fourteen Times, 1963. Synthetic polymer paint and silk screen on canvas, two panels, overall: 268.9 × 416.9 cm; a: 268.9 × 208.6 cm; b: 268.3 × 208.3 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of Philip Johnson
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 0 3
5.20 Andy Warhol, Oxidation Painting, 1978. Mixed media on copper metallic paint on canvas, 198 × 519.5 cm. Daros Collection, Switzerland 5.21 Andy Warhol, Yarn, 1983. Acrylic and silk screen ink on canvas, 101.6 × 101.6 × 3.8 cm. The Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh, Founding Collection, Contribution the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, Inc.
alchemical abstractions of the 1980s, Warhol’s
sense of skill or effort. This is exactly where he
oxidation series would have a different place
wants to plant the knife and twist. His paint-
in the language of abstract art at mid-century.
ings seem to trivialize the idea of invention, of
Some of Stella’s complexity of the 1970s is in the
individuality. And yet he found, as I suggested
yarn pictures. That is, Warhol is crazy like a fox.
in comparisons to Polke and Stella, sneaky ways
He wants to press on the nerve of abstraction
of getting a certain painterliness back into the
made easy, on the idea that what abstraction
extremely dry and reductive art he practiced. He
requires in order for us to have faith in it is some
made an entire series of camouflage paintings in 1982 in which he found a backdoor route to the biomorphic surrealist language of Jean Arp and Joan Miró and Alexander Calder. His Rorschach pictures (fig. 5.22)—huge, four-meter-high paintings of 1984—resonate with the scale and bravado of something they are truly not, say a Franz Kline or a Robert Motherwell. The whole idea of doing something while appearing not to do it is perfectly likable to Warhol. There may be a pattern in his madness. If you look at the wet and dry versions of his Pollocks, you will see that whereas Lichtenstein tends
2 0 4 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
5.22 Andy Warhol, Rorschach, 1984. Synthetic polymer paint on canvas, 416.6 × 292.1 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York
to be interested in economy and reduction, Warhol is an artist of splish, splash, blot, excess. (There is an interesting edge to Warhol in that his spillage is often the residue of techniques that are normally deployed for precision and a hard edge, such as photo silk screen or stencils.) Perhaps the example one would put next to Lichtenstein, in terms of rendering the ineffable by apparently mechanical means, would be Warhol’s Shadows paintings of 1977–78 (fig. 5.23). This series would be a key chapter in the long history of the relation-
encoded, abstracted language of representation.
ship between photography and modern art, it
They become so much a part of our thinking
seems to me, that would belie the conventional
that we almost take them as natural, but they are
wisdom that photography gave birth to abstrac-
in fact abstractions induced by the process of
tion by usurping the task of representation from
photography. Warhol seems to be highly aware
the painters, starving them in a certain sense
of them and of their potential. He is as interested
and encouraging the turn to abstraction. But
in the graininess of photography as Lichtenstein
another way to look at the history of photog-
is in the even spread of Benday dots.
raphy is that the invention of photography fed
The grain becomes for Warhol what the
not only the language of representation but the
aquatint was for Goya, and I do not use the
language of abstraction that is encoded within
work of Goya lightly. Warhol is the poet of
the representation of things: blur, halation, fog-
the morbidity of our time, as we saw in the car
ging, solarization, dazzle, grain. Think of all of
crash series. For all the glitz and glamour, he is
the abstract aspects of photography that feed an
an artist who is interested in death and disaster.
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 0 5
5.23 Andy Warhol, Shadows, 1978. Polymer paint and silk screen on canvas, 193 × 132.1 cm. The Andy Warhol Foundation, Inc. 5.24
emotionally powerful. But they are grave things
Haim Steinbach, Ultra Red #2,
about utter hollowness and insubstantiality, and
1986. Wood, plastic laminates,
they will not let go of either side. What is so in-
lava lamps, enamel pots, and digital clocks, 170.2 × 170.2 ×
teresting to me about Warhol’s relationship to
193 cm. Solomon R. Guggenheim
abstraction is his love / hate relationship with its
Museum, New York
powers and weaknesses. Pop art’s long-running joke, then, is that abstraction looks like something, and more often than not, that something is worldly, commercial, or gritty. This joke turns grim and ideological in the 1980s. After a decade dominated by conceptual art and installations, And just as he is ever the pop artist, he is also
pop art returns iced down and unsmiling in
interested in the pure codes of representation.
the 1980s in work like Haim Steinbach’s shelf
These forces come to a head, it seems to me, in
display of 1986 or in Allan McCollum’s Plaster
the large series of Shadows paintings. (An entire
Surrogates of 1989 (figs. 5.24, 5.25). Plaster
room of these paintings is installed at the Dia Art Foundation at Beacon.) The pictures are nearly two meters high, very big and very impressive. And again, they recall the indeterminacy and broad rhetoric of abstract expressionism at the same time that they undercut it. You know right away by their codes that they represent something, and yet they are clearly pictures of nothing. They are, in Warhol’s vein, grave things,
2 0 6 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
Surrogates is a wall full of framed black plaster squares. Warhol painted Campbell’s soup cans in a way that played on the intuition that the sale of art and the sale of commodities were not very different from each other. But he gave them a snappy, cheeky, upbeat rhythm by injecting some of the bright colors and the crassness of commerce into the language of his painting. In contrast, it seems to me that what McCollum is doing is stealing a somnolent monotony from
There is a true downbeat feeling to this art.
abstract painting and injecting it into the idea
You would hardly guess that this is occurring
of commerce, so that the relationship between
in a boom period in the American economy. In
abstraction and commodity is drumbeat in
fact a secret rebellion is taking place here. For
Collection Van Abbemuseum,
here in an entirely different way, which seems
example, Sherrie Levine’s paintings of the 1980s
Eindhoven, The Netherlands
the difference between quip and dogma. The
are filled with the rhetoric of appropriation
series of display shelves by Steinbach played
(fig. 5.26). As with Steinbach and McCollum,
generally on wall pieces and minimalism, on
Levine is out to subvert bourgeois concepts of
the language of minimalism and the language
originality. These artists stage a wholesale cri-
of display. This does not have to do with the
tique of commodity, sweeping up abstraction as
fraught relationship between the power of
an undifferentiated example of the investment
minimalism and the power of industry, as we
in the ideals of individual creativity. The secret
talked about before, but with the tawdry slick-
rebellion is that after a decade of artists pro-
ness of minimalism and the consumer cul-
ducing unpurchasable, conceptual art—land
ture of such things as toilet brushes and lava
art, installations, and so forth—these artists
lamps.
produce objects that are extremely salable, that
5.25 Allan McCollum, Plaster Surrogates, 1989. Paint and plaster, 175 × 675 cm.
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 0 7
5.26 Sherrie Levine, Untitled (Lead
ambiguity of abstraction. He would like you to
Checks: 2), 1986/1987. Casein
know exactly. And in 1982 he wrote:
on lead, wood, 152.4 × 101.6 cm. Courtesy of the Paul Cooper Gallery, New York
want to be critiques but are at the same time
1). These are paintings of prisons, cells, and walls. 2). Here the idealist square becomes the prison. Geometry is revealed as confinement. 3). The cell is a reminder of the apartment house, the hospital bed, the school desk—the isolated endpoints of industrial structure. 4). The paintings are a critique of idealist modernism. In the color field is placed a jail. The misty space of Rothko is walled up. 5). Underground conduits connect the units. “Vital fluids” flow in and out. 6). The “stucco” texture is reminiscent of motel ceilings. 7). The Day-Glo paint is a signifier of “low-budget mysticism.” It is the afterglow of radiation.2
portable and collectible. They borrow many ideas of anti-institutionalism and put them into
Any questions? Absolute and clear, the meaning
objects that have a certain market status in the
being that all abstraction, and particularly the
early 1980s.
hard-edge abstraction of work by Newman, for
More specific to the critique of abstraction
2 0 8 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
example, is coded representation of power.
would be two of Peter Halley’s paintings: Two
If one reads on further in Halley’s essays, one
Cells with Circulating Conduit, 1986 (see fig. 1.22)
sees repeated references to Michel Foucault and
and Prison with Conduit of 1981 (fig. 5.27). Halley
the idea of a world of incarceration in which one
is back on the argument that all abstraction is
is constantly in prison. It is as if Halley trans-
in fact only coded representation—not in the
lates Foucault into a kind of neon Monopoly
sense that Lichtenstein saw it, but something
board, or reimagines Smithson in Day-Glo.
much more extensive and serious. I will in
There’s an odd split between the cheery posi-
fact read to you. Halley is not interested in the
tivism of Halley’s colors and shapes, and his
5.27
sense that all of life is imprisoned; that art, like
Peter Halley, Prison with
other things, is a series of conventions given to
Conduit, 1981. Acrylic,
us, not something we do. That is, buildings, for
Day-Glo acrylic, and Roll-a-Tex
example, are built to house us, not structures
on canvas (two parts), 137.2 × 91.4 cm. Addison Gallery of
that we make to have a view onto the outside
American Art, Phillips Acad-
world. There is a deep sense of pessimism in all
emy, Andover, Massachusetts,
this bright and affirmative color. Halley’s work
gift of the artist (PA 1971)
of the 1980s, interestingly, is done before the fall
5.28
of the Berlin Wall, before the advent of cyber-
Peter Halley, Powder, 1995.
space. Yet in the 1990s Halley’s work continues
Acrylic, Day-Glo acrylic,
in somewhat the same vein, with somewhat the
metallic acrylic, and Roll-a-Tex on canvas, 234.2 × 318.5 cm
same set of meanings, now much more complicated and overlaid in a work like Powder of 1995 (fig. 5.28). It seems that although Halley’s rhetoric is very much involved with the world of, say, Morris, Smithson, Foucault, and Baudrillard, his visual rhetoric is directly from the world of, say, Gerald Murphy and Stuart Davis. And this clash or tension, I think, makes the work much more interesting and appealing than some of the words and rhetoric that go with it. You could say about Halley the reverse of what Marx once said about history, referring to Louis Napoleon as a pale, farcical imitation of his predecessor and relative, Napoleon I: History
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 0 9
5.29 Philip Taaffe, Madame Torso in Deep, 1985. Linoprint collage, acrylic on paper, 227.3 × 174 cm. Courtesy of Gagosian Gallery, New York
always repeats itself. The first time it’s trag-
farce is continued, the farce against abstrac-
edy, the second time it’s farce. What you see
tion, but in a slightly snider and ad hominem
happening in Lichtenstein and then Halley is
way. Taaffe’s Madame Torso in Deep of 1985
history repeating itself, the first time as farce,
is a pun on Hans Arp and his Dada relief of
the second time as tragedy.
1916 called Madame Torso in a Wavy Hat (figs.
3
2 1 0 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
One of Halley’s partners in crime, who was
5.29, 5.30). Madame Torso is now united with
frequently talked about in the same breath in
a Playboy bunny. Instead of a separate affinity
the 1980s, is Philip Taaffe. In Taaffe’s case the
between commercialized representation, in the
way that Lichtenstein makes the comics look
and reductiveness on the inventive and personal
like Mondrian, by putting together Arp and his
side is shared by Taaffe, but with an ambition
playfulness—and this is meant to be a kind of
now to produce from their sum a third quality,
lyrical automatic drawing that has a providen-
decorativeness, which is Taaffe’s hallmark. Taaffe
tial relationship to the sense of feminine fash-
is nothing if not forthright in his accusations
ion of Madame Torso in a Wavy Hat—Taaffe
against abstract art. His 1985 painting We Are
wants to conflate this individual invention and
Not Afraid (fig. 5.31) is a direct réplique to New-
Dada serendipity with the die cut of the Playboy
man’s Who’s Afraid of Red, Yellow, and Blue II of
bunny. There’s one more shape of interest in here, which comes out of Taaffe’s painting itself, and it is a kind of double dumbbell, a vaguely biomorphic, double lima bean shape, and it goes with the Playboy bunny and Madame Torso. Taaffe’s idea of putting the Playboy bunny and Madame Torso together in this form is not simply to create a standoff but an orgy. That is, parts come together in a squirming, compacted way—a snarky reference, I think, to the masculinity of the Playboy bunny as opposed to Madame Torso. The cartoonish serendipity of the Arp,
5.30
out of the tradition of modernism, is now made
Hans Arp, Madame Torso in a
to look the same as the calculated formal economy of the commercial logo. Lichtenstein’s dual interest in reductiveness on the commercial side
Wavy Hat, 1916. Wood, 40.6 × 24.5 cm. Kunstmuseum Bern, Hermann und Margrit Rupf-Stiftung
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 1 1
of human nature, the one place in color-field painting that renders a human dimension to the flat field of the picture—and instead make it a kind of braid, which suggests not only that I am violating the flat space you are so proud of, Newman, but I’m going to say that this is a mechanical sense of what’s decorative.” Whereas Halley’s argument is that the power of abstraction like Newman’s is sinister, that his geometric idealism is imprisoning, Taaffe’s critique is that it is empty, at base simply decoration. Taaffe puts to work the idea of revisiting high decoration with an intent to make it low decoration. For example, he takes an Ellsworth Kelly of 1962 called Blue Green (fig. 5.32) and remakes it in his own Blue Green of 1987 (see fig. 1.24), sticking decals on it and drawing lines 5.31
1967 (see fig. 1.23). The response to Newman
over it, as if to exorcise its power. Taaffe’s is a
Phillip Taaffe, We Are Not
in a certain sense is, “Hey, lighten up.” By pro-
snide, graffiti-like disfigurement of what he dis-
ducing a work of the same size and scale, he is
likes here; he wants to be seen sticking a pin in
259.1 cm. Courtesy Gago-
saying, “That isn’t too hard, Newman. For all of
its balloon. Taaffe, it seems to me, is preparing
sian Gallery, New York
your arguments about the sublime, I’m going
the stage for something that is more personal to
to take this ‘zip,’ this idea of verticality, along
him, namely, highly optical decoration.
Afraid, 1985. Linoprint collage, acrylic on canvas, 304.8 ×
2 1 2 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
with its anthropomorphic associations—that
Another of Taaffe’s riffs in the 1980s is op
is, the vertical member representing the spirit
art and Bridget Riley. One might think of this
appropriation not as an act of vandalism, or as a simple act of quotation, but rather as an argument for one Matisse over another. Taaffe is looking at Kelly’s Blue Green and thinking of the simplicity of Matisse’s cutouts as part of Kelly’s legacy, the high organization of large, strong forms; he is not thinking about the Interior with Eggplants that we looked at earlier and Matisse’s interest in vibrant, allover patterning (see fig. 5.2). Yet that is ultimately the direction Taaffe’s art is headed. Just as we saw Halley’s work getting more complicated in the 1990s, so too does Taaffe’s. His Kharraqan of 1998–99 is a grab bag of world decoration—Persian, parts of the Alhambra, Japanese sword guards, Bridget
I want to turn now to an older generation
Riley at the top—a whole amalgam to produce
of artists and how they wrestled with the issues
an optical overload of sheer visual pleasure, a
that plague Taaffe and Halley and other young
riot of decoration, which is Taaffe’s more direct
artists of the 1980s—the issues of an ironic
side (fig. 5.33). But he needs to get to it by
relationship to abstraction, of a relationship
first slaying the dragon of abstraction, whose
to a powerful precedent. Taaffe and Halley, for
idealism and pretensions stand in the way of its
example, inherited the world of pop art, of
role, as he sees it, as decoration; he empties out
Lichtenstein and Oldenburg, of popular culture
the idealism in order to get at the empty rhythms
and its relationship to the real, made world.
and beautiful patterns that he so admires as the
These young artists looked back beyond pop
energy of abstract art.
to the abstraction of the 1950s, to Kelly and
5.32 Ellsworth Kelly, Blue Green, 1962. Oil on canvas, 219.7 × 172.7 cm. Collection of the artist
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 1 3
5.33
Newman, as pure outsiders looking across a wall
Phillip Taaffe, Kharraqan,
at something in which they did not take part.
1998–99. Mixed media on canvas, 293.4 × 125.7 cm. Gagosian Gallery, New York
What is more interesting to me are those few artists who return to abstraction having rejected it, who lived in the shadow of high abstract art. I am referring to the Pollock generation, about whom I talked at the beginning of these lectures, who renounced and then came back to abstraction through the experience of minimalism and other aspects of 1960s and 1970s art. I am thinking here particularly of three artists who are what you might call part-time abstractionists. (What a strange concept, really. Prior to World War II, abstraction was an endpoint. It was something you arrived at after you had tried everything else. It was the absolute.) The three painters I have in mind are Gerhard Richter, Cy Twombly, and Jasper Johns. Of these three, certainly Richter is the most programmatic in his gambits between abstraction and representation. He began doing social realism in the Eastern bloc, then, when he came to the West, was immediately taken up by the onslaught of pop art from America, but he consistently throughout his
2 1 4 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
career painted abstractions—of a very particular kind. Consider Richter’s Un-Painting (Gray) of 1972, and his Gray Streaks of 1968 (figs. 5.34, 1.25). Imagine in your mind a comparison between Un-Painting and Lichtenstein’s Composition II (see fig. 5.4) or between Gray Streaks and Lichtenstein’s Ball of Twine (see fig. 1.20). Certainly Gray Streaks refers to Stella’s black stripe paintings of 1959. And just as certainly Un-Painting refers to gestural, allover abstraction in the model of Pollock. But what a difference! Lichtenstein’s ironic relationship to abstraction impels him to make work that is more graphic and clarified, work that is reduced to clear, hard, crude black-and-white lines, simple commercial patterns devoid of mystery and ambiguity. Richter’s instinct is the opposite: you might say that he literally waters
but a painter of doubt, one who constantly
5.34
down Stella, that Stella becomes grayer, blurred,
lives with “yes, but.” Like Warhol, he is involved
Gerhard Richter, Un-Painting
more aqueous, and wobbly. The whole sense of
simultaneously with representation and the
order and strictness becomes tentative, shaky.
nagging ghost of abstraction. But unlike Warhol,
And the Pollock vocabulary of Un-Painting
he works into abstraction from the inside, as an
becomes messier, thicker, more congealed, and
absolute abstract painter, and shuttles between
clotted. Richter is not a painter of clarification
a form of photographic realism and a form of
(Gray), 1972. Oil on canvas, 200 × 200 cm. The Jung Collection
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 1 5
5.35 Gerhard Richter, Abstract Painting, 1985. Oil on canvas, 175 × 250 cm. Unknown collection
2 1 6 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
abstraction. He comes to his abstraction from a
equally debasing of both. The titles themselves
climate of dead cynicism and irony.
suggest generic painting, and the pictures are, in
One does not look to Richter’s abstraction for
the tradition of Palermo and Polke in a certain
comfort or idealism. In fact two of his partners
sense, heartless about their mechanical nature.
in crime in the 1960s and 1970s are Sigmar Polke
These are very difficult pictures to love. There
and an artist friend who uses the pseudonym
is something acidulous and chilling about the
Blinky Palermo, both of them also known for
colors of Abstract Painting, and both works be-
their dry, heartless cynicism about the choices
speak an extremely tough-minded relationship
and ambiguities of high abstract painting.
to abstraction that is matched in intensity by
Richter’s Abstract Painting of 1985 and his 1024
Richter’s obvious interest in romantic landscape.
Colors of 1973 show him working both sides of
His Waterfall of 1997 (fig. 5.37) looks so close
the street—geometric abstraction and gestural,
to the real thing that one wants to believe it be-
painterly abstraction (figs. 5.35, 5.36). He is
longs in the tradition of Caspar David Friedrich.
5.36 Gerhard Richter, 1024 Colors, no. 350–3rd translation, 1973. Lacquer on canvas, 254 × 478 cm. Musée national d’art moderne, Centre Georges Pompidou, Paris
But the slight photographic blur, the uneven-
stant destabilization seems to be what so much
ness of the surface, the collapse of the space, and
of Richter’s knowing, calculating art is about.
the lack of definition betray a clearly modernist
One would think Richter’s work an extremely
interest in photographic codes (similar to War-
unpromising source of what has in fact become
hol) that distance, chill, and intermediate. By so
some of the most important history painting and
doing, Richter creates rich expectations and
equally some of the most important abstraction
casts seeds of doubt at the same time. This con-
of the last half of the century. Within one year
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 1 7
This amazing cycle of pictures, ruminations on the alleged suicide / death / police murder of the remaining gang members in prison in 1978, was acquired for MoMA by Robert Storr, curator of the wonderful Richter retrospective that showed during 2002 and 2003 at the Modern and the Hirschhorn among other museums. This was a great coup for both Storr and the Modern. Richter had wanted this important series shown outside of Germany so that it would not be seen in the black-and-white terms of political polarization but rather, I think, in terms and on grounds that would allow its deep ambiguity to blossom. One has only to compare a work from this series with Warhol’s disaster pictures (see fig. 5.19) to see the full graphic power of Warhol’s 5.37
of each other, for example, two series of large
use of photographic grain and polarization
Gerhard Richter, Waterfall,
paintings by Richter demonstrate his power-
as contrasted with Richter’s operations in the
ful conflation of abstraction and representa-
gray zone, in the blur and smear that obfus-
Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian
tion. In 1988, from the found photographs in
cates rather than makes things graphically clear.
Institution, Joseph H. Hirshhorn
police files and tabloids, Richter culled an ut-
The emotional range of one’s fears, repug-
terly noncommittal—in
fact, maddeningly
nance, esteem, or empathy vis-à-vis the Baader-
noncommittal—vision of a series of incidents
Meinhof Gang is forever left in suspension by
in the life and demise of the Baader-Meinhof
the cool, deadpan, noncommittal nature of the
Gang, a left-wing guerrilla group active in West
engagement with the subject and the distance
Germany between 1968 and 1977 (fig. 5.38).
from the subject.
1997. Oil on linen, 164.8 × 110.2 cm. Hirshhorn Museum and
Purchase Fund, 1998
2 1 8 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
The same thing, I think, might be said about Richter’s large landscape abstractions, and I think particularly about his so-called squeegee abstractions, November (fig. 5.39), December, and January, all of 1989. These huge pictures— they measure about three by four meters—were made by dragging a hard bar repeatedly across the surface. The whole idea of making a picture by means of accident, which was after all about Pollock, the idea of letting material determine the image and form of the making, seems filtered in Richter’s case through Johns and something we talked about in the fourth lecture, which is the idea that destroying order is the same thing as producing it, that art has a kind of cruelty to it. The raked and ruined surface of a picture like November recalls Johns’ mordant acceptance of
For all of their impersonality, for the feeling
the idea of ruination in the scraping, pulling, and
that they exist only by a gesture of effacement,
messing. The other two canvases from this series
of defacement, or negation, I for one find
have a similar power. Richter is not the producer
Richter infinitely satisfying and interesting! I
The Museum of Modern Art, New
of a clear cycle of completion; this is not a series
encourage you to think about his pictures next
York, the Sidney and Harriet Janis
of “Four Seasons.” Only winter is represented
to something like Clyfford Still’s similarly scaled
in this world, with its different colors pepper-
untitled painting of 1957 from the Whitney
ing through like the glow of fire beneath a fro-
(fig. 5.40). Here, with Still, is one of abstract
Enid A. Haupt Fund; Nina and
zen surface. These are incredibly rich, complex,
expressionism’s paradigms of sincerity, good
Gordon Bunshaft Bequest Fund;
layers of surface incident, deeply worked.
faith, and idealism. And here, on the same scale,
5.38 Gerhard Richter, Cell (Zelle) from October 18, 1977, 1988. Oil on canvas, 200.7 × 139.7 cm.
Collection, gift of Philip Johnson, and acquired through the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest (all by exchange);
and gift of Emily Rauh Pulitzer
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 1 9
5.39 Gerhard Richter, November, 1989. Oil on canvas, 320 × 400 cm. Saint Louis Art Museum, funds given by Dr. and Mrs. Alvin R. Frank and the Pulitzer Publishing Foundation
2 2 0 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
5.40 Clyfford Still, Untitled, 1957. Oil on canvas, 284.5 × 391.2 cm. Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, purchase, with funds from the Friends of the Whitney Museum of American Art
is Richter, the man of doubt, the man of irony,
expressionism, unlike Richter’s, comes directly
and the man of negation. Tons to look at, deeply
out of the language of de Kooning and Pollock.
moving, powerful. I would sit and look at the
In a picture such as Untitled of 1956 (fig. 5.41),
Richter at least as long as I would look at Still’s
instead of the continuous liquid skein of Pollock,
picture. In fact, I would gladly trade fifty-two
or the big, juicy brushstrokes of de Kooning,
yards of Still’s formulaic pony-hide surface for
Twombly produces a fragmented, broken, straw-
a square foot of Richter’s surface.
like scratching and scrawling. As Peter Schjel-
The second of this triad I want to consider
dahl once said, it is like what a dog does when
is Twombly, whose relationship to abstract
he’s getting ready to lie down.4 Twombly is
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 2 1
destroying the surface, scarring it, dragging pen-
tered through the public language of signs and
cils through it. His is an act of desecration, van-
writing. By the time he gets to a very juicy and
dalization, of bringing the language of abstract
liquid art, as in his Untitled of 1962—by the
expressionism out of the realm of personal ex-
time the picture begins to spurt and leap and
pression and into the world of writing and lan-
splatter—it is through common signs for phal-
guage, of shared signs and pictograms. At any
luses, buttocks, and fecal material (fig. 5.42).
given moment, the piece seems about to break
Everything about its gushiness, its expression,
into a set of words, a set of pictograms, a set
is filtered again through the idea of deface-
of letters that is going to spell out a message.
ment and negation. This is not the cool, beauti-
160 cm. Courtesy Sonna-
His forms no longer have an independent role
ful continuity of abstract expressionism, but a
bend Collection, New York
outside the body; instead their physicality is fil-
rather jerky, hesitant, intermittent negotiation
5.41 Cy Twombly, Untitled, 1956. Oil and crayon on canvas, 122 ×
of a set of signs. This kind of work in the early 1960s puts Twombly deeply out of step, as one can imagine, with pop and minimalism. It is only in the mid-1960s, after he undergoes a crisis, that he returns for the only time in his career to pure abstraction. In a group of paintings known as the blackboard pictures, he turns away from the world of language, if not from the world of writing itself, and begins writing in a preliminary sense, much like the exercises promoted by the Palmer method of handwriting, where simple rolls are repeated in order to exercise the hand. This willful distraction of writing precludes
2 2 2 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
5.42 Cy Twombly, Untitled, 1962. Oil, paint, wax crayon, lead pencil on canvas, 266.1 × 299.1 cm. Collection of Ealan J. Wingate
meaning and communication, and exists as a
but in a kind of white oil stick. Twombly uses this
purposely mindless run-on gesture that never
format to encounter in 1970 Henry Geldzahler’s
has any accumulation in letters or words and
great show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art,
has no pictographic component (fig. 5.43). The
Forty Years of New York School Painting, in which
creamy gushiness of Twombly’s early work is
he sees a room of Pollocks. He goes back to Rome
here stripped back to a minimal black and white,
after seeing this and produces two amazing
into something decidedly austere, even bleak, in
pictures. Each of these is about five meters wide.
its repetitiveness and distillation. These black-
One is an amazing picture, now in the Menil
board pictures are not actually done in chalk,
Collection, that has a Wagnerian quality to it
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 2 3
5.43
and a great tumbleweed at the bottom (fig. 5.44).
Look at the difference between two 1970
Cy Twombly, Cold Stream, 1966.
Instead of the automatic roll, Twombly expands
works from the series, the untitled Menil picture
this repetitive gesture to the scale that Pollock
and the picture that the Museum of Modern
252.1 cm. Collection of Mar-
had, where you have to stride into the picture.
Art owns, which is utterly noncumulative and,
guerite and Robert Hoffman
He begins to produce what resembles a roll of
I think, more challenging as a result (fig. 5.45).
tangled barbed wire that has a series of breaks or
While the Menil is more narrative—moving
Cy Twombly, Untitled, 1970
inflections; these rolls speak not just about the
from a tentative distant thunder at the top to
[Rome]. Oil, house paint, and
wrist and repetition but about the elbow, about
a giant thundering roll at the bottom—the
oil / wax crayon on canvas,
the step, and this produces a characteristic awk-
Modern is more abstract in its refusal to
wardness of Twombly’s work. Everything that
narrate, to tell any story, even by implication.
seems to be easily repeated and reflexive—that
Purer in its unendingness—who knows where
has a “my kid could do it” quality—also has a
it starts, where it will end, in the Pollock sense
slight clumsiness that saves the work from being
of alloverness—and yet created not from an
merely virtuosic or facile.
ambitious scrawl, but with that simple roll. Over
Oil-based house paint and wax crayon on canvas, overall: 199 ×
5.44
245.4 × 495.3 cm. Cy Twombly Gallery, the Menil Collection, Houston, gift of the artist
2 2 4 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
and over, again and again. How many times can
he could stand on the floor to do the bottom.
5.45
I do this? And that is in fact an interesting ques-
Roll after roll after roll. Nothing but the simplest,
Cy Twombly, Untitled, 1970.
tion: how do you make a painting like this that
most mindless gesture, until it built up, in skein
is nearly four meters tall? In the most artisanal
after skein, into these amazing, frenetic clouds.
The Museum of Modern Art,
fashion: Twombly sat on the shoulders of one
This is a picture—and I would never say this
New York, acquired through
of his friends and was carried, like a giant type-
lightly—that I would look at in the company of
writer carriage, across the top of the picture and
Pollock’s Number 1, 1950 (see fig. 1.5). Everything
then returned to the next row and the next, until
that Twombly achieves, he achieves by the nega-
Oil-based house paint and crayon on canvas, 397.2 × 640.4 cm.
the Lillie P. Bliss Bequest and the Sidney and Harriet Janis Collection (both by exchange)
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 2 5
tion, by the ironic distancing of himself from
made his name by driving a spike through the
Pollock, by the exact inversion of what Pollock is.
heart of Pollock, the man who established him-
Everything that is liquid is turned dry. Every-
self as the antichrist of abstraction. In 1973 he
thing that is light is turned dark. Everything that
turns back, for seven full years, to painting noth-
is simple and spontaneous and athletic is turned
ing but abstract pictures along the mindlessly
obsessive, repetitive, self-conscious in Twombly.
simple model of Scent’s system of crosshatch
By means of this pressure and negation, he re-
marks. It is a system that finds its first realiza-
realizes, on a completely different scale and terms,
tion in a “manifesto” work, Untitled No. 1–4, of
the intense transmission of energy that Pollock
1972 (fig. 5.47), four panels where body parts—
conveyed to canvas. Twombly has translated—
like the target with body parts—are found with
through writing, through self-consciousness,
a pattern of flagstones, something taken from
through irony—Pollock’s amazing present-tense
popular culture, and on the left, what appears to
literalness and immediacy into an entirely
be a purely invented thatch pattern. Johns has
different kind of abstraction.
said he saw something like this painted on a car,
Jasper Johns is my final example today. Johns too, it seems to me, takes a sardonic swipe at
2 2 6 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
and that provided the original accent, the origi- nal inspiration for the picture.
Pollock in a picture such as Scent of 1973–74
What is clear about the picture is that it is a
(fig. 5.46). He is well aware of the overall appeal
systematization of the idea of gestural abstrac-
of a large unstructured field, and yet he wants to
tion. Its complexity can be reduced to modu-
structure it, and he does so in 1973 in the most
lar form. Just as Twombly’s repetition speaks of
radical break with his own career, even more
expressionism filtered through minimalism, so
radical than Twombly’s return to abstraction
Johns’ repetition is about gesturalism filtered
in the mid-1960s. Johns, you recall, is the art-
through modularity. For all of its complexity of
ist of the flags and targets, the man who made
color, Scent is still extremely crisp in its order-
his living debunking abstraction, the man who
ing, and it is clearly planned. If you look at the
scheme of Scent, you will see that it is structured
it is fragmented, not continuous, and that it is
5.46
as a series of panels that repeats itself; the edge
plotted. You feel it in the way that Johns, I think,
Jasper Johns, Scent, 1973–74. Oil
on the right is exactly the same as the edge on
must have had in mind when he titled it Scent,
the left; it is centered on one panel, which has
which is not only the title of one of Pollock’s last
Aachen. Art © Jasper Johns/
on either side of it repeats. You can see how
paintings, but shares a familiarity with Picasso’s
Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
the pattern A-B-C overlaps itself and moves to
statement that there was reality in cubism, but it
C-D-E, and then overlaps itself again and moves
was there like a perfume or odor in the picture.
to E-F before it comes back around to the circu-
There is an order in Scent, but it is something
larity. It is a calculated program, quite the oppo-
one intuits, or picks up as a trace.
site of Pollock’s sense of automatic release. You
The idea of Scent, by the way, and I don’t
do not need a roadmap to recognize that there
mean to subscribe to it, is important to the think-
is an order to this picture; you understand that
ing about Johns’ series of crosshatch pictures,
and encaustic on canvas, 182.9 × 320.6 cm. Collection Ludwig,
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 2 7
5.47
because dealing with their meaning has often
is so interesting in Johns, and we saw it in his
Jasper Johns, Panels from
involved a kind of title mania. There is noth-
Device (see fig. 4.21), is that he has to estab-
ing else to go on in these arrangements of hatch
lish a system in order to cancel or bury it. The
with objects (four panels),
marks. And while it seems to me extremely
important thing about order for Johns is that it
183 × 490 cm overall. Museum
important that they be meaningless marks,
be degradable. The order itself is hardly as im-
Ludwig, Ludwig Donation,
Johns gave these pictures provocative titles. For
portant as the demonstration of its vulnerability
example, art scholars have spent a good deal of
or fragility. The light and crisp gestural quality
time on titles such as Corpse and Mirror (fig.
in Scent becomes slightly more turgid in Corpse
5.48), with the idea of the exquisite corpse and
and Mirror. We note first of all an austerity—in
surrealism, and with what the mirror has to do
the reduction in color—and a meatiness, espe-
with doubling. It seems much more interesting
cially to the cancellation on the right. As Johns
to me to look at what becomes of this simple
works with this utterly meaningless, mindless
pattern of Scent, how it becomes a metaphor
gesture, as simple-minded as Twombly’s scroll,
for order and its collapse or annulment. What
it becomes extremely personal. So that by 1978
Untitled No. 1–4, 1972. Oil, encaustic, and collage on canvas
Cologne. Art © Jasper Johns/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
2 2 8 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
5.48 Jasper Johns, Corpse and Mirror, 1974. Oil, encaustic, and collage on canvas, 127 × 152.7 cm. The David Geffen Collection, Los Angeles. Art © Jasper Johns/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
one sees Johns remaking those five hatch marks
face and skin is of continual interest in Johns’
directly with his hand, the hand that had often
work.
been like a print in his work, a print of his own
The personal nature of the pattern is never
body in the work, now becoming the trace of
clearer than in the choice of Johns’ lithograph
his mark, like a series of caresses (fig. 5.49). For
of 1970–71 as the poster for his later retrospec-
all of its teeming, knotted, congestedness, it is
tive at the Whitney (fig. 5.50). This remark-
stroked, as one strokes repeatedly the surface
able image, Savarin, demonstrates three things
of the skin, for example. The notion of sur-
about Johns’ self-identification. The print of
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 2 9
5.49 Jasper Johns, Untitled, 1978. Acrylic on paper, 111.1 × 73.7 cm. Private collection. Art © Jasper Johns/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
the red arm at the bottom is certainly a direct take from Edvard Munch’s self-portrait (fig. 5.51). Johns was interested in Munch as an expressionist, in the morbidity of his work, and in the way in which Munch represented his mortality with a skeletal arm at the bottom of his portrait. The Savarin coffee can in the center is Johns’ own sculpture, a remnant of his studio, the can he stuffed with brushes, which has become a self-emblem—other artists have used a palette—for his practice as an artist. And not least important is the cross-hatching in the background, reminiscent of Picasso’s using the diamond pattern of the harlequin’s costume in the background of the Girl Before the Mirror to project his own presence—the harlequin as Picasso’s avatar—as the ground on which his mistress exists. In Johns’ lithograph, then, we have the biological fact of his existence at the bottom, the tools of his trade in the middle, and his creations—the mindless pattern of his marks—behind him. Each one is an extremely important component of his personality, integral, not to a complete and whole soul in the way that expressionist painting works, but to
2 3 0 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
the levels of existence that Johns uses to create a composite self-portrait. Further on in the 1970s, as he continues to do nothing but abstract paintings of this pattern, is a series of pictures called Usuyuki (Japanese for a light snow, for something that vanishes or melts in a hurry; a metaphor in Japan for fleeting life or beauty). One from the Cleveland museum is a tall collage and painting in which there is a steady murmur of potential meaning in the newspaper clippings beneath the strokes (fig. 5.52). This thatch of babbling, cut-up meaning is suppressed and supplanted—again, the idea of burying or cancelling. Here the crisp and aerated order in Scent has turned thick, gooey,
5.50 Jasper Johns, Savarin, 1981. Lithograph printed in color, comp.: 101.3 × 75.1 cm;
and molten. Title mania aside, one clearly sees
sheet: 127.6 × 97.3 cm. The Museum of
that as this work has become personal for Johns,
Modern Art, New York, gift of Celeste
it has gotten thicker and denser. It has gone from
Barbos. Art © Jasper Johns/Licensed
the relatively light feeling of surface and flatness
by VAGA, New York, NY
in Scent to a realm of greater density where the
5.51
order is not simply cancelled on one side, as it
Edvard Munch, Self-Portrait, 1895.
was in Corpse and Mirror, but cancelled in the
Lithograph, comp.: 46 × 32.4 cm; sheet: 85.4 × 42.4 cm. Publisher: the artist, Berlin;
process of being made! The gesture itself is the
printer: Lassally, Berlin; edition: approxi-
gesture of both making and burying. This comes
mately 200. The Museum of Modern Art,
through even more strongly, I think, toward the
New York, gift of James L. Goodwin in memory of Philip L. Goodwin, 1959
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 3 1
5.52 Jasper Johns, Usuyuki, 1977–78. Encaustic and collage on canvas (three panels), each: 86.4 × 45.7 cm. The Cleveland Museum of Art, Leonard C. Hanna Jr. Art © Jasper Johns/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
2 3 2 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
end of the series, just before Johns gives up the crosshatch pictures in 1980, with Dancers on a Plane I (fig. 5.53). Compared to Scent, Dancers has a compact bristling nature. The central spine of this picture divides it into registers, and along each one of these spines the patterns now begin to duplicate, and you get weird things like birds’ faces, for example, with screaming eyes and pointed beaks. And then if you look harder, you think you see jigging arms and legs, as if in some contorted exercise. One gets the feeling that this pattern has been packed in, that it is so pregnant, it is about to crack open and yield up something. Perhaps the great picture of this series, and the one I will end with, is Johns’ Weeping Women of 1975 (fig. 5.54). Let’s deal with the title first. It is certainly based on the idea of Picasso’s weeping women, a series of pictures that led up to Guernica, of which the most famous is a 1937 picture of pure anguish and distortion (fig. 5.55). There was a showing of Picasso’s series around the time that Johns
5.53 Jasper Johns, Dancers on a Plane I, 1979. Oil on canvas with objects, 197.5 × 162.6 cm,
made this picture,5 and while I don’t believe that
with frame. Collection of the artist. Art ©
in any sense the title for the Johns precedes the
Jasper Johns/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 3 3
5.54 Jasper Johns, Weeping Women, 1975. Encaustic and collage on canvas, 127 × 259.7 cm. The David Geffen Collection, Los Angeles. Art © Jasper Johns/ Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
2 3 4 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
from his studio: not the Savarin can as before, but the iron that he uses to heat the encaustic wax. This tool brands the picture in four places. You can see that there are two irons on a string in the center panel, and then two irons beneath them. As David Sylvester has said, in some senses picture, the idea for the picture may have been
all of Johns’ art is a continual crucifixion.6 And
“baptized” in the river of anguish that pervades
planted into the central panel of this triptych is
Picasso’s series. Is it an homage to Picasso, an
this anthropomorphic symbol—the irons—as if
artist always hugely meaningful to Johns, not
arms are stretched across and things fall down.
only for the Weeping Woman but for cubism, for
But more than that symbol, what strikes us is
the systematic organization of cubism, that constantly haunts Johns? In fact, in Johns’ markings
5.55 Pablo Picasso, Weeping Woman, 1937. Oil on canvas, 60.8 × 50 cm. The Tate Museum, accepted by H. M. Government in lieu of tax
and cross-hatching, there is a definite evocation
with additional payment (Grant-
of the Africanizing relationship between scarifi-
in-Aid) made with assistance
cation and systematic cubic order that you get
from the National Heritage
in pictures like Picasso’s Woman in Bed of 1907 (fig. 5.56), right after the Demoiselles.
Memorial Fund, the National Art Collections Fund and the Friends of the Tate Gallery 1987
But forget Picasso, forget the title. Just look at the picture. Look at the violation of the picture
5.56 Pablo Picasso, Woman in Bed,
in the one note of external reality that comes
1907. Oil on panel, 36.5 × 38 cm.
into it, the inclusion of a merely pragmatic item
Private collection, New York
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 3 5
2 3 6 P I C T U R E s o f n ot h i n g
the actuality of what happens when that iron
One could spend an endless amount of time
hits the surface of the picture, creating a pres-
looking at the sheer complexity of layering on
sure against it and a destruction of the order.
the surface, an enormous investment of energy.
Think Richter. Think the idea of scraping that
Think about the feeling from that Twombly.
initially, I think, emerged from Johns’ desire to
Start with a mindless program. Just draw
create an order out of destruction. Look at the
scrawls and see what it gives you. Think about
incredible richness of the drip when the encaus-
Johns starting with the idea of just hatching,
tic gives way and runs over the scrape and the
just drawing five bars at a time, then drawing
scratch it creates beneath it. Johns obsessively
them again in oil, drawing them again in en-
worked the surface with his personal marks: the
caustic, then scraping them down, then trying
circles impressed all over the picture are the bot-
again, then coming back again with blood, with
toms of the ale cans that were Johns’ signature
night, with white, again and again.
sculpture, and this was his way of covertly, al-
Is this abstract art? Is the Twombly abstract
most fetishistically, imprinting personal mean-
art? Are Richter’s big pictures abstract art?
ing into this unyielding system of abstract lines.
Are they art about abstract art? Certainly on
And then the lines themselves! Look at the scale
one level of meaning, they are art about art.
of this picture—and the rhetoric—how it has
Their relationship to the tradition of Pollock
changed from Scent. Next to this, Scent seems
is tantamount to what they are. One level of
like a placid landscape. The scale of the marks
their meaning is their knowing relationship to
in relation to the picture—and the picture itself
that tradition, and that relationship is ironic.
is 2.5 meters wide—is still in proportion to the
It is a relationship of negation: of providing
body, but now built up; the marks can no longer
structure to the unstructured, drying out the
be hand marks; they have an enormity in their
liquid, making dark the light. It is a relation-
scale and in their collapse.
ship to tradition that involves chastisement,
that involves the acceptance of tradition’s con-
placed by knowing, of dreams dispelled by real-
straints at the same time that it subverts and
ity. Here, however, in Twombly, in Johns, and in
reacts against them. And yet this is, it seems to
Richter, you have an abstraction saturated with
me, extremely powerful abstract art. The stan-
skepticism, saturated with knowing, an abstrac-
dard history of abstraction, and the one that the
tion that proves that abstraction can be know-
satirists and ironists of the 1980s would write,
ing and still have meaning. And that meaning is
smugly and in self-congratulation, is a history
something that adds to, not just draws on, what
of faith and its loss, a history of illusions re-
we know.
N ot e s 1. Jack Flam, Matise and Picasso: The Story of Their Rivalry and Friendship (Cambridge, MA: Westview Press, 2003), 92. 2. Peter Halley, Collected Essays 1981–1987 (Zurich: Bruno Bischofberger, 2000), 23. 3. Karl Marx, paraphrase of the opening sentences of The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte (1852). The actual words were “Hegel remarks somewhere that all great, world-historical facts and personages occur, as it were, twice. He has forgotten to add: the first time as tragedy, the second as farce.” 4. Peter Schjeldahl, “Size Down,” Artforum 33:1 (September 1994), 73. “His work is as much a form of behavior as a product of craft. It is restless, with the discontent of a dog that turns and turns, unable to feel just right about the place it has chosen to lie down.”
5. Johns may not have seen Picasso’s Weeping Woman for the first time at a museum exhibition but rather in a private home or gallery. See Roberta Bernstein, “Seeing a Thing Can Sometimes Trigger the Mind to Make Another Thing,” in Kirk Varnedoe, Jasper Johns: A Retrospective (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1996), 49; Riva Castleman, Jasper Johns: A Print Retrospective (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1986), 45. 6. David Sylvester, “Shots at a Moving Target,” Art in America, 85:4 (April 1997), 96. “The message for me after a dozen visits was that in the pantheon of painters of the second half of the century it could be Johns who sitteth on the right hand of Newman the Father Almighty. If he does, the iconography is rather apt: Newman’s art is immaculate and in charge; John’s bears the scars of recurrent self-crucifixion.”
s at i r e , i r o n y, a n d a b s t r a c t a r t 2 3 7
2 3 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
6
A B S T R AC T A RT N OW
We have come to the last installment, the sixth
While I do not have anything nearly as exotic
of six Mellon Lectures. I am so painfully aware
left in my holster, I do have so many stories that
of how much has gone unsaid, and how much
I have not told! I would like to refer briefly to
I would still like to say. It reminds me of Ridley
those stories, because they reinforce some of
Scott’s wonderful film Blade Runner, in which
the points I have been making. When I talked
Roy Batty, the blond leader of the androids—
about art in the 1980s and abstraction, I regret
who, you remember, are trying desperately to
not having had time to include de Kooning, es-
extend their shelf life, to get some reprieve on
pecially his wonderful late work. These beauti-
their expiration date—whomps Harrison Ford
ful, aerated, ribbonlike pictures strongly bolster
in a rather epic fight, and then slumps down on
the history that I have been constructing here.
a rain-soaked balcony. He realizes, as his warn-
The unbroken line between, say, de Kooning’s
ing light is flashing, that his time is coming to an
Excavation in 1950 and his 1984 Untitled IV
end. And he says, “I’ve seen things you people
(figs. 6.1, 6.2)—the direct link between a set of
wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the
forms that evolved in the 1940s and those spelled
shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the
out in the 1980s—belies any notion that history
dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments
can be constructed neatly in packages, or that
will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”
abstraction is a sequence of innovations passed
pictures, pictures that are, for all we know, beyond intention, because when he made them he had lost the ability to communicate in any other fashion. He was incapable of carrying on a strong conversation or of sustained recall; by many definitions, he was non–compos mentis. And yet the pictorial intelligence, the sustained memory of the abstractions he had made over the years, is palpably strong. De Kooning’s work in the 1980s also belies the dichotomy between abstraction and representation. The constant slip-sliding of bodily references that we see in 6.1
like a baton from one artist to the next. Instead
this work—the bellies and breasts and curves
Willem de Kooning, Excavation,
it reinforces the idea that abstraction can be a
and tongues that lubriciously slide in and out of
lifetime pursuit, that it can be deeply sustaining
each other—insists that the division of abstrac-
Chicago, Mr. and Mrs. Frank
into old age. Moreover, in de Kooning, abstrac-
tion and representation is a question of artistic
G. Logan Purchase Prize; gift of
tion gives rise to a late-in-life style characterized
practice and pragmatics.
1950. Oil on canvas, 206.2 × 257.3 cm. The Art Institute of
Mr. and Mrs. Noah Goldowsky and Edgar Kaufmann Jr.
2 4 0 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
not by density and failure but by a fresh sense of
It is pragmatic praxis that defends the bor-
aeration, a new kind of life that is amazing and
ders between abstraction and representation,
wonderful to those who knew him and under-
not some theoretical purity of odd lines that can
stood the compacting of his early work.
be drawn vigorously. Remember that Pollock
Looking at de Kooning’s 1984 painting, there
talked about self-censorship in his work: when-
is a strong sense of the artist at play in his old
ever he saw anything recognizable emerging, he
age with the forms that he had inherited. He
rubbed it out. One could not comprehend de
would project slides of his earlier drawings
Kooning’s career—the Women, the early figura-
and trace over them to produce these riotous
tions, the recurrent push toward a corporeal art
in his sculpture in the 1970s—without under standing that the border between abstraction and representation is not something holy but something labile, permutable, and transgressive, like these pictures. I also did not have time to talk about Agnes Martin, whose thin, beautiful executions in graphite and pale oil paint are the opposite of what we were just looking at in de Kooning. Her 1963 canvas and the 1978 watercolor are utterly incorporeal: they have no body—no tongues, no breasts, no sag, no slip, no slide (figs. 6.3, 6.4). They are at the other end of abstraction, and yet not at all cerebral. Despite their seem ing asceticism, they could make the same point as the de Koonings about the necessary sensu ality of abstraction: namely, that the kind of abstraction I am describing in these lectures is never about absolutes but often about nuances.
surface, to feel the subtlety of the tint. Martin’s
6.2
Martin’s work is all about a delicacy of touch
art is all about experience—on the part of both
Willem de Kooning, Untitled
and tint, about the recovering of pale moon
the artist and the observer.
light, of desert beiges and tans, and this draws
Robert Ryman, whom I barely nodded to
upon and is thoroughly dependent on sensory
earlier, presents us with yet a different experi
and sensual experience. In order to understand
ence. Ryman in his maturity is an artist who
this art, you have to be there to feel the touch of
paints nothing but varieties of white can
the pencil, the lightness with which it hits the
vases, and for that reason his work is often
IV, 1984. Oil on canvas, 223.5 × 195.6 cm. Collection of the artist
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 4 1
6.3 Agnes Martin, Field #2, 1963. Oil and graphite on canvas, 190.2 × 190.2 cm. Robert and Jane Meyerhoff Collection, Phoenix, Maryland
Ryman is all about painting; he is an abstrac6.4
tionist who is interested in imagery and in the
Agnes Martin, Untitled, 1978.
nature of painting. But he is the opposite of an
Watercolor and pencil on paper, 22.9 × 22.9 cm. The Museum of
essentialist. Unlike Clement Greenberg, who be-
Contemporary Art, Los Angeles,
lieved there was an essence of painting,1 Ryman
bequest of Marcia Simon Weisman
is sure that there is no essence at the bottom, that painting constantly needs to be changed described as ethereal or removed. In order to
and experimented with, that every aspect of it
show that in fact Ryman is not a desert mys-
leaves open a new vista of possibility for him.
tic, like Martin, but a Matisse-loving urban-
And if I cannot prove my point about Ryman
ite, his work needs to be seen close up, which
with slides, I can at least send you to look at the
I have tried to simulate in a full view of Bond
two beautiful Rymans—untitled paintings of
(fig. 6.5). For everything that is pale and thin
1965–66 (fig. 6.6) and 1961—that now belong
and precise about Martin, there is an unctu-
to the National Gallery, thanks to Jeffrey Weiss’s
ous and idiosyncratic counterpoint in Ryman’s work. For all the rigor and restriction of the path that he set himself, Ryman indulges in a kind of fetishistic precision about the fasteners with which the picture goes on the wall, about the thickness of the stretchers, about the size of the brush he uses, about the unit of the brush stroke—in short, about the stuff of painting. His is an art of constant restlessness, an art that despite its pure appearance, is never in fact about perfection.
2 4 2 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
6.5 Robert Ryman, Bond, 1982. Enamelac on fiberglass panel, redwood, with two aluminum fasteners, four hexagonal bolts, panel: 76.2 × 76.2 cm; overall: 81.3 × 76.2 cm. Collection of the artist
promotion of them. These two signal acquisi-
at the outset of these lectures, the less there
tions are typical of some of the greatest work of
is to look at, the more you have to look, the
Ryman’s career.
more you have to be in the picture. Perhaps
Looking at these paintings, you will grasp
by temperament I am guilty of having been
the perversity of my mission to talk about ab-
overly attentive to abstraction’s noisy, declara-
straction using reproductions. As I cautioned
tive protagonists. I have surely not paid enough
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 4 3
every possible freedom. In fact, quite the opposite! Abstraction is to be seen more as a history of denials, of self-imposed rigors and purposely narrowed concentration. Thus its history is not, as often represented, a line of cumulative gains or cumulative reductions, an inverted pyramidal progression pointing down toward the black square, the ultimate end, the effort to produce the last painting. A better model for abstraction is perhaps the hypertext, where the line between a
and b goes out in a million possible and ever
more complex directions, where artists along the line from a to b find that a' or a'' is a window opening onto an entire universe. 6.6
attention to that quarter of contemporary
Brice Marden is another artist whose work
Robert Ryman, Untitled, 1965–66.
abstraction that is about whispers, innuendo,
I admire and about whom I could have talked
confidences exchanged intimately rather than
more had there been time. At the outset of these
publicly declared. But in part I have done this
lectures you will recall that I set Pollock at one
because, as we have just seen, it is technically
pole as the culmination of one kind of abstrac-
difficult to render this quieter art.
tion and Johns at the other as the vanguard of
Oil on linen, 191.8 × 191.1 cm. National Gallery of Art, Washington, Patrons’ Permanent Fund
2 4 4 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
References to Ryman and Martin are useful,
a new counterpoint to abstraction. Although I
however, because they demonstrate again that
made use of that polarization as a structure, we
the history of abstraction is not, as popularly
have seen again and again throughout this se-
conceived, a history of libertinism, a history of
ries that the most interesting work tends to be a
playing tennis without a net, of allowing oneself
hybrid of these two things, and that the polar-
ization is spurious. Indeed, one of the defining efforts of contemporary abstraction, particularly (but not only) in painting, is the constant effort to pull Johns and Pollock together, and Marden’s work is a good demonstration of that effort. His encaustic, Grove Group I of 1973, has everything to do with the fact that Marden was a guard at the Jewish Museum during Johns’ first show in the 1960s (see fig. 1.44). Vine (fig. 6.7), on the other hand, has all to do with the recovery of Pollock’s legacy, perhaps directly through de Kooning’s ribbonlike pictures of the 1980s that we have just been discussing. Again, purity, absolutes, and barriers are not the is-
space in all of its complexity but with Johns’
6.7
sue. Artists such as Marden try to live with the
touch and the cerebral notion of system. He
Brice Marden, Vine, 1992–93.
legacies of Pollock as a great abstract artist and
is looking beyond the landscape of Pollock,
Johns as a representative painter by mixing and
through the systems of minimalism, for new
Art, New York, gift of Werner
blending what Pollock and Johns stand for: in-
metaphors of density and complexity that
and Elaine Dannheisser
stinct versus intelligence, commitment versus
have as much to do with mental constructs
wariness, immediacy versus reserve, lyricism
and geometry as they have to do with birds’
versus reticence.
nests and a thatch-work of natural richness
One could look beyond Marden to younger
Oil on linen, 243.8 × 260.4 × 6.4 cm. The Museum of Modern
and complexity.
artists like Terry Winters for further evidence.
These are just nods in the direction of all the
In Winters’ 1996 Parallel Rendering I (fig. 6.8)
stories I had hoped to complete in the span of
it seems to me he is trying to remake Pollock’s
these lectures. But let me at least return to some
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 4 5
6.8 Terry Winters, Parallel Rendering I, 1996. Oil on linen, 188.0 × 248.9 cm. © Terry Winters, courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery, New York
2 4 6 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
of the promises I made in the opening lecture.
the manner of one scholar having an in-house
You will remember that I brought onstage in the
academic disagreement with another, but as a
first lecture Ernst Gombrich’s Art and Illusion,
way to give all the skeptics in the house—and
an intellectual landmark of the mid-1950s that
I bet there are still plenty of you out there who,
made a powerful case for illusionist realism as
like Gombrich, dislike abstraction—a more
the great triumph of Western culture. I won-
than respectable stand-in.
dered out loud whether there might be an argu-
The core of my disagreement with Gombrich
ment for abstraction that was as good as Gom-
over these past weeks might be summed up by
brich’s for illusionism—that is, an argument for
comparing Gombrich’s “logo,” the duck / rabbit
abstraction as a legitimate part of both our cog-
drawing (see fig. 1.34), to Andy Warhol’s Ror-
nitive process and our nature as a modern lib-
schach blot of 1984 (see fig. 5.22). Gombrich
eral society. I took on this challenge not just in
liked the drawing so much because it pointed
up the active role of the viewer in puzzling out
This comparison brings us back to one of
representation: you can either see it as a duck or
the great difficulties of abstraction, of getting
as a rabbit, but you can never see it as anything
something to be purely abstract. Looking again
in between or as both. As a viewer, you have to
at Warhol’s painting, we are aware that it is not
make up your mind. Gombrich’s belief that rep-
just a blot we are seeing but a blot with symme-
resentation is a matter of solving dilemmas—
try that we recognize as a Rorschach blot, and by
that you have to posit a question or a schema
recognizing it as such we know where it belongs
in order to get an answer, that making comes
in the history of culture and something about
before recognition—is neatly summarized in
what system of meaning it belongs to. Finding
this drawing. In contrast, it is famously known
something that temporarily defies meaning—in
that there is no controlling what one might
a society in which even blots, squares, cubes,
see in a Rorschach blot; there is no either / or,
and grids have been colonized by culture and
no correct interpretation of the Rorschach.
history—is not in fact easy (playing tennis
Isn’t the idea behind the Rorschach test—and
without a net) because we are meaning-makers,
Warhol’s point in painting these big Rorschach
not just image-makers. It is not just that we
blots on canvas—that abstraction has every-
recognize images, that we find ducks or rabbits;
thing to do with what the viewer brings to it
it is that we are constructed to make meaning
and nothing to do with what is there before us,
out of things, and that we learn from others
that it is entirely a matter of projection? What
how to do it.
is crucial perhaps for Gombrich and many
The cartoon of the little dancer that
others is that the Rorschach stands for the fact
Gombrich uses in his book (see fig. 1.35) was
that there is no intention, that these abstract
meant to speak humorously to the history
shapes are produced by pure chance, and
of style but suggests to me a whole bunch of
therefore how can we possibly read meaning
students trying to get it right, trying to render
into them?
their subject correctly. Whereas the little dancer
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 4 7
2 4 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
thinks she is a flower, she is thought by her
might be the following ideas: verticality was over;
various classmates to be a bird, an octopus, a
painting on the floor and throwing paint down
tree, and so forth. Gombrich’s interests seem to
led to a new kind of physicality, a new way of con-
be primarily in rendering, whereas my interests
tending with gravity; ordered composition was
have been primarily in interpreting. For Gom-
destroyed and in its place was an argument for an
brich, and for many who believe strongly in the
allover evenness; here was a new kind of art that
nature of visual representation and realism, art
hugged the floor and invited participation. Andre
is one subset of the class of the representation of
had one vision of that new allover evenness—an
the visible. What I have been trying to argue, in-
order of equal units (see fig. 3.14)—but as we
versely, is that representation of the visual world
saw earlier, Robert Morris at the same time had
is simply one subset of what art is, or can be,
another idea (see fig. 1.40). For Morris, Pollock
and that intention is not discernible or limiting
was primarily about chance, the idea that a work
within that idea of art.
could be stored in a can and simply poured on
Suppose, for example, that the dance the little
the floor. For him Pollock was an invitation to
girl is doing was the dance that Pollock does over
shapelessness, to contingency, to mutation, to
his canvas (see fig. 1.6). And suppose that, in-
chance and chaos as a new form of imagery.
stead of the little girl dancing it, the only clues
But perhaps what is most interesting about
we had to understand what she had been doing
the dance that Pollock does is in fact the dance
and what she had meant by it were the scratches
itself. We can see that this is true for Yves Klein
on the floor. If that were the dance and Jackson
in 1960, when he stages a performance, Anthro-
Pollock’s Number 1, 1950 (see fig. 1.5) were the
pométries, in which the act of painting on the
result, then we might, if we were Carl Andre in
floor with bodies is the main event, and the
the 1960s, think that the principal thing being
paintings are only the residue (see fig. 2.5).
communicated was a demolition of hierarchies
Not only does the performance take its signal
and the creation of a new field of possibilities.
from Pollock’s dance, but it perhaps also speaks
Among the old hierarchies and new possibilities
of a fineness in Pollock’s line, to which Klein
responds with a particularly French elegance and
ropes, producing a personal vocabulary of
precision—orchestra playing, guests in tuxedoes,
aeration and elevation, and at the same time
and so forth.
a kind of sag that brings the body and gravity
Just as the spun gossamer quality of Pollock
back in a different way. Hesse’s rope pieces have
perhaps finds one translation in Klein, it finds
the gossamer, thin quality and elegance of the
a completely different translation when Richard
Klein, but now with a glutinous and clotted
Serra in 1969 flings not paint onto a canvas but
aspect, the result of her material clinging to the
hot lead into a corner (see fig. 4.22). Everything
ropes in a very personal and tactile way.
that was chic and refined in Klein’s interpreta-
Robert Smithson’s sense of material in
tion becomes laborious, dangerous, and indus-
Asphalt Rundown of 1969 (fig. 6.9) shows him
trial with Serra. What leads Serra into a new
thinking about Pollock’s pouring act in yet
territory of industrial strength may be the black
another way, as one of spillage or defoliation.
house paint that Pollock is using, with its unre-
Smithson is interested, in the context of the late
fined grittiness and power.
1960s, in the question of pollution, in the imag-
Yet if you compare with this what Eva Hesse
ery of Pollock as one of excess, a combination
is doing at about the same time, you would
of power and exuberance that connects with
think that what Serra derived from Pollock was a
defilement and spillage at the same time. This
downward thrust—a collision with the ground,
provides him with the impetus for a new set of
the same kind of interest in gravity that was so
metaphors about American society at the time
important to Morris and Andre. Hesse looks at
of an oil crisis and the Vietnam War.
the same pictures and seizes on the importance
The notion of spillage in a more personal
of their being taken up off the floor and hung
sense might lead to Warhol’s oxidation paint-
vertically on the walls, so that everything that
ings and their specific reference to Pollock’s
had been falling down comes back up, as if it
pouring technique (see fig. 5.20). You will
were being aerated (see figs. 4.34, 4.37). Hesse
remember that Warhol produced the so-called
hangs these fiberglass-covered strings and
piss paintings by having his assistants join
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 4 9
6.9 Robert Smithson, Asphalt Rundown, October 1969. Rome, Italy, Estate of Robert Smithson, courtesy James Cohan Gallery, New York. Art © Estate of Robert Smithson/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY
him in urinating on copper-sensitive canvases.
series of 1989–91, of a particular Chinese callig-
These paintings have an entirely different
rapher (fig. 6.10). He relates the history of cal-
relationship to the body than the big tarry
ligraphy and writing to Pollock in a completely
discharge of Smithson’s Asphalt Rundown. In
different way than Twombly remade Pollock
place of Smithson’s reference to an asphalt spill,
as writing. And finally, we see Winters in the
Warhol uses the spill of human fluids to effect
late 1990s attempting to marry Pollock’s space
an alchemical transformation on his materials.
with the idea of a contemporary cyber-pattern
We looked at Cy Twombly looking at Pollock’s linearity and overall organization in
in a painting appropriately titled Color and Information (fig. 6.11).
1970 and coming up with a kind of furious
The many meanings that we have seen un-
scribbling that amounts to a giant, aerated, cos-
packed from Jackson Pollock—and there are
mic cloud, while his coeval Jasper Johns in 1975
more I could cite—underline what I said earlier
takes the same inspiration—that is, Pollock
about the paucity and narrowness of intention
filtered through the austerity of minimalism—
as a reference point. We have seen how the same
and comes up with something compacted and
form—in this case, Pollock’s poured painting—
having to do with the body (see figs. 5.45, 5.54).
provided a new set of foci and associations for
The surface of Johns’ Weeping Women, unlike
artists of different sensibilities, who found dif-
Twombly’s run-on, clouded, and smeared sur-
ferent truths within this form. We have also seen
face, is searing from the impress of irons onto
repeatedly in this series how different meanings
the flesh of the picture and bleeding with the
and ambitions gravitate toward the same form.
sense of congestion.
The narrow intention of what brings an artist
Marden, as we have seen, could look to
to the canvas does not control meaning nearly
Pollock and find a link to ancient calligraphy,
as much as does the material existence of the
so that his realization of Pollock’s linearity is
picture itself. This is why I have stressed during
through the medium, in the Cold Mountain
these lectures that the experiential dimensions
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 5 1
6.10 Brice Marden, Cold Mountain 5 (Open), 1989–91. Oil on canvas, 274.6 × 366.1 cm. Robert and Jane Meyerhoff Collection, Phoenix, Maryland
2 5 2 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
of abstract art—its scale, materials, method of
wherein arbitrary phonemes and symbols are
fabrication, social context, and tradition—are
pulled together to construct meaning. But what
crucially important to our understanding of it.
semiotics ignores is the fact that shapes, unlike
Using Pollock as a fixed point of reference
phonemes, can never be completely arbitrary;
for the art that follows it yields one, but only
they are immediately invaded with meaning
one, important level of insight into the meaning
by the things people make or have made, by
of the work we have been discussing. It is our
shapes in nature, and so forth. Characteristic of
dependence on the material and experiential
so much of the art that we have looked at over
dimension of art to yield meaning that sets it
the course of these six lectures is a resistance to
apart so sharply from other symbolic systems
metaphysics and idealism and a swing toward
that we use, most notably language. For a long
pragmatic literalism and immediacy. (Remem-
time now art has been analyzed in terms of
ber Stella’s insistence that “what you see is what
semiotics, a symbol system akin to language,
you see,” and Judd’s “goodbye” to rationality?
We just want what’s there. We want specific
illusion because it is dishonest, a kind of blank
objects.2) A resistance to everything that rep-
certainty that can come from the use of repeti-
resented the old humanism is couched in this
tion and sequence, for example, and that always
artwork, including resistance to the standard
wants transparency in the way things are made.
idea of touch in the fabrication of a work of art,
In this pursuit of honesty, there is no sense of
resistance to the standard idea of style, and resis-
mystery, just an absolute declaration of the way
tance to inherited notions of composition. In the
things are done, a literalism. The artists’ materi-
descent from Pollock, work is not idealistic but
als are not transformed but raw, and they often
6.11
literal, in just the same way that Judd declared:
prefer not to use fine art materials.
Terry Winters, Color and Infor-
“The poured paint in Pollock’s work is poured
The motto of these artists and this art—not ideal,
paint, first and foremost.” 3 Therefore, by virtue
not spiritual, involved in the pursuit of honesty—is
of this materialism, it is also not spiritual in the
“we hold these truths to be self-evident.” They are
mation, 1998. Oil and alkyd resin on canvas, 274.3 × 365.8 cm. © Terry Winters, courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery, New York
sense that we have traditionally associated with abstraction. We commonly think about prewar abstraction—about Malevich and Mondrian, for example—that it is idealistic, and that in some sense it is spiritual. What we have been looking at is pointedly not spiritual and it insists not on empyreans far away but on the immediacy of present-tense engagement with the stuff of what is in front of us. It wants to escape from traditional categories and metaphysics in order to force an engagement with the “thereness” and “thingness” of the work in front of us. Thus what we see in this art is a constant pulse or pursuit toward honesty in Judd’s sense: the rejection of
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 5 3
2 5 4 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
there, and there is no denying them. They take no
goal. One knew where one was going. Art was
referents. And yet it has been the pulse between
absolutist, and it involved pure things in the
that self-evidence—between that pursuit of a
search for purity. But we live in the world of the
chimerical certainty, honesty, factuality—and
ironic, the open-ended, and the fragmented,
the attachment to and invasion of ambiguity,
where there is resistance to any one narrative.
association, and metaphor that has shaped this
We uphold relativism as opposed to absolutism,
discussion. While idealism on the level of Mon-
and the love of the impure and the heteroge-
drian or Malevich is gone from this type of work,
neous as opposed to the pure. In this framing of
there is a similar utopian aspect to the dream of
history, word has it that we are bereft, but a hell
minimalists and others, which is to defer know-
of a lot smarter than they were.
ing, to avoid categories of understanding, to step
In our loss of illusions we have gained a kind
outside the “glueyness” of both history and in-
of bleak savvy. You could trace it, for example,
terpretation, and to deal with a dream world of
if you compared Mondrian to Kelly. We looked
point-blank and immediate response. In fact, we
at Kelly’s Colors for a Large Wall of 1951 (see
cannot escape, as I said in one of these lectures,
fig. 1.11. In Mondrian, we saw the idea of a
either from the realm of interpretation or from
theosophical or platonic balance of vertical
the realm of history.
and horizontal and the Ur-principles of the
Everything I have said about art since
universe, with pure complementary colors, as
Pollock and its rejection of idealism gives an
the reductive demonstration of absolutes in
“after the fall” ring to its different kind of spiri-
the optical world. All of Mondrian’s idealism
tuality, its dream of immediacy and truth. In
is chucked out the window by Kelly, who in-
fact, it is standard to describe the era in these
spired by Arp and Cage, instead plays with the
terms. In the prewar world that Greenberg de-
stochastic, with chance, with the roll of the dice
scribes, there used to be idealism, there used
in organizing this seemingly random beat of
to be essentialism. Art had a linear teleology, a
nonprimary colors that refer to his experience
of the Mediterranean. And this has an altogether
and association invade the supposedly neutral
lightweight, upbeat kind of impersonality in
with a work like Byron Kim’s Synecdoche of
which the subjectivity of balance so important to
1991–92 (fig. 6.12). The term “synecdoche” is
Mondrian—the construction of an order of op-
used in literary studies or rhetoric to indicate
positions and of relationships of small to large,
the use of the part for the whole, the smaller
big areas to small areas, thick lines to thin lines—
part standing for the total. Each of the squares in
is gone in favor of the grid, the depersonalized
Kim’s work is a painting of an individual human
if not deuniversalized form in Kelly’s work.
being, people of different races and skin tones,
It does not stop with Kelly, however. Richter
and a small part of the anatomy of that human
in his 1024 Colors of 1973 (see fig. 5.36) says, in
being—under the arm, the back of the thigh, the
essence to Kelly—at a time when I think he is
buttocks, and so on—and each painting is labeled
as yet completely unaware of Kelly—You want
on the back as to the part of the body represented
anonymous colors? You want impersonality? You
and the particular person represented. Far from
want anti-idealism? Don’t give me this upbeat,
being impersonal, Kim wants to insist that color
random chance, sense of Mediterranean col-
is not neutral, color cannot be a thing divorced
ors. Give me the Winsor-Newton catalogue! Give
from the world, but color has everything to do
me Canal Street. I’ll show you standardization.
with ethnicity and individuality.
I’ll show you what color is. Color is existing on a
This point is driven further home, in re-
grid, like things you buy. It is absolutely deper
sponse to Richter by the artist Rachel Lacho-
sonalized. I can be more impersonal than you
wicz from California in a 1993 picture, a color
are, and colder still. And I am going to achieve
chart made entirely out of tints of eye shadow
utter neutrality. This is going to be as nonsubjec-
(fig. 6.13). Lachowicz insists, as a feminist
tive and purely cold and neutral as you can get.
artist, that the cold impersonality of Richter is
When we arrive at the 1990s, Richter is re
by definition masculine and that in fact color
minded that there is no such thing, that history
has everything to do with vanity, not simply
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 5 5
6.12
with what we are given in terms of skin tone,
others? And does it not have a wearisome habit,
Byron Kim, Synecdoche,
but with how we construct our social identity.
always putting us at the end of something rather
Again, the art is getting smarter in relationship
than possibly near the beginning? How many
to Richter and Kelly and others; it is in fact
“posts” can we be? We have been post-Vietnam,
slightly smart-ass, in the sense that it is wise to
post–fall of the wall, post–Communist era. So
the so-called impersonality of its predecessors.
many scholars and critics—and artists too—are
So we have a constant process, as I described,
accustomed to thinking that the party was over
of de-idealization in a sense embedding into
before they got there, and that everything has
history.
to be described in terms of the ruination of a
1991–92. Oil on wood, 100 panels at 25.4 × 20.3 cm. Courtesy of the Max Protetch Gallery, New York
But are we still satisfied with that frame-
2 5 6 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
former set of ideals.
work for dealing with the history that we have
I would like to offer, and I may not have time
covered? Does it not have a nasty echo of the
to prove it if I haven’t already, that the world of
old sense of cumulative progress that we so
abstraction post-1960 is neither the culmina-
disliked about the teleology of Greenberg and
tion of what came before it nor the destruction
6.13 Rachel Lachowicz, Color Chart Flat #1, 1993. Eye shadow in aluminum pans mounted on aluminum panel, 121.9 × 119.4 cm. Private collection, courtesy Shoshana Wayne Gallery, Santa Monica, California
of or postscript to it. Earlier we asked whether
some very basic things about the way art works,
minimalism was the culmination of modernist
the way abstraction works, in a new key. As for
invention, the ultimate reduction, à la Malevich,
lost illusions and lost ideals, in some sense you
or the total destruction of the whole narrative,
cannot lose what you never had. Furthermore,
à la Duchamp. I do not think those are useful
these theories tend to construct a straw man
categories, because what we have been seeing
of earlier art, and they pay much more atten-
may even be a replay or a reconstitution of
tion to manifestos and rhetoric than they do to
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 5 7
as a dream or as a concept, is not a destination on the train, but a loop point, a rebound point, back into the world of abstraction.) To take one example, I would look at Mondrian’s career, which I think is the greatest single career in abstraction prior to 1945. Look at his Pier and Ocean series of 1914 (see fig. 5.12), and look at his career as it comes to an end in 1942–43 with Broadway Boogie Woogie (fig. 6.14). Now what we see here is not a vector of perfection or reduction, but a kind of arc in which the suggestion of Parisian cubism— Braque and Picasso—gives Mondrian the clues that he needs to distill a set of essential refer6.14
the actual life of forms in early modern art. (I
ences from the dazzle of light on water as he sits
Piet Mondrian, Broadway Boogie
should say, parenthetically, the twentieth century
on the shore in Holland with the flat horizon
being over, that it is time to recognize that so-
before him: horizontals and verticals that com-
Modern Art, New York, given
called pure abstraction—the abstraction of the
press all of his experience into a different kind of
anonymously. © 2006 Mondrian/
theorists that erects strong barriers around it-
organized shimmer, a different kind of rhythm,
self, that reduces itself down to nothing as a
which he feels subtracts from the world a more
permanent point—is not the main line of
essential set of its rhythms and phenomena into
twentieth-century art. It is certainly not Pi
an abstract language. He does not stop there, but
casso’s line, nor Matisse’s line, nor that of many
as he pulls out from that world and creates an
careers. It is a flash that arises from time to time,
autonomous world, in something like Composi-
which makes one think that pure abstraction,
tion No. II (see fig. 2.25), he uses those building
Woogie, 1942–43. Oil on canvas, 127 × 127 cm. The Museum of
Holtman Trust c/o HCR International, Warrentown, VA
2 5 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
blocks to come back to the grid of New York
I have described is coexisting in different stages
City, to the rhythm of boogie woogie, to things
at once. We barely get used to Serra’s One Ton
that he could not have imagined when he stood
Prop, in lead originally and then in steel (see
on the shore and made Pier and Ocean in 1914,
fig. 1.17), before we have in 1993 Rachel Lacho-
6.15
to things that didn’t exist: the rhythm of modern
wicz’s Sarah (fig 6.15), made out of lipstick and
Rachel Lachowicz, Sarah, 1993.
New York in the 1940s, the idea of the kind of
wax, just as her color chart was made out of eye
jazz that he so loved. What he had done through
shadow (fig. 6.13). Hers is an accusation that the
courtesy of Shoshana Wayne
his voyage into abstraction was to provide him-
seeming neutrality of Serra is again intensely
Gallery, Santa Monica, California
Lipstick and wax, 121.9 × 121.9 × 121.9 cm. Private collection,
self with the building blocks for a new kind of analogue in Broadway Boogie Woogie, a new kind of rhythm of modernity, a picture utterly of its time, representational in the broadest sense. That is, it belongs to its moment in history as much as to its artist, and it depends absolutely on abstraction having been there in the middle of the process, as I said, not as a destination or final stopping point. Within this one career we have an iteration of what we have seen so often—in Pollock’s move into Hesse, in Pollock’s move into Smithson, for example: the presence of a so-called pure abstraction refreshing and regenerating the possibility of representation to contend with new sensations of the world. In this regard the 1990s present a strange time, because the life cycle of abstraction that
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 5 9
done with plates of steel and balance? Because that is still being done. And it is being done in fact by the same artist in some of the most remarkable work of the last ten years. In the late 1980s Serra contended with the city of New York over a large tilted arc, a big conic section of rusting steel, that he had been commissioned to install in Federal Plaza in 6.16
masculine and delimited, that the abstraction
downtown Manhattan (fig. 6.16). Someone who
Richard Serra, Tilted Arc, 1981.
that Serra claims is only coded representation,
worked in the office building protested and took
that abstraction is in some sense impossible. So
up a poll. Eventually the piece was taken away.
says this jibe. And yet is this in fact the end of
Serra argued that to remove the piece, which
abstraction? The arrival of something like the
was site specific, was to destroy it. There was a
Lachowicz? Is it more knowing than the Serra? Is
big court case and many hearings. The Tilted Arc
it wiser? Or is this one-liner only a natural part
episode represents one of the low points, prob-
of a recurrent life cycle, the cycling back and
ably of Serra’s life, but certainly in the history
forth between the pursuit of the neutral and
of abstraction’s encounter with society. There
the abstract and the recursion of social mean-
is practically nothing to like anywhere in this
ing and metaphor? If Lachowicz makes a mis-
story of public consensus versus avant-garde
take about Serra, it is the classic mistake of es-
art. On one side, Serra’s supporters pounding
sentialism, I think—essentialism and meaning.
their copies of Quotations from Chairman Mao
The point about these four plates of steel, put
on the podium; on the other, opponents of the
together in a balanced cube, is not what these
arc expressing their fear that bombers are going
things are, what this thing is, but what you can
to hide behind this arc. A plague on all their
do with those things, or this thing. What can be
houses! This was perhaps the most benighted
Steel, New York City, destroyed
2 6 0 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
possible site for a work of art in the city of New York, and not one of Serra’s finest hours, it seems to me. And from this destruction, from this debacle, many an artist might have skulked away into a diminishing career. But in fact the opposite happened. In the early 1990s Serra made two pieces in swift succession. Intersection in Basel and a larger version, called Intersection II, now owned
he produces something far larger, I think, than
6.17
by the Museum of Modern Art (figs. 6.17, 6.18).
the sum of its parts. The simple increase in
Richard Serra, Intersection, 1992.
Looking at Intersection II head-on, you can see
geometric scale, combined with his material,
that it is pretty simple—the same old thing as
gives it an astonishing presence. Encountering
Geschenk von 272 Bürgerinnen
One Ton Prop (see fig. 1.17). Just plates of steel
its enormous scale in a very narrow gallery, as
und Bürgern an den Kanton Basel-
and gravity. Only now the steel plates are much
you do at MoMA, gives you the sense that you
bigger and they involve an odd kind of econ-
are at great peril, even if you understand that
omy. They are four sections of cones; imagine
the conic section cannot tip over (similar pieces
peeling off one slice from the outside edge of an
to this were in an earthquake in Los Angeles and
extremely large cone and sectioning it. Serra’s
walked a couple of feet across the floor with-
result is two plates on the outside, one leaning
out falling). Still, you have to convince yourself
inward, one leaning outward, and two on the
to believe that it cannot tip over when you are
inside behaving similarly. Turning the plate on
standing beside it, conjuring up a set of asso-
the far left upside down, you get the plate that
ciations that includes vast ocean liners. Then
is second from the right; turning the one on
you remember that Serra’s family had worked
the far right upside down, you get the second
in shipyards in San Francisco, and you begin to
plate from the left. By this economy, however,
feel there is something elegiac about this metal.
Cor-Ten steel; four elements, 370 × 1300 × 5.5 cm (each element).
Stadt zuhanden der Öffentlichen, Kunstsammlung Basel 1994
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 6 1
2 6 2 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
The art you are looking at is big, rusting hard-
Serra has created an ovoid, womblike interior
ware made in a software age.
space within Intersection II that, in comparison
We talked about Serra’s nostalgia for a kind
to the feeling of compression and narrowness
of 1930s labor politics in the flinging-lead piece
you experience on the outside corridors of the
of the late 1960s, and the whole idea of the Soho
work, brings a huge sense of release and a regain
loft and the replacement of the 1930s by New
of the pictorial. By the accidents of the rusting
Leftism. But here in Serra’s work something
steel and metals that he works with, Serra recov-
different is happening, it seems to me. The in-
ers some sense of Pollock, of Still, of Newman:
vestment in metal that had been Brancusi’s and
a vast expanse of rusting orange, and this very
Leger’s, metal as the material of modernity in
delicate surface. Remember we talked about
David Smith, now has a larger, grander pres-
the lead casting in the flung piece of 1969 as
ence but also a huge sense of brooding, a kind
having a Whistlerian delicacy and fineness. For
of monumentality that is obdurate, not lively,
all that Serra denies having any interest, that
not polished.
same velvety quality of rusting steel—which is
We also talked earlier about Serra’s sense of
utterly fragile and vulnerable, which can never
poise and balance, and how in the prop pieces
be repaired if scratched—gives a kind of beauti-
(see fig. 4.27) there is a constant tension be-
ful bloom and delicacy to these massive, hulking
tween the menace and threat of great work
steel plates of Intersection II as they stand before
and the ballerina-like precision. Now this set of
the awed spectator.
tensions and paradoxes in Serra’s work begins
What to do with curved plates of steel? Make
to be enlarged in every possible sense. For the
more of them! Take something, do something to
first time now you have a real interior space in
them, do something else to them! Jasper Johns’
Serra, utterly unlike the space of Delineator (see
dictum: There is no particular meaning to it;
fig. 4.26), where you felt like a fly in a press-
there is not any metaphor to be made. You’ve
ing machine, threatened between two plates.
made a curved plate? How about a torqued
6.18 Richard Serra, Intersection II (head-on view), 1992. Cor-Ten steel, four plates, each 400 × 1700 × 5 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of Ronald S. Lauder
ellipse? It is a simple problem that came to Serra
and you twist the two. It is a different way of
when he looked at the dome of Borromini’s
thinking about geometry. Remember what I said
church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane in
about the progress of abstraction not necessarily
Rome and thought about the idea of the transi-
being from a to b but from a to a' to a''? It is not
tion between the side chapels and the oval dome
about ovals but about what happens between
at the top, in terms of what happens if you have
them. What does the space look like between
an oval on the floor and an oval on the ceiling
these two things if the ovals are torqued? That
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 6 3
Mondrian or Vantongerloo, sculpture of cubist origin. Instead now the curve has come in and produced a kind of drunken, fun-house geometry, where things are warped and twisted, where massive plates seem to heave over your head and then slam over against you. And when you look at things inside, they seem to be made partly out of Silly Putty or taffy, yet of course they are steel. 6.19
is the void that Serra wants to make solid. He
The cognitive dissonance is enormous, especially
Ellipse models in Serra studio
wants to find the shape of something intangible
when you get inside and feel their huge shape
and make it hugely weighty.
created by different plates of steel put together.
2 6 4 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
This is a simple, even stupid, premise of tran-
Order is innate to these works. They could
sition between geometries. And yet what it pro-
not be made without a computer. They are as
duces is extraordinary! Serra uses models made
pure an expression of geometry as is a square,
by twisting malleable pieces of lead and trying
a triangle, or any ideal or stable form. But they
them out in sand or on top of wood, exploring
are precisely about covert order, the kind of or-
how he could make plates of steel fill that void,
der that cannot be understood but can only be
make that transition (fig. 6.19). And the results,
experienced in an overloaded panoply of con-
as seen in the installation at the Dia Art Founda-
flicting sensations: things leaning away from
tion, are the torqued ellipses of 1996–2000 (fig.
you, leaning toward you, falling over your head,
6.20). These and other Serras are on view at the
falling away from you, and so forth. Serra tests
new Dia Beacon facility an hour north of New
the subtlety and complexity of their geometry
York City. They are remarkable structures in the
against the limits of the brutality of the material,
sense that—looking at, for example, Torqued El-
pushes to its limits the technology that makes
lipse IV of 1998 from the side (fig. 6.21)—they
these work. They are created with computer-
are no longer the kind of ideal geometry of
assisted design techniques in order to make
the shapes that put the plates together, but the pieces of steel themselves are bent on the largest machines possible, those used formerly for old battleships. Serra has now moved on to even larger plates of steel that are being shaped in factories in France that formerly made the sides of nuclear reactors. Serra brings the monumentality of old technology back to life in this amazing new liberation of geometry by brute force. If you have made one torqued ellipse, what do you do next? You make two! You make a double torqued ellipse. Here is an overhead view of two torqued ellipses, one nested inside the other. The sense that I talked about before of the slur and bend and distension and distortion of geometry is even more aggressively powerful (fig. 6.22). The experience of going through them now equates not simply to walking into an astonishing space but to walking through cor-
art dealer Richard Bellamy, of 2001, Serra has
6.20
ridors and having no idea where one is going,
pushed to bigger technology and a more com-
Richard Serra, Torqued Ellipse II,
as one might, for example, in the corridors of
plex arrangement of steel pieces. And you can
Intersection II—round and round to arrive at
see how complex the piece has to be, in the sense
and 2000, 2000. Installation
an interior space of an entirely different kind.
that joints have to be made at each of the many
view at Dia:Beacon, New York.
And from the torqued ellipses, he moves into
bends, and that all sorts of pieces have to be
spirals, another form of geometry. For example,
assembled into what appears to be a seamless
in the spiral called Bellamy, a memorial for the
form (fig. 6.24 e, h).
1996; Double Torqued Ellipse, 1997; Torqued Ellipse I, 1996;
Collection Dia Art Foundation
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 6 5
Serra’s spiral is only a stopping point in the work that he made in his late fifties and early sixties, an astonishing rebirth of a great artist at the end of the twentieth century. But it is a good place to pause for a moment and think, because it raises again that question of idealism and geometry that we talked about before. Had the huge building modeled in Tatlin’s Monument to the Third International of 1920 ever been realized, it would have been many times taller than the Eiffel Tower, a great skyscraper with revolving rooms inside of it, whose tilt was the tilt of the axis of the earth, whose spiral was thought to relate to spiral galaxies, whose rooms rotated in relation to the rhythms of the planets and the sun and the moon, where everything about society and culture was organized around the implacable laws of nature (fig. 6.23). The millennial, utopian optimism about the order of the spiral perhaps finds its opposite number in Smithson’s Spiral Jetty of 1970 in the Great
6.21 (above)
6.22 (below)
Richard Serra, Torqued Ellipse IV (side
Richard Serra, Double Torqued
Salt Lake (see fig. 4.10), which you remember
view), 1998. Weatherproof steel, 371.9 ×
Ellipse II (overhead view), 1998.
we talked about as a monument of bleak iso-
807.7 × 990.6 cm. The Museum of
Weatherproof steel, outer ellipse:
Modern Art, New York, fractional and
358.1 × 838.2 × 1,097.3 cm; inner
lation, a metaphor for the last mark on earth,
promised gift by Leon and Debra Black
ellipse: 358.1 × 868.7 × 594.4 cm; plate thickness: 5.1 cm. Leon and Debra Black, New York
2 6 6 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
6.23 Vladmir Tatlin, Model of the Monument to the Third International, 1920. The Museum of Modern Art, New York
visible from space, a sign of entropy, and a crystallization of the relationship between the heat death of the universe and the devastation of culture on earth and nature as we knew it in the 1970s—in short, a monument of dystopian, millennial pessimism. Both the Tatlin and the Smithson entertain the old idea that the authority of the shapes we make, the authority of the art we spawn, should derive from natural law, that the things humans produce should be in synchrony with higher forms above, should derive their authority from the necessary and from the absolute. This, it
in a literal and experiential sense. Here what
seems to me, is exactly what Serra’s art does not
Fried called “the theater of minimalism,” the
do. Serra’s spiral is a summation of the prag-
displacement of the logic of order from inside
matism and literalism that I spoke of before, of
the composition of the piece to the relationship
the defeat of idealism and the defeat of order.
of the viewer and the piece, reaches a new height.
It is an art of subjectivity, as certainly as Agnes
At the same time, the ambition of scale that
Martin or Robert Ryman created an art of their
Pollock had launched, which kindled Smithson,
subjectivity. Serra’s art is dependent on experi-
and Heizer, and earthworks, has been corralled
ence, and specifically sculptural experience; one
back into interior form. And the ambition of
has to move through the piece to understand it.
linking architecture with sculpture that we
There is no understanding Serra in an abstract
saw in the early 1970s has been translated back
sense; this work can only be comprehended
into sculpture.
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 6 7
6.24 Torqued Ellipses by Richard Serra at the Guggenheim Bilbao. Eight stills of Richard Serra walking into spiral sculptures from Charlie Rose interview, 2001.
I want to take you through Serra’s Torqued
Images e and h: Bellamy, 2001, weatherproof steel, overall:
Ellipses of 2001, courtesy of Charlie Rose
401.3 × 1,348.7 × 1.000.8 cm,
and the video that he made of Serra walking
plate thickness: 5.1 cm. All other images: Sylvester, 2001, weather-
a
proof steel, overall: 414 × 1,249.7 ×
through them. As you follow me through the work (fig. 6.24), think about the experience
965.2 cm, plate thickness: 5.1 cm
of things unfamiliar, and about the reassurance of forms of nature or higher authority. As Serra walks into the spiral, it begins to close over us like a tent; the two sides lean in. The tent begins to close, and the overhang b
becomes perilous. Serra moves farther into the piece, which now begins to close behind us, at the same time that the walls begin to right themselves and pull away from us. Serra walks farther in, and now we are totally lost in the path. There is no telling what is behind or ahead of us, and the two walls are no longer like a tent, but almost like a cathedral, rising
c
straight up on either side of us. Now the work spreads apart, and we feel no longer that we
d
2 6 8 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
are in a cathedral but almost as if we are in the parting of the Red Sea; things fall apart from us on either side. The work begins to lurch, and we feel the wall fall away from us.
e
Instead of experiencing a beautiful parting as we did just a moment ago, now we feel like a drunken sailor, with the wall pitching away from us. And now the work begins to lean both ways against us, and we feel like we can barely stand up. We go farther and the thing begins to pitch the other way. Having been a tent, having risen to a cathedral, having
f
spread apart, now it pushes us in the other direction, and we are tilted over. We come from having left the light behind to arriving at the corner where we face an opening into the center. Now we begin to enter the center of the spiral, and now we are finally in the field of the ellipse, in the center of this amaz-
g
ing work of art.
h
A b s t r a c t a r t n o w 2 6 9
■■■
2 7 0 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
The dream of culture having to do with the
mous symbol systems that have a huge variety of
necessity of nature, the idea that we talked about
so-called natural grammars and rules of order
in Vasarely, Gombrich’s dream that the way we
that are in mutation throughout history.
are wired individually is the basis of what we do
Making is the invention of autonomous sys-
collectively, that what we need to do is form an art
tems, like abstraction. And what then replaces
that is true to our neurology and hence univer-
matching? What are the criteria? What is the
sal—this dream is false. The ideal of the necessity
correction? How do we make progress? How
of nature as the informative culture, the ideal of
do we measure whether we have moved ahead?
neurology and internal organization as the basis
There is only bottomless debate, fragmented
for our culture, is false. What is important about
and plural consensus, with overlapping edges
us individually, what makes us human, is pre-
that evolve through history with no fixed goal.
cisely that we are wired for communication, for
Instead of the model of constant correction, or
negotiation, for exchange with others.
getting closer and closer to some absolute order,
What matters in abstract art is not involuntary
what we are always about in culture is getting
firing of neurons, not our ability to recognize
better locally, with no idea of any final best. This
the duck or the rabbit. Making is more powerful
is an order not based on any natural or invol-
than that. Our humanity and our culture are not
untary sequence or progression, a making not
to be based on what is involuntary but on our
simply discovered or matching some standard
will to make things that form a second nature by
but rather based on a process of invention and
invention and imagination. Making in art is not
constant debate. This is why abstract art, and
just a corollary of problem solving, of producing
modern art in general, being based on subjec-
schemas that tell you whether it is a duck or a
tive experience and open-ended interpretation,
rabbit, of producing things that are corollaries
is not universal or the culmination of anything
for the discovery of existing truths. Instead,
in history but the contingent phenomena of a
making is the capacity of constructing autono-
modern, secular, liberal society.
Abstraction is precisely not grounded in
is by this very process that it re-energizes our
any universal or grand generalities. It is tied
shared culture. This freedom and individual-
to individual experience and to individual
ism in the creation of art is an irritant, like so
sensibility, as they are given greater scope and
much sand thrown into our shells. And for all
play. One part of modernity in fact believes in
the sand that we put up with, we get fantastic
absolute order, and this is one of the reasons
results, pearls!
that totalitarian governments have never cared
Abstraction has been less a search for the
for abstract art. Our common culture—the
ultimately meaningful, as I have described
thing that we call our common culture, what
it, than a recurrent push for the temporarily
is part of our society—comes, I am arguing,
meaningless: that is, things that are found not
precisely from what is not shared among us. It
often in exotic realms but rather on the edges of
is not the universal wiring, not the neurology,
banality, familiarity, and the man-made world.
not the absolute forms of things external to us.
It is the production of forms of order that are
The crucial motor generating cultural change,
not recognizable as order, but vehicles of feel-
churning out the new, is best found in modern
ing that seem impersonal, vessels of intelligence
society in private visions, even when those vi-
that appear utterly dumb. Abstract art is a sym-
sions are seemingly stupid, banal, hermetic, and
bolic game, and it is akin to all human games:
utterly particular.
you have to get into it, risk and all, and this takes
A corollary to the idea that the generator of
a certain act of faith. But what kind of faith? Not
the new is found in private visions is the idea that
faith in absolutes, not a religious kind of faith. A
abstract art—far from speaking to those things
faith in possibility, a faith not that we will know
that unite us, to what we all have in common—is
something finally, but a faith in not knowing, a
generated precisely from giving the greatest
faith in our ignorance, a faith in our being con-
vent to those things that make us individually
founded and dumbfounded, a faith fertile with
different and separate from each other. And it
possible meaning and growth.
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 7 1
From this field of not knowing, from our
ing us to change when we least expect it, and
ignorance, from our dumbfoundedness and
slower by linking us to traditions in the past,
disorientation, artists get us into the history of
different from the clocks that tick away in our
our culture, make our culture go. They produce
own lives.
from the form of things defamiliarized, from
In this, I have faith. In surprise, I guess is the
our refocus on the things we thought we knew,
word, I have faith, because of works of art like
from the banal, from the points between a and b,
this. I believe in abstract art. If I have not been
from all those momentary interstices where we
able to justify it, I can perhaps say with the prag-
have no category and no form of understand-
matist, with the literalist: There it is. I have shown
ing. They produce our fresh understanding of
it to you. It has been done. It is being done. And
the world of culture as separate from nature, as
because it can be done, it will be done.
separate from the clock of events in the rest of history: separate by moving faster and stimulat-
2 7 2 P i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
And now, I am done.
N ot e s
1. Clement Greenberg, in Modernist Painting
to get out of my paintings, and all I ever get out
(1960), writes: “The essence of Modernism lies,
of them, is the fact that you can see the whole idea
as I see it, in the use of characteristic methods of a
without any confusion. . . . What you see is what
discipline to criticize the discipline itself, not in order
you see.” Judd, see above, chapter 3, n. 11.
to subvert it but in order to entrench it more firmly in its area of competence.” 2. Stella, quoted in Bruce Glaser interview
3. Judd, “Jackson Pollock,” Arts Magazine (April 1967): “The dripped paint in most of Pollock’s paintings is dripped paint.”
(ARTnews, September 1966): “All I want anyone
A b s t r ac t a rt n ow 2 7 3
2 7 4 T h i s i s a r u n n i n g f o ot
ac k n ow l e d g m e n t s
Kirk publicly thanked some of the people who
to work uninterruptedly and with the freedom
made his Mellon Lectures possible. In his own
most scholars only dream of. The exchange of
words:
ideas with the other members and fellows added
I’d like to thank Rusty Powell, the director of the National Gallery of Art, for his hospitality here. I’d like to thank Hank Millon, the former dean of the Center for Advanced Study in the Visual Arts, who was dean when this invitation was extended to me; Elizabeth Cropper, the current dean of CASVA who has been a perfectly wonderful host these past weeks; and her two associate deans, Peter Lukehart and Therese O’Malley; and then those that handled the problems of the doors and crowds, Laura Kinneberg and Kimberly Rodeffer; my research assistant in New York, Paulina Wanda Pobocha; and finally my silent partner at the other end of the auditorium, our projectionist, Jeannie Bernhards.
to his happiness there. He would also be grateful to IAS for its generous contribution toward the production costs of this book. Kirk would have appreciated the talented work done at Princeton University Press to produce this book: editor Hanne Winarsky, book designer Maria Lindenfeldar, copyeditor Dale Cotton, and production editor Terri O’Prey. As he well knew, the quality of this book would depend on the careful editing of the audio tapes and transcripts. Kirk would be enormously grateful to Judy Metro of the National Gallery
■■■
for her dedicated efforts to keep the special flow of his words and ideas alive on the page.
I believe he would have continued his thank
For their continuing conversations, friend-
you’s by acknowledging the Institute for Ad-
ship, and care during the development of these
vanced Study for the singular opportunity the
lectures, Kirk would have extended loving
institution provided him to develop the Mel-
thanks to his friends Adam Gopnik and Pepe
lon Lectures. The two years at IAS allowed him
Karmel and his brother Sam Varnedoe. And
Ac k n ow l e d g m e n t s 2 7 5
to the artists whose work he discussed in the
all that his years as a scholar and teacher had
lectures he would be especially grateful because
committed to his formidable memory; all that
without their work he couldn’t have done his
he learned in the years managing the greatest
work.
collection of modern art in the world; all that he shared with and learned from the artists and
During the final lecture, Kirk thanked the de-
colleagues he knew and admired.
voted and loyal audience who came to hear him week after week. I know that the enthusiasm
In the last two years of his life he was sometimes
and warmth of the audience sustained him in
overcome by frustration and despair, but Kirk
a profound way. Kirk had the impossibly poi-
was a player, and he was courageous. He gave us
gnant task of distilling everything into what
all he could in the time left to him, and for that
he knew would be his last public appearance:
I want to thank Kirk. Elyn Zimmerman
2 7 6 p i c t u r e s o f n ot h i n g
Index Note: Page numbers in italic type indicate illustrations. abstract art: “abstraction” and, 47; as communistic, 50; defined by what it is not, 97; design compared to, 19, 27, 61; early twentieth century, 2–3; as “emperor’s new clothes,” 28–29, 42, 95, 201; and emptiness, 42; as endpoint of art, 4, 21, 35, 44n3, 98–99, 154, 258; French, in 1930s, 47; as game, 271; Gombrich on, xi, 27–28; historical quality of, xi, 244, 254–56, 259, 270; historicist model of, 27–28, 35, 36–40, 44n3, 51–52, 87, 91, 254, 256; history of art and, 4, 21, 27–28, 35, 44n3, 51–52, 87, 91, 256–58; humanistic quality of, xi; idealism and, 191, 201, 252–54; and innovation, xi, 35–36, 270; interpretation of, 8, 31–34, 41–42, 247–48, 270 (see also meaning of; reception of; theory of); irony and (see satire and irony about); literal versus, 97–102; meaning of (see meaning of abstract art); natural law and, 266–67, 270; in 1950s, 48; part-time practitioners of, 21, 214; post–World War II, 3–6; process of art making, 4–5, 29; pure, 258–59; rational quality of, xi; reception of, 22, 181, 236 (see also interpretation of; theory of); representation and, 48, 196–97, 240–41; and resemblance, 32–34, 191; return to,
irony and, 213–36; satire and irony about, 21, 191–236; as stylistic option, 21; theory of, 28–29 (see also interpretation of); tradition of, 41–42; and universalism, 2, 27–28, 91, 270; value of, xv–xvi, 23, 25, 34, 40–41, 43, 270–72. See also abstract expressionism; constructivism; minimalism abstract art as language: complexity of, xv–xvi, 40–41; evolution of, xi, 270; and invention, 35–36; semi otics and, 252 abstract expressionism: as American art, 3–4, 48–54; Cold War and, 10, 12, 48–53; death of, 5, 48, 121; emergence of, 3–5; Heizer and, 161; jokes at expense of, 18–21, 193–95; meaning of, 53 abstraction, meaning of, 47 Advancing American Art (exhibition), 50 advertising: abstraction in, 76; Bauhaus and, 61; Russian constructivism and, 60 Alain, Egyptian Art Class. Nude Woman Posing in Front of Class, 25 Albers, Josef, 86; Homage to the Square in Wide Light, 61, 62, 92; Interior, 73, 74; To Monte Alban, 63, 65; Steps, 76 Alhambra tiles, 28
Allais, Alphonse: First Communion of Anemic Young Girls in Snowy Weather, 192; A Harvest of Tomatoes on the Edge of the Red Sea Harvested by Apoplectic Cardinals, 192; Total Eclipse of the Sun in Darkest Africa, 192 allover composition, 5, 151, 224 American art: abstract expressionism as, 3–4, 48–54; constructivist influence in, 86; earthworks as, 156; minimalism as, 11–12, 16, 54, 57; Pollock’s paintings as, 3–4, 12; precisionism and, 71 analytic cubism, 5–6, 123 Andre, Carl, 10, 66, 86, 92, 99–102, 105, 121, 138, 141, 175–76; 8001 and 8002 Mönchengladbach, 109, 248; Cedar Piece, 57–59, 58; 144 Lead Square, 11, 12, 102; Pyramid, 71; Redan, 97, 99 ; Spill (Scatter Piece), 162, 164 Annie Hall (Allen), 167 anthropomorphism, 58, 101 anti-art, 95 anti-institutional aesthetic, 146, 208 architecture: Heizer and, 152; Kelly and, 78; Lichtenstein’s entablature series and, 195–96; Mondrian as influence on, 72; polychrome façade, Universidad Central de Venezuela (Otero), 78, 82; postminimalism and, 149; Smith (Tony) and, 67, 166
Index 277
Arp, Jean, 77, 204, 254; Madame Torso in a Wavy Hat, 210–11, 211 Art and Illusion (Gombrich), x–xi, 25, 28, 31, 91, 246 Artforum (magazine), 146 Artnews (magazine), 107 Art of the Real (exhibition), 56, 57, 66, 71, 74 audience. See viewer Aycock, Alice, Ramp Structure, 149 Baader-Meinhof Gang, 218 Bachelard, Gaston, The Poetics of Space, 149 bad faith, 201. See also good faith Baez, Joan, 173 Barbus, 172 Baudrillard, Jean, 209 Bauhaus, 3, 61 Bayer, Herbert, Architecture Slide Lecture, Professor Hans Poelzig, 61, 63 beat generation, 66 Beatles, 146 Beaton, Cecil, “The New Soft Look,” 53 Bell, Larry, Untitled, 111, 112 Bellamy, Richard, 265 Bernstein Brothers, 54, 55, 110 Bill, Max, 66, 77, 82, 82n, 85 Black Mountain College, 61 Bladen, Ronald, X, 67, 69 Blade Runner (Ridley Scott), 239 body: Hesse’s art and, 13, 183–84, 186; and mind/body dualism, 120; minimalism and, 15, 120, 139; phenomenology and, 104; Pollock’s art and, 5; Twombly’s art and, 34 Borromini, Francesco, 263
278 Index
Brancusi, Constantin, 11, 66, 149–50, 262; The Endless Column in Tirgu Jiu, 58, 58–59; Male Torso, 200 Braque, Georges, 2, 51 Brown, Julia, 152 Burton, Scott, 149–50; Pair of Rock Chairs, 150 Cage, John, 77, 123, 162, 254; 4’33”, 116, 118 Calder, Alexander, 204 California light and space movement, 120 Capra, Fritjof, The Tao of Physics, 152 Cassandre, A. M., 84 Center for Research in the Visual Arts, 85 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 10, 12, 48–49 Cézanne, Paul, 7 chance: Cage and, 118; Kelly and, 77–78, 82, 254; Pollock and, 5; Richter and, 219; Rorschach blots and, 247 Chardin, Jean-Siméon, The House of Cards, 177–78, 178 Chariots of the Gods (Von Daniken), 152 Chicago Bauhaus, 61, 73 CIA plot, 48–51 Clark, Kenneth, xv, 94–95 Clarke, Arthur C., 93 Cold War, 10, 48–53 commodity, art as, 207 composition: allover, 5, 151, 224; Lichtenstein’s joke on, 194; re introduction of, in sculpture, 177;
relational versus nonrelational, 100–101, 104, 143n12. See also order concrete art, 10, 47, 66 Constable, John, Wivenhoe Park, Essex, 26–27, 27 constructivism: concrete art and, 66; diaspora, 63, 82, 82n; diluted, 63, 65, 85, 86; and elemental analysis, 59–60; minimalism and, 11; postwar art and, 10; Russian, 59–60, 150; and social betterment, 59–60, 150–51; Stella and, 86 Corbusier, Le, 78, 84 Corcoran Gallery, Washington, D.C., 67 creation, abstraction and, 47 cubism, 2, 58, 101, 123, 227, 233 cynicism, 216 Dada, 6, 77, 91, 95, 104 The Dancing Wu Li Masters (Zukav), 152 David, Jacques-Louis, 172 Davis, Gene, 195 Davis, Stuart, 209 De Bartolo, Dick, “2001 Min. of a Space Idiocy” (with Mort Drucker), 94 De Chirico, Giorgio, 162 decoration, 192–93, 212–13. See also design de Kooning, Willem, 3, 59, 221, 239–41, 245; Excavation, 239, 240; Untitled IV, 239, 241 De Maria, Walter: Bed of Spikes, 126, 128, 129 ; The Broken Kilometer, 128, 129, 130; Cage II, 123, 125;
The Lightning Field, 16–17, 18, 22, 130, 130–32, 131 De Menil, Dominique, 132 design: abstract art versus, 19, 27, 61; Kelly and, 73–74; Lohse and, 77; postminimalism and, 149; Vasarely and, 84–85. See also decoration Dia Art Foundation, 132; Beacon, New York, 21–22, 206, 264; New York, New York, 130 diaspora constructivism, 63, 82, 82n diluted constructivism, 63, 65, 85, 86 diversity, abstract art and, 271 Dondero, George A., 50 Duchamp, Marcel, 59, 71, 91, 95–97, 118, 145; Fountain, 6, 7, 95; Three Standard Stoppages, 173, 174 Dürer, Albrecht, “A Man Drawing a Lute” from The Art of Measurement, 26 earthworks, 151–61 East Coast minimalism, 113 Eisenman, Peter, Proposal for Holocaust Memorial, Berlin, 138 Eliot, T. S., The Waste Land, 168 empiricism, 11, 71, 86, 101 emptiness, abstract art and, 42 Encounters (magazine), 49 entropy, 167 essentialism, 104, 260 European art, 2–4, 86, 100–101 experience of art, 8, 251–52 faith, abstract art and, 271–72 feminist art, 15, 185 Fifty Years of Concrete Art (Bill), 66 figuration, 58, 101
A Fine Disregard (Varnedoe), xiii, xiv finish fetish, 111–13 Flam, Jack, 193 Flavin, Dan, 66; installation view, Green Gallery, 121, 123; “monument” for V. Tatlin, 29, 30, 96–97, 145; Ultraviolet fluorescent light room, 121, 123, 124 Ford, Harrison, 239 formalism, 153 Forty Years of New York School Painting (exhibition), 223 Foucault, Michel, 20, 208, 209 found objects, 97 Frankenthaler, Helen, 98–99 French art, 47, 52 Fried, Michael, 8, 88n6, 98, 100, 104–5, 113, 132, 142n6, 154, 177, 267 Friedrich, Caspar David, 216 Friedrich, Heiner, 132 Funeral Mass for a Deaf Man (musical score), 192 futurism, 59 Geldzahler, Henry, 223 geometric abstraction, 19–20, 97 geometric art, hard-edge, 56, 61n, 71, 82n, 86, 92 Giacometti, Alberto, 123; No More Play, 172 Gilhooly, David, installation view, Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago, 148 Glass, Philip, 123, 126 Gombrich, E. H., x–xi, xv, 25–29, 31, 34, 47, 91, 246–47
good faith, 191. See also bad faith Goossen, Eugene, 66, 71, 74 Gopnik, Adam, 49, 74 Gorgoni, Gianfranco, 158; Richard Serra throwing hot lead, 172 Gottlieb, Adolph, 161 Gould, Stephen Jay, xiii Goya, Francisco de, 205 Grateful Dead, 173 gravity, 175–77 Gray, Camilla, 59–60; The Great Experiment, 59 Greenberg, Clement, 3–4, 6, 8, 44n3, 51, 98, 100, 104, 113, 153–54, 242, 254, 256, 272n1 Greenblatt, Stephen, xiii Gursky, Andreas, Times Square NY, 1997, 140, 141 Halley, Peter, 208–10, 212; Powder, 209 ; Prison with Conduit, 208, 209 ; Two Cells with Circulating Conduit, 19–20, 20, 208 hard-edge geometric art, 56, 61n, 71, 82n, 86, 92 hard-wiring, art and human, 25–26, 28, 31, 267, 270 Hawkins, Gerald S., Stonehenge Decoded, 152 Hazlitt, William, 2, 44n1, 191 Hegel, G.W.F., 27 Heizer, Michael, 151–57, 161, 168, 267; City, 22; Complex One / City, 151–52, 153, 154; Double Negative, 155, 155–58, 157; North, South, East, West, 22, 23 Hesse, Eva, 181–88; Accession II, 13, 17, 144, 182; An Ear in a Pond, 182, 183;
Index 279
Hesse, Eva (continued) Right After, 185–86, 187, 188, 249; Sequel, 183, 185; Untitled, 185; Untitled (Rope Piece), 182–83, 184, 249 High and Low (Varnedoe), xiii Hildebrand, Adolf von, 157 historicism, abstract art and, 27–28, 35, 36–40, 44n3, 51–52, 87, 91, 254, 256 history of art: abstraction and, 4, 21, 27–28, 35, 44n3, 51–52, 87, 91, 256–58; evolution and, xiv–xv, 44n3; Kubler on, 153–54; mirror example of, 36–40; progress and, 35; stylistic developments in, 25–26. See also art history, discipline of Holocaust, 106, 138 honesty, in art, 253 humanism: abstract art and, xi; LeWitt and, 126 idealism, abstract art and, 191, 201, 252–54 illusionism, 26–29, 91, 108, 120. See also realism impersonality. See subjectivity, rejection of Incohérents, 192 individuality, 271 industrial aesthetic, 12–13, 36, 54, 110, 174 innovation: abstract art and, xi, 35–36, 270; evolution and, xiii; illusionism and, 26; tradition of, abstraction as, 41
280 Index
Insley, Will, installation view, Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago, 148 intention, of artist, 247–48, 251 interpretation: of abstract art, 8, 31–34, 41–42, 247–48, 270; knowledge versus ignorance and, 41–42; schema and, 48; viewer’s role in, 31–32, 56, 247–48. See also meaning of abstract art invention. See innovation irony, 18, 21, 213–36; Johns and, 226– 36; Richter and, 214–21; Twombly and, 221–26. See also satire Irwin, Robert, 116; scrim installation, 114, 115, 117; Untitled, 112–13, 113 Italian futurism, 59 James, William, 101 Jastrow, Joseph, Rabbit or Duck?, 31, 246–47 Johns, Jasper, xiii, 21, 92, 219, 226–36, 244–45; Corpse and Mirror, 227–28, 229; Dancers on a Plane I, 231–33, 233; Device, 170, 171, 228; Savarin, 229–30, 231; Scent, 226–27, 227; Untitled, 228, 230; Untitled No. 1–4, 226, 228; Usuyuki, 231–33, 232; Weeping Women, 233, 234, 235–36, 251; White Flag, 5–7, 6, 21, 91 Johnson, Philip, 162, 201 jokes: in art about abstract art, 193–98; Dada and, 95, 104; high versus low art, 193; interpretation of abstract art and, 33–34; minimalism and, 95, 104, 105. See also satire
Judd, Donald, 15, 32, 54, 66, 86, 92, 94, 97, 99–102, 105–11, 132, 141, 142n11, 143n15, 162, 168, 172, 178, 195, 252–53, 272n3; Iron Floor Box, 106, 107, 108; Marfa, Texas installation, 22, 133, 135, 136; North Artillery Shed, 136; “Specific Objects,” 145; To Susan Buckwalter, 46, 55; Untitled (Stack), 102, 103, 109; Untitled (1962), 32; Untitled (1963–75), 32, 33; Untitled (1966), 108; Untitled (1969), 12, 15; Untitled (1976), 111 Kelly, Ellsworth, 11, 20, 68–82; Blue Green, 212, 213; Cité, 78, 82, 83; Colors for a Large Wall, ii, 10, 77–78, 254–55; La Combe I, 74, 75, 76; Neuilly, 72, 73; Sculpture for a Large Wall, 78, 80–81; Shadows on Stairs, Villa La Combe, Meschers, 75; Window, Museum of Modern Art, Paris, 70, 71, 74 Kim, Byron, Synecdoche, 255, 256 Klein, Yves, Anthropométries, 52, 53, 248 Koons, Jeff: Inflatable Flower and Bunny (Tall White, Pink Bunny), 38–39, 39 ; Rabbit, 39–40, 40 Kubler, George, The Shape of Time, 153–54 Kubrick, Stanley, still from 2001: A Space Odyssey, 93 labor, 172–74, 179 Lachowicz, Rachel: Color Chart Flat #1, 255, 257; Sarah, 259, 259–60 language. See abstract art as language
latex, 183 Latin America, constructivism in, 82, 86 Lefkowitz, Lester, 167 Left, the art historical, 53–56, 173, 179 Leger, Fernand, 262 Leider, Phil, 97, 99 Levine, Sherrie, Untitled (Lead Checks: 2), 207, 208 LeWitt, Sol, 111; All Combinations of Arcs from Corners and Sides; Straight, Not-Straight, and Broken Lines, 126, 127; Incomplete Open Cubes, 123, 126; Open Modular Cube, 90, 123, 125; Untitled Cube (6), 29, 30 ; Wall Drawing #601: Forms Derived from a Cube (25 Variations), 126, 128 liberal society: abstraction and, 29, 92; illusionism and, 28 Lichtenstein, Roy, 55, 107, 193–99; Ball of Twine, 18, 19, 193, 215; Big Painting No. 6, 194, 196; Composition II, 194, 215; Entablature, 195–96, 196; Keds, 199, 199–200; Mirror #1, 196–97, 197; NonObjective I, 197; Plus and Minus (Yellow), 198 Lin, Maya, Vietnam War Memorial, Washington, D.C., 137, 138 literal art, 97–102, 252–54 logic of the situation, 25, 92 Lohse, Richard Paul, 76–77, 82, 82n; Complementary Groups Formed by Six Horizontal Systematic Color Series (1950), 10, 11, 77; Complementary Groups Formed by Six
Horizontal Systematic Color Series (1975), 77, 79 ; Geilinger & Co., New Year’s card for 1962, 77 Long, Richard: Long Line in the Himalayas, 156; Whitechapel Slate Circle, 165–66, 166 Los Angeles, minimalism in, 11–12, 111–21 Los Angeles County Museum of Art, 116 Louis, Morris, 88n6, 98–100, 104, 121; Tet, 51, 105 macho ideal, 15 Mad Magazine, 93, 94 Malevich, Kazimir, 59, 66, 92, 145, 150, 152, 155, 253; Black Square, 96; Suprematist Composition: White on White, 2 maps and mapping, 164–65 Marden, Brice, 244–45; Cold Mountain 5 (Open), 251, 252; Grove Group, 42, 245; Vine, 238, 245 Martin, Agnes, 267; Field #2, 241, 242; Untitled, 241, 242 Martin, Charles, Little Girl Dancing in Front of Class, 31, 247–48 Marx, Karl, 209 materiality of art, 98–99, 142n11, 151, 174, 242, 251–52. See also literal art Matisse, Henri, xv, 59, 78, 110, 143n15, 200, 213; Intérieur aux aubergines [Interior with Eggplants], 192, 193 McCollum, Allan, Plaster Surrogates, 206–7, 207
McCracken, John, 111, 113; Blue Column, 93, 94 meaning of abstract art: absurdity and, 42; ambiguities in, 53–54, 56, 66, 67–68, 71, 86, 93; construction of, 247–48, 271; contemporary life and, 42–43; Pollock interpretations and, 248–49, 251; propaganda and, 53–54; richness of, 34. See also interpretation memory, 139, 148–49 Menand, Louis, xiii Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 104 metaphor, 148–49 metaphysics. See idealism Metropolitan Museum of Art, 223 minimalism, 10–19, 90–141; as American art, 11–13, 16, 54, 57; and body, 15, 120, 139; and context of art work, 104; and Count Panza’s villa, Varese, Italy, 132; craftsmanship of, 54–55, 110; elite and, 133, 137; expansiveness of, 123, 130, 132; Hesse and, 181–88; and industrial aesthetic, 12–13, 36, 54, 110; interpretation of, 56–57, 106 (see also reception of); literal art and, 97–102; and military-industrial complex, 13, 133; monuments to, 22; New York versus Los Angeles, 11–12, 111–21; and nostalgia, 54–55; origin of term, 93–94; painterly abstraction versus, 105, 121; Pollock 1967 exhibition and, 13, 15; pop art and, 18; and power, 54; preciousness of, 128; puzzlement caused by, 94–95, 105;
Index 281
minimalism (continued) reception of, 15–16, 22, 145 (see also interpretation of); and scale, 15–17; value of, 106; variety and ambiguity in, 11–12, 15–16, 67–68, 96–97, 106, 110, 121, 130, 135, 137–38, 145 Miró, Joan, 204 mirrors, 36–40 modernism, 7, 44n3. See also abstract art modernity, 43 Moholy-Nagy, László, Berlin Radio Tower, 159, 161 Mondrian, Piet, 74, 97, 197–98, 253, 254–55, 258–59; Broadway Boogie Woogie, 201, 258, 258; Composition No. II, 72, 258; Pier and Ocean 5, 198, 258 Monet, Claude, Gare Saint-Lazare, 162 Monroe, Marilyn, 55 Morellet, François, 86; Painting, 63, 65, 65–66 Morris, Robert, 94, 102, 106, 143n12, 162, 182, 209; “Anti Form,” 163; installation, Dwan Gallery, 145, 146, 149; installation of Green Gallery exhibition, 104–6, 105, 147; Untitled (L-Beams), 94, 95; Untitled (1965), 36; Untitled (1966), 11, 13; Untitled (1968), 37, 248 Morris, William, 179 Munch, Edvard, Self-Portrait, 229, 231 Murphy, Gerald, 209 Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris, 72
282 Index
Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago, installation view, 148 Museum of Modern Art, 10, 48–50, 56, 202 Namuth, Hans: Jackson Pollock, 52; Jackson Pollock creating Autumn Rhythm (Number 30) in his barn studio in Long Island, 1950, 5 Napoleon, Leon, 209 National Gallery of Art, 27, 165 naturalism. See realism natural law, abstract art and, 266–67, 270 Nazca People, Nazca Spiral, 160, 161 The New American Painting (exhibition), 48–50, 49 Newman, Barnett, 3, 44n2, 161, 262; Who’s Afraid of Red, Yellow and Blue II, 19–20, 20, 211–12 New York: abstract expressionism in, 3; minimalism in, 11, 111–14 New York School, 59 1950s, abstract art in, 48 Noguchi, Isamu, Sculpture to Be Seen from Mars, 160–61, 163 Noland, Kenneth, 98–100, 104, 195; Drive, 97, 98 nonfigurative art, 47 nonobjective art, 2 nonrepresentational art, 47 Nordman, Maria, Varese Room, 120 nostalgia, 54–55 nuclear era, 154, 160–61 O’Keeffe, Georgia, Lake George Window, 70, 71
Oldenburg, Claes, 19, 182; Proposed Colossal Monument for the End of Navy Pier, 200, 200–201 Olitski, Jules, 98, 112 op art, 212 opticality, 113, 142n6 order, 162–70, 226, 228, 235, 264, 271. See also composition organicism, 13, 36, 67, 162–63 Otero, Alejandro, polychrome façade for School of Architecture, Universidad Central de Venezuela, Caracas, 78, 82 overhead view, 159–60, 165 painterly abstraction, minimalism versus, 105, 121 Palais de Tokyo, Paris, 72 Palermo, Blinky, 216 patronage, support of art projects on grand scale, 132–33 Pei, I. M., East Building of the National Gallery of Art, Washington, 137 perception, 85–86, 104, 114–21, 132, 138 pessimism, 154, 167–68, 175, 209 phenomenology, 104 photography, 205 Picasso, Pablo, 2, 51, 57, 59, 200, 227; Accordionist (L’Accordéoniste), 3; Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, 74, 233; Girl Before the Mirror, 229–30; Guernica, 233; Guitar and Wine Glass, 193; “Ma Jolie” (Woman with a Zither or Guitar), 2; Weeping Woman, 235, 235; Woman in Bed, 233, 235
pictorialism, 58, 102 Plato, 27 The Poetics of Space (Bachelard), 149 Polke, Sigmar, 203, 216 Pollock, Jackson, 3–5, 7–8, 12, 13, 15, 32, 44n3, 51–52, 59, 66, 86, 91, 92, 97–99, 102, 104, 109, 112, 142n6, 162, 170, 185–86, 194, 203, 215, 221, 226, 244–45, 248–49, 251, 262, 267; Autumn Rhythm (Number 30), 5, 50, 53, 54, 66, 86; Number 1, 1950 (Lavender Mist), xviii, 4, 225, 248; Scent, 227 pop art: emergence of, 6, 91; influences on, 59; jokes about art in, 193–206; and minimalism, 18 Popper, Karl, 27 Port Huron Statement, 173 posters, Bauhaus-designed, 61 postminimalism, 144–88; and design, 148–49; earthworks, 151–61; imageless abstraction in, 151; Kubler’s The Shape of Time and, 153–54; and metaphor, 148–49; minimalist tradition and, 145–47, 172–73; and near/far views, 155, 157–60, 165, 168; order/disorder in, 162–70; and pessimism, 154; romanticism of, 180–81; sculpture and, 147 postmodernism, 7 postmodern theory, xii power: and Halley’s critiques of abstraction, 20, 208; minimalism and, 54 pragmatism, xiii, 43, 101 Pratt Institute, 73 pre-Columbian architecture, 152
process of art making, 4–5, 29, 54–55, 151, 170 pure abstraction, 258–59 rationality: abstract art and, xi; min imalism and, 100 Rauschenberg, Robert, xiii, 6; Factum I, 194, 195; Factum II, 194, 195 realism, 6, 26. See also illusionism reason. See rationality relational composition, 100–101 “Rembrandt problem,” 94 Renaissance art, Florentine versus Venetian, 114 Report to the Club of Rome, 174 representation: abstraction and, 48, 196–97, 240–41; Gombrich on, 247; Lichtenstein’s mirror series and, 196–97; as subset of art, 248. See also resemblance resemblance, abstract art and, 32–34, 191. See also representation Reuther, Walter, 179 Richter, Gerhard, 214–21; Abstract Painting, 216; Cell (Zelle) from October 18, 1977, 218, 219 ; Gray Streaks, 21, 22, 215; November, 219, 220 ; 1024 Colors, 216, 217, 255; Un-Painting (Gray), 215; Waterfall, 216–17, 218 Riley, Bridget, 212–13 Rockefellers, 48, 49 Rodchenko, Aleksandr, 66, 151; advertisement for cigarettes, 60, 61; Pure Red, Pure Yellow, and Pure Blue Colors, 60 ; Spatial Construction No. 18, 59
Rodin, Auguste, 200 Rorschach blots, 247 Rose, Barbara, 95–96, 101 Rose, Charlie, 268 Rothko, Mark, 3, 112, 121, 161, 191 Rothko Chapel, Houston, 22 Rubin, William, 51, 98, 100 “The Ruins of the Tuileries, 1871– 1883” (Varnedoe), xii, xiv Ruskin, John, 179 Russian constructivism, 11, 59–60, 150 Ryman, Robert, 241–43, 267; Bond, 243; Untitled, 244 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 53, 173 satire, 191–213; pop art, 18–19, 193–206; postpop, 19–21, 206–13. See also jokes scale: Kelly versus Lohse, 77; min imalism and, 15–17; postminimalism and, 148; Scale as Content exhibition, 67, 68, 69 ; Stella versus Morellet, 63, 65 Scale as Content (exhibition), 67, 68, 69 Schama, Simon, xiii Schjeldahl, Peter, 221 School of Paris, 59 Scott, Ridley, Blade Runner, 239 sculpture: and activation of space, 100, 102, 104, 114, 132; composition reintroduced to, 177; Hildebrand’s theory of, 157–58; postminimal, 147; reworking tradition of, 57–59, 102; viewing points for, 157–58
Index 283
semiotics, 252 Serra, Richard, 22, 168–79, 185, 261–67; Bellamy, 265, 269; Castings, 170, 172, 173, 173–74, 249; Cutting Device: Base Plate Measure, 168–70, 169 ; Delineator, 175–77, 176, 262; Double Torqued Ellipse, 24, 264, 265; Double Torqued Ellipse II, 265, 266; Ellipse models, 264; Equal (Corner Prop Piece), 177; installation view of exhibition Contemporary: Inaugural Installation, Museum of Modern Art, 169 ; Intersection, 261, 261–62; Intersection II, 261–62, 263; One Ton Prop (House of Cards), 13, 15, 16, 177–78, 182, 259; Scatter Piece, 174, 175; Tilted Arc, 260, 260–61; Torqued Ellipse, 268–69 ; Torqued Ellipse I, 24, 264, 265; Torqued Ellipse II, 24, 264, 265; Torqued Ellipse IV, 264, 266 Shakers, 71 Shapiro, Joel: installation view, Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago, 148; Untitled (House), 147–48, 148 Smith, David, 57, 109, 262; Cubi XIX, 101, 102 Smith, Tony, 66–67; Bees Do It, 67; Smoke, 67, 68; Untitled (Church), 67; Untitled (Plan for Linear City), 165–66, 167 Smithson, Robert, 151, 156, 167–68, 209, 267; Asphalt Rundown, 174, 249, 250 ; A Non-Site, Franklin, New Jersey, 165; Red Sandstone
284 Index
Corner Piece, 37–38, 38; Spiral Jetty, 158–59, 159, 160, 161, 266–67 socialist realism, 60 Société des incohérents, 192 society, art and: Bauhaus, 61; diluted constructivism, 65; earthworks, 158; Lichtenstein, 199–200; literal art, 86, 162; Oldenburg, 200–201; postminimalism, 150–51; Russian constructivism, 60; Vasarely, 85, 199 Soto, Jesús-Raphael, 86; Parallèles interférentes noires et blanches, 82, 84 space, activation of, 100, 102, 104, 114, 132 spirituality. See idealism Stalin, Joseph, 50 Steinbach, Heim, Ultra Red #2, 206, 207 Stella, Frank, 8, 21, 57, 85–87, 96, 100–101, 112, 143n11, 162, 204, 215, 252, 272n2; Empress of India, 99–100, 100 ; Gran Cairo, 46, 61, 64, 92; The Marriage of Reason and Squalor, 7–8, 9, 63, 65–66; Palmito Ranch, 85; Zambezi, 18, 19, 193 Stevenson, James, “Now, there’s a nice contemporary sunset!,” 191, 192 Still, Clyfford, 262; Untitled, 219, 221, 221 Stonehenge Decoded (Hawkins), 152 Storr, Robert, 35, 218 Students for a Democratic Society, 173 subjectivity, rejection of, 66, 78, 87, 110, 255–56 surrealism, 86
Sylvester, David, 235 systematic composition, 66–67 Taaffe, Philip, 210–13; Blue Green, 20, 21, 212; Blue Green; Kharraqan, 213, 214; Madame Torso in Deep, 210, 210–11; We Are Not Afraid, 211–12, 212 The Tao of Physics (Capra), 152 Tatlin, Vladimir, 66, 92; Model of the Monument to the Third International, 267; Monument to the Third International, 266 Teamsters, 179 theater, art as, 104, 154, 177, 267 theory, art and, 7–8 time: De Maria’s Lightning Field and, 131–32; Heizer’s work and, 154; Kubler on, 153; Turrell’s art and, 121 totalitarianism, 27–28, 271 Truman, Harry, 50 truth. See universal truths Turner, J.M.W., 1, 191; Snowstorm: Steamboat off a Harbour’s Mouth, 1 Turrell, James, 114, 116, 132; AfrumProto, 12, 14, 116; Laar, 119, 119–20; Mendota Stoppages, 116, 118, 118; Quaker meeting house, Houston, 22; Roden Crater Project, 133, 134, 135; Wedgework IV, 120–21, 122 Twombly, Cy, xiii, 21, 221–26; Cold Stream, 222, 224; Untitled (1956), 221, 222; Untitled (1962), 222, 223; Untitled (1970), 33–34, 35, 190, 224–25, 225, 251; Untitled (1970 [Rome]), 223, 224
unconscious, 3 universal truths, 2, 27, 91, 270 Universidad Central de Venezuela, Caracas, 78, 82, 82, 84 U.S. Information Agency (USIA), 49 Van Doesburg, Theo, 72 Van Gogh, Vincent, xiv Vantongerloo, Georges, 72 Vasarely, Victor, 82, 84–86, 162, 199–200, 267; Grid, 199; Ilile, 85 Venezuela, 82 Vietnam War, 161 viewer, interpretive role of, 31–32, 56, 247–48 Villanueva, Carlos Raul, Universidad Central de Venezuela, Caracas, 78, 82 Vogue (magazine), 53
Von Daniken, Erich, Chariots of the Gods, 152 Warhol, Andy, 19, 55, 107, 201–6, 214, 218; Blue Close Cover Before Striking, 201; Crossword, 201; Orange Car Crash Fourteen Times, 201–2, 203; Oxidation Painting, 203, 204, 249, 251; Rorschach, 204, 205, 246–47; Shadows, 205–6, 206; soup cans series, 167, 207; Yarn, 203, 204 waste, 174 Weiss, Jeffrey, 242 West Coast minimalism, 112–14 Whiteread, Rachel: Memorial to the Victims of the Holocaust, 139, 141; Untitled (Paperbacks), 139, 139–41 Whitney, David, 202
Winsor, Jackie: Bound Square, 179, 181; Burnt Piece, 178, 179, 182; Four Corners, 179, 181; Plywood Square, 179, 180 Winters, Terry: Color and Information, 251, 253; Parallel Rendering I, 245, 246 Wollheim, Richard, 93–94 Wortz, Edward, 116 Wright, Frank Lloyd, 67, 166 Yale University, 61 Young, Neil, After the Gold Rush, 174–75 Youngerman, Jack, 194 Zimmerman, Elyn, 146 Zukav, Gary, The Dancing Wu Li Masters, 152
Index 285
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of Robert Smithson / licensed by
York. 4.17 Photo © 2006 Board of
4.24 © 2006 Artists Rights Society
VAGA, New York; courtesy James
Trustees, National Gallery of Art.
(ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris /
Cohan Gallery, New York; pho-
4.18 © 2006 Estate of Tony Smith /
Succession
tographer: Martin Hogue. 4.12
Artists Rights Society (ARS), New
digital image © The Museum of
© 2006 Artists Rights Society
York; photo © 2005 Estate of
Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA/
(ARS), New York / VG Bild-Kunst,
Tony Smith / Artists Rights Society
Art Resource, New York. 4.25 ©
Bonn; photo © The Art Institute
(ARS), New York. 4.19 Photo ©
2006 Richard Serra / Artists Rights
of Chicago. 4.13 Photo: Georges
Lester Lefkowitz / CORBIS; pho-
Society (ARS), New York; photo:
Rosset / Geneva;
photographer:
tographer: Lester Lefkowitz. 4.20
Judd Foundation. 4.26 © 2006
Georges Rosset/Geneva. 4.14 ©
© 2006 Richard Serra / Artists
Richard Serra / Artists Rights So-
2006 The Isamu Noguchi Foun-
Rights Society (ARS), New York;
ciety (ARS), New York; photo: Ace
dation and Garden Museum, New
digital image © The Museum of
Gallery, Los Angeles, California.
York / Artists Rights Society (ARS),
Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA /
4.27 © 2006 Richard Serra / Artists
New York; photo: The Isamu No-
Art Resource, New York. 4.21
Rights Society (ARS), New York;
guchi Foundation, New York;
Art © Jasper Johns / Licensed by
digital image © The Museum of
photographer: Soichi Sunami.
VAGA, New York, NY; photo: The
Modern Art/Licensed by SCALA /
4.15 Art © Carl Andre / Licensed
Baltimore Museum of Art. 4.22 ©
Art Resource, New York. 4.28
by VAGA, New York, NY; photo
2006 Richard Serra / Artists Rights
Photo © The National Gallery,
courtesy Paula Cooper Gallery,
Society (ARS), New York; photo
London. 4.29 © Jackie Winsor;
Smithson / Licensed
Marcel
Duchamp;
P h oto g r a p h y a n d C o p y r i g h t C r e d i t s 2 9 3
digital image © The Museum of
London. Photo courtesy Hauser
Art / Licensed by SCALA / Art Re-
Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA /
and Wirth Zürich / London. 4.37
source, New York. 5.7 © Estate of
Art Resource, New York. 4.30
© The Estate of Eva Hesse. Hauser
Roy Lichtenstein; photo: Kunst-
© Jackie Winsor; photo: National
and Wirth Zurich/London. Photo:
sammulung Nordhein-Westfalen,
Gallery of Australia, Canberra.
Milwaukee Art Museum.
Düsseldorf; photo © Walter Klein,
4.31 © Jackie Winsor; photo © Al-
Dusseldorf. 5.8 © Estate of Roy
len Memorial Art Museum, Ober-
5.1 © The New Yorker Collec-
Lichtenstein. 5.9 Photo © Estate
lin College. 4.32 © Jackie Winsor;
tion. 5.2 © 2006 Succession
of Roy Lichtenstein; photog-
digital image © The Museum of
H. Matisse, Paris / Artists Rights
rapher: Robert McKeever. 5.10
Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA /
Society (ARS), New York; photo
© Estate of Roy Lichtenstein;
Art Resource, New York. 4.33 ©
© Musée de Grenoble. 5.3 © 2006
photo: The Broad Art Founda-
The Estate of Eva Hesse. Hauser
Estate of Pablo Picasso / Artists
tion. 5.11 © Estate of Roy Lich-
and Wirth Zurich / London. Photo:
Rights Society (ARS), New York;
tenstein; photographer: Robert
San Francisco Museum of Mod-
photo: The Marion Koogler McNay
McKeever. 5.12 © HCR Interna-
ern Art. 4.34 © The Estate of Eva
Art Museum. 5.4 © Estate of Roy
tional; digital image © The Mu-
Hesse. Hauser and Wirth Zurich /
Lichtenstein; photo courtesy Son-
seum of Modern Art / Licensed by
London. Photo: Whitney Mu-
nabend, New York. 5.5 Art ©
SCALA / Art Resource, New York.
seum of American Art, New
Robert
Rauschenberg / Licensed
5.13 © Estate of Roy Lichtenstein.
York; photograher: Geoffrey Cle-
by VAGA, New York, NY; photo:
5.14 © 2006 Artists Rights Society
ments. 4.35 © The Estate of Eva
The Museum of Contemporary
(ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris;
Hesse. Hauser and Wirth Zurich /
Art, Los Angeles; photographer:
photo © 2006 Board of Trustees,
London. Photo © The Art Institute
Squidds and Nunns. 5.6 Art ©
National Gallery of Art, Wash-
of Chicago; photographer: Susan
Robert
Rauschenberg / Licensed
ington. 5.15 © Claes Oldenburg;
Einstein. 4.36 © The Estate of Eva
by VAGA, New York, NY; digital
photo courtesy Gagosian Gallery,
Hesse. Hauser and Wirth Zurich /
image © The Museum of Modern
New York; photographer: Robert
2 9 4 P h oto g r a p h y a n d C o p y r i g h t C r e d i t s
McKeever. 5.16 © 2006 Artists
Society (ARS), New York; photo:
artist and Gagosian Gallery. 5.30 ©
Rights Society (ARS), New York /
The Andy Warhol
Museum,
2006 Artists Rights Society (ARS),
ADAGP, Paris; photo © The
Pittsburgh. 5.22 © 2006 Andy
New York /V G Bild-Kunst, Bonn;
Cleveland Museum of Art. 5.17
Warhol Foundation for the Vi-
photo: Kunstmuseum Bern; pho-
© 2006 Andy Warhol Founda-
sual Arts / Artists Rights Society
tographer: Peter Lauri Photog-
tion for the Visual Arts / Artists
(ARS), New York; photo courtesy
raphie. 5.31 Photo courtesy of
Rights Society (ARS), New York;
Gagosian Gallery, New York. 5.23
the artist and Gagosian Gallery.
photo courtesy Gagosian Gal-
© 2006 Andy Warhol Foundation
5.32 © Ellsworth Kelly; photo by
lery, New York. 5.18 © 2006 Andy
for the Visual Arts / Artists Rights
Eric Pollitzer. 5.33 Photo cour-
Warhol Foundation for the Visual
Society (ARS), New York; photo:
tesy of the artist and Gagosian
Arts / Artists Rights Society (ARS),
The Andy Warhol Foundation,
Gallery. 5.34, 5.35 © Gerhard
New York; photo: The Andy War-
Inc. / Art Resource, New York. 5.24
Richter. 5.36 © Gerhard Rich-
hol Museum, Pittsburgh. 5.19 ©
Photo © The Solomon R. Gug-
ter; photo © Gerhard Richter;
2006 Andy Warhol Foundation
genheim Foundation, New York;
CNAC / MNAM / Dist. Réunion des
for the Visual Arts / Artists Rights
photographer: David Heald. 5.25
Musées Nationaux / Art Resource,
Society (ARS), New York; digital
Photo: Van Abbemuseum, Eind-
New York; photographer: Jacques
image © The Museum of Mod-
hoven, The Netherlands. 5.26
Faujour. 5.37 © Gerhard Rich-
ern Art / licensed by SCALA / Art
Photo courtesy of the Paula
ter; photo: Hirshhorn Museum
Resource, New York. 5.20 © 2006
Cooper Gallery, New York. 5.27
and Sculpture Garden, Smith-
Andy Warhol Foundation for the
Photo: Addison Gallery of Ameri-
sonian Institution; photographer:
Visual Arts / Artists Rights Society
can Art, Phillips Academy, Andover,
Lee Stalsworth. 5.38 © Gerhard
(ARS), New York; photo: Daros
Massachusetts. All Rights Reserved.
Richter; digital image © The
Collection, Switzerland. 5.21 ©
5.28 Photo: Peter Halley Studio;
Museum of Modern Art / Licensed
2006 Andy Warhol Foundation
photographer: David Lubarsky ©
by SCALA / Art Resource, New
for the Visual Arts / Artists Rights
1995. 5.29 Photo courtesy of the
York; © Copyright of the Artist.
P h oto g r a p h y a n d C o p y r i g h t C r e d i t s 2 9 5
5.39 © Gerhard Richter; photo:
digital image © The Museum of
(ARS), New York; photo © 1993,
Saint Louis Art Museum. 5.40
Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA /
The Art Institute of Chicago, All
Photo: Whitney Museum of Amer-
Art Resource, NewYork. 5.51 ©
Rights Reserved. 6.2 © 2006 The
ican Art, New York; photographer:
2006 The Munch Museum / The
Willem de Kooning Foundation /
Geoffrey Clements. 5.41 Photo
Munch-Ellingsen
Group / Artists
Artists Rights Society, New York;
courtesy Sonnabend Collection,
Rights Society (ARS), New York;
photo © The Willem de Kooning
New York. 5.43 Photo: Collection
digital image © The Museum of
Foundation.
of Marguerite and Robert Hoff-
Modern Art / Licensed by SCALA /
Museum of Contemporary Art,
man. 5.44 Photo: The Menil Col-
Art Resource, New York. 5.52 Art
Los Angeles. 6.5 Photo courtesy
lection, Houston; photographer: J.
© Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA,
Robert Ryman Archives. 6.6
Littkemann, Berlin. 5.45 Nicola del
New York, NY; photo © The
Photo © 2006 Board of Trustees,
Roscio; digital image © The Mu-
Cleveland Museum of Art. 5.53,
National Gallery of Art. 6.7 ©
seum of Modern Art / Licensed by
5.54 Art © Jasper Johns / Licensed
2006 Brice Marden / Artists Rights
SCALA / Art Resource, New York.
by VAGA, New York, NY; photos:
Society (ARS), New York; digital
5.46 Art © Jasper Johns / Licensed
Jasper Johns. 5.55 © Estate of
image © The Museum of Modern
by VAGA, New York, NY; photo:
Pablo Picasso / Artists Rights Society
Art / Licensed by SCALA / Art Re-
Anne Gold, Aachen; photogra-
(ARS), New York; photo: Tate
source, New York. 6.8 Photo ©
pher: Anne Gold, Aachen. 5.47 Art
Gallery, London/Art Resource,
Terry Winters, courtesy Matthew
© Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA,
New York. 5.56 © Estate of Pablo
Marks Gallery, New York. 6.9 Art
New York, NY; photo: Rheinisches
Picasso / Artists
Society
© Estate of Robert Smithson /
Bildarchiv, Cologne. 5.48, 5.49 Art
(ARS), New York; photo courtesy
Licensed by VAGA, New York,
© Jasper Johns / Licensed by VAGA,
Sotheby’s, New York.
NY; photo © Estate of Robert
Rights
New York, NY; photos: Jasper
6.4 Photo:
Smithson / Licensed
by
The
VAGA,
Johns. 5.50 Art © Jasper Johns /
6.1 © 2006 The Willem de Kooning
New York, NY. 6.10 © 2006 Brice
Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY;
Foundation / Artists Rights Society
Marden / Artists Rights Society
2 9 6 P h oto g r a p h y a n d C o p y r i g h t C r e d i t s
(ARS), New York. 6.11 Photo ©
www.daschkenasphoto.com. 6.17 ©
Richard Barnes. 6.21 © 2006
Terry Winters, courtesy Matthew
2006 Richard Serra / Artists Rights
Richard Serra / Artists Rights Soci-
Marks Gallery, New York. 6.12
Society (ARS), New York; photo:
ety (ARS), New York; photo cour-
Photo courtesy of the Max
Kunstsammlung Basel. 6.18 ©
tesy Gagosian Gallery, New York.
Protetch Gallery, New York. 6.13
2006 Richard Serra / Artists Rights
6.22 © 2006 Richard Serra / Artists
Photo courtesy Shoshana Wayne
Society (ARS), New York; photo
Rights Society (ARS), New York;
Gallery, Santa Monica, California.
courtesy Gagosian Gallery, New
photo: Archiv Dirk Reinartz; pho-
6.14 Digital image © The Mu-
York. 6.19 © 2006 Richard Serra /
tographer: Archiv Dirk Reinartz.
seum of Modern Art / Licensed by
Artists Rights Society (ARS), New
6.23 Digital image © The Mu-
SCALA / Art Resource, New York.
York; photo: Archiv Dirk Reinartz;
seum of Modern Art / Licensed by
6.15 Photo courtesy Shoshana
photographer: Archiv Dirk Rein-
SCALA / Art Resource, New York.
Wayne Gallery, Santa Monica,
artz. 6.20 © 2006 Richard Serra /
6.24 © 2006 Richard Serra / Artists
California. 6.16 © 2006 Richard
Artists Rights Society (ARS),
Rights Society (ARS), New York;
Serra / Artists Rights Society (ARS),
New York; photo: Collection Dia
photos: Charlie Rose Inc.; photog-
New York; photo: David Aschkenas,
Art Foundation; photographer:
rapher: David Gladstone.
P h oto g r a p h y a n d C o p y r i g h t C r e d i t s 2 9 7
T h i s i s a r u n n i n g f o o t
t h e a n d r e w W. m e l lo n l e c t u r e s i n t h e f i n e a rt s , 1952–20 0 5
1952 + Jacques Maritain, Creative Intuition in Art
Christian Iconography: A Study of Its Origins,
and Poetry (published 1953) 1953 + Sir Kenneth Clark, The Nude: A Study of Ideal
1968) 1962
tional Mythology (published as Blake and
Form (published 1956)
Tradition, 1968)
1954 + Sir Herbert Read, The Art of Sculpture (pub‑ lished 1956)
Kathleen Raine, William Blake and Tradi-
1963 + Sir John Pope‑Hennessy, Artist and Individual: Some Aspects of the Renaissance Portrait
1955 + Etienne Gilson, Art and Reality (published as
(published as The Portrait in the Renaissance,
Painting and Reality, 1957) 1956
1966)
E. H. Gombrich, The Visible World and
1964 + Jakob Rosenberg, On Quality in Art: Criteria
the Language of Art (published as Art and
of Excellence, Past and Present (published
Illusion: A Study in the Psychology of Pictorial
1967)
Representation, 1960)
1965 + Sir Isaiah Berlin, Sources of Romantic Thought (published as The Roots of Romanticism,
1957 + Sigfried Giedion, Constancy and Change
1999)
in Art and Architecture (published as The Eternal Present: A Contribution on Constancy
1966
and Change, 1962)
Lord David Cecil, Dreamer or Visionary: A Study of English Romantic Painting (pub‑
1958 + Sir Anthony Blunt, Nicolas Poussin and
lished as Visionary and Dreamer: Two Poetic
French Classicism (published 1967)
Painters, Samuel Palmer and Edward BurneJones, 1969)
1959 + Naum Gabo, A Sculptor’s View of the Fine Arts (published as Of Divers Arts, 1962) 1960
1967 + Mario Praz, On the Parallel of Literature and the Visual Arts (published as Mnemo-
Wilmarth Sheldon Lewis, Horace Walpole
syne: The Parallel Between Literature and the
(published 1960)
Visual Arts, 1970)
1961 + André Grabar, Christian Iconography and the Christian Religion in Antiquity (published as
1968
Stephen Spender, Imaginative Literature and Painting (publication not expected)
1969 + Jacob Bronowski, Art as a Mode of Knowledge
1980
(published as The Visionary Eye, 1978)
and Medieval Architecture (publication not expected)
1970 + Sir Nikolaus Pevsner, Some Aspects of Nine‑ teenth‑Century Architecture (published as A
1981
History of Building Types, 1976) 1971 + T. S. R. Boase, Vasari: The Man and the Book
1982
1983
1984
1985
Ideology of Country Houses, 1990) 1986
1987
Jaroslav Pelikan, Imago Dei: The Byzantine Apologia for Icons (published 1990)
1976 + Peter von Blanckenhagen, Aspects of Classical Art (publication not expected)
Lukas Foss, Confessions of a Twentieth‑Century Composer (publication not expected)
H. C. Robbins Landon, Music in Europe in the Year 1776 (publication not expected)
James S. Ackerman, The Villa in History (published as The Villa in History: Form and
Reconsidered (published as The Rise and Fall
1975
Richard Wollheim, Painting as an Art (published 1987)
1974 + H. W. Janson, Nineteenth‑Century Sculpture of the Public Monument, 1976)
Vincent Scully, The Shape of France (publication not expected)
1973 + Jacques Barzun, The Use and Abuse of Art (published 1974)
Leo Steinberg, The Burden of Michelangelo’s Painting (publication expected)
1972 + Ludwig H. Heydenreich, Leonardo da Vinci (publication not expected)
John Harris, Palladian Architecture in England, 1615–1760 (publication not expected)
(published as Giorgio Vasari: The Man and the Book, 1979)
Peter Kidson, Principles of Design in Ancient
1988
John Shearman, Art and the Spectator in the Italian Renaissance (published as Only
1977 + André Chastel, The Sack of Rome: 1527
Connect: Art and the Spectator in the Italian
(published 1982) 1978 + Joseph W. Alsop, The History of Art Collect‑
Renaissance, 1992) 1989
Oleg Grabar, Intermediary Demons: Toward
ing (published as The Rare Art Traditions:
a Theory of Ornament (published as The
The History of Art Collecting, 1982)
Mediation of Ornament, 1992)
1979 + John Rewald, Cézanne and America (pub-
1990
Jennifer Montagu, Gold, Silver, and Bronze:
lished as Cézanne and America: Dealers, Col‑
Metal Sculpture of the Roman Baroque (pub-
lectors, Artists, and Critics, 1891–1921, 1989)
lished 1996)
1991
1992
Willibald Sauerländer, Changing Faces: Art
1998
and Physiognomy through the Ages (publica-
Module and Mass Production in Chinese Art
tion not expected)
(published 2000)
Anthony Hecht, The Laws of the Poetic Art
1999
(published as On the Laws of the Poetic Art, 1995) 1993
1994
2000
cients and the Moderns in the Arts, 1600–1715
Art in Antiquity (published 1994)
(publication expected)
Jonathan Brown, Kings and Connoisseurs:
2001
2002
2003 + Kirk Varnedoe, Pictures of Nothing: Abstract Art since Pollock (published 2006) 2004
2005
Ingres (published 2000)
Irene Winter, “Great Work”: Terms of Aesthetic Experience in Ancient Mesopotamia (publication expected)
John Golding, Paths to the Absolute (published 2000)
Irving Lavin, More than Meets the Eye (publication expected)
Pierre M. Rosenberg, From Drawing to Painting: Poussin, Watteau, Fragonard, David,
Michael Fried, The Moment of Caravaggio (publication expected)
Art: Contemporary Art and the Pale of History, 1997)
Salvatore Settis, Giorgione and Caravaggio: Art as Revolution (publication expected)
Arthur C. Danto, Contemporary Art and the Pale of History (published as After the End of
1997
Marc Fumaroli, The Quarrel between the An-
John Boardman, The Diffusion of Classical
(published 1996)
1996
Carlo Bertelli, Transitions (publication expected)
Collecting Art in Seventeenth-Century Europe
1995
Lothar Ledderose, Ten Thousand Things:
+ -(deceased)