BLINKY PALERMO at David Zwirner

BLINKY PALERMO    II Who knows the beginning and who knows the end? 1976 

  Acrylic on 2 sheets of drawing paper

Each drawing 11 7/5 x 8 ¼

Aaah. Blinky Palermo. What better to look at on a beautiful spring day (or any day, for that matter).  Direct, stripped down, but filled with soul.  An exquisite show of acrylic on paper drawings by Palermo is on exhibit at David Zwirner, in Chelsea, April 25 through June 29, 2013. The occasion for this treat is the 70th anniversary of Palermo's birth. 

Palermo lived in New York from 1973 to 1977 and most of the work in this exhibition dates from 1976-77.  All the drawings are modest in scale and  executed in acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard. Although barely visible in the more distant views of the suites, all were done on sheets from a spiral bound drawing notebook. I mention this because the perforated edge adds to the honesty of this body of work--while Palermo addresses important concerns in the vocabulary of abstraction, he does so without conceit.   (The images in this post came from the gallery website. Unfortunately, I was not able to access close up views of individual drawings in the suites with multiple drawings.)

BLINKY PALERMO  1 – 7  Untitled, 1976    Acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard

Each drawing: 12 5/8 x 9 3/8, mounted on cardboard and framed separately.

Staatliche Graphische Sammlung Munich    

BLINKY PALERMO   Das gelbe Fenster, 1976    Acrylic and graphite on 2 sheets of drawing paper mounted on cardboard

Each sheet:   11 5/8 x 8 1/4"

Palermo's drawings are difficult to categorize--they are minimalist in composition and palette, but not formulaic in any way. In some drawings the hand of the artist is revealed through expressive brushwork. Yet in others, the brushwork is barely visible and it is only in the subtle imperfections of the geometry that we feel his presence.    

Most of the drawings were executed either in pairs or in series of 4 to 12 drawings, and there is a sense of experimentation across each series. Several of the suites of drawings are titled 'Tageszeiten', indicating these drawings may have been a daily activity for Palermo. He  explores figure/ground relationships, perceptions of depth, and the saturation of color all quite deliberately, but without pretension.  

 

BLINKY PALERMO      Nevada, 1976   Acrylic on 2 sheets of drawing paper mounted on cardboard

Each sheet:  12 5/8 x 9 3/8"  in a single frame  

Kunstmuseum Bonn

Works in black, red and white are prominent in the exhibit, but there are drawings in other palettes as well.  1-12, 12 Monate, 1976 is a suite of drawings in which the colors include yellows, red, green and blue. (Once again, I was not able to access a good quality file of the installation.)  

BLINKY PALERMO    1 – 4  Tageszeiten, 1976     Acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard in 4 parts.     Each drawing: 12 ½ x 9 3/8" mounted on cardboard in a separate frame

BLINKY PALERMO    1 – 7 Untitled (for Babette), 1976     Acrylic on drawing paper mounted on cardboard in 7 parts. Each drawing 11 5/8 x 8 ½”, mounted on cardboard in a separate frame. Collection of The Museum of Modern Art, NY

 Das Rastel (below) is one of several pieces that is primarily gestural. Here, Palermo uses black both as gesture and to depict a void. 

BLINKY PALERMO   Das Ratsel,  1976   Acrylic on 3 sheets of drawing paper mounted on cardboard.  
 Each sheet 11 5/8 x 8 1/4"

 
The appeal of these drawings is in the unassuming manner in which Palermo works through the explorations.  The work is often quiet, slow, and enormously satisfying.  There is much more to see in this exhibit, and while you are there, stop in to see early works by Richard Serra on the first floor.

Stanley Whitney / Other Colors I Forget

Although spring has not quite arrived in New York, there is a wonderful show that will immediately expunge any memories of the long, cold winter. Other Colors I Forget is an exhibit of new paintings by Stanley Whitney at Team, a gallery in the Tribeca area of Manhattan.

STANLEY WHITNEY    Nigerian Smile, 2012    oil on linen  72 x 72 inches

The palette is vibrant and clear, and the loosely painted rectangles of color seem ready to sway in a light breeze. Thin horizontal bands gently anchor the color blocks without locking them in place. Although the compositions are orderly and reference the grid, there is a refreshing spontaneity to them.   
 

STANLEY WHITNEY   Bodyheat, 2012   oil on linen   96 x 96 inches

Whitney's transparent layering of the paint lends these paintings freshness and slow intensity. The colors are bright, and the relationships often hot, but it's best to take your time with them.  The seven canvases on exhibit range in size from 48 to 96 inches square.

STANLEY WHITNEY: (from the interview on Bombsite, see link to the full interview below)     "The only system I have really is top, middle, and bottom. Even if I wanted to make a red painting, I couldn’t do it. I have to let the color take me wherever it takes me. Sometimes I paint little paintings, not like studies, but just to keep working. And sometimes I go, Oh, I can turn this into a big painting. But then I can’t do it because I have to be totally open to wherever the painting takes me. The idea is that color cannot be controlled and that it has total freedom. One color can’t overpower another color, you know. It’s very democratic, very New York."

The work is on exhibit at Team Gallery, 83 Grand Street, through May 12.

STANLEY WHITNEY   Songbird, 2012    oil on linen   48 x 48 inches

Click here for the complete David Reed interview with Stanley Whitney on Bombsite.   It is a long interview and the discussion first turns to color, space, structure and density about half way through. Whitney also brings up connections to music, particularly jazz, and the work of Cezanne and Judd.

Click here to see some of Whitney's earlier work.

Painting in Black and White

BLACK and WHITE. It sounds so very direct and clear. 

To frame an issue in black and white is to suggest that there is no middle ground and that the issue should only be considered from either of two extremes. It suggests that black and white are opposites--that one negates the other. It is a simplistic approach and demands that we see only absolutes. Black or white. Pick one.

But painting in black and white is not the same as thinking in black and white. By painting in black and white, the artist has pared down one part of image-making -- color choice, but rather than certainty we are offered a range of possibilities. Is the blackness something concrete or is it atmospheric? Does whiteness always connote a void?  Can blackness and whiteness possess many of the same qualities?  And of course, labeling colors simply as 'black' or 'white' is simplistic, as there are many variations of blackness and whiteness.  Although the palette is limited to black and white, the experience of seeing is complex.

AL HELD   The "I", 1965, 
acrylic on canvas, 108 x 76"

This monumental painting by Al Held is currently on view at Cheim & Reid. Although not apparent when viewing it on a computer screen, the entire surface is covered with brush marks, gouges and globs of paint. The physicality and sheer size of the painting give it great presence. The white tabs appear to forcefully push out against the vertical edges. Or perhaps, the tabs are folded around and in front of the blackness, creating the illusion that the back of the painting is a field of brilliant whiteness. The painting offers us spatial ambiguity, not certainty.

 

RICHARD SERRA   Black Drawings at the Metropolitan Museum, 2011

RICHARD SERRA  Zadakians, 1974  Paintstick on linen (at the Metropolitan Museum)

In a 2011 installation of monumental drawings (melted oil paint sticks pressed onto paper and linen) at the Metropolitan Museum, Richard Serra brought the extraordinary density of blackness to a new level.  The white walls frequently served as a counterpoint to the all enveloping blackness, but these drawings were about the blackness itself--the kind of blackness that can consume you if you lean in too closely.

While these paintings are pared down in composition and color, they are not in any way simplistic and offer us no absolutes. In geometric abstraction, the interplay of figure and ground is often present no matter what the size of the painting. What we read as whiteness or blackness may be warm, cool, flat or luminous. For me, the absence of other colors increases the mystery and power of these images.

KAZIMIR MALEVICH  Black and White, Suprematist composition, 1915 
 oil on canvas   80 x 80cm

MYRON STOUT  Untitled, 1953
 charcoal and pastel on paper      25 x 19"
(I am not certain if the specifications are correct for this piece.)

PIET MONDRIAN     Composition in Black and White, with Double Lines, 1934    

oil on canvas

Linear and gestural work bring out another element of the expressive power of black and white abstraction, whether the mark making is monumental and vigorous or more pictorial. The paintings may be stark and energetic or lyrical, but the absence of other colors allows us to focus more acutely on the forms.

FRANZ KLINE    Mahoning, 1956     oil and paper collage on canvas    80 x 100"

WILLEM DE KOONING     Painting, 1948    enamel and oil on canvas    42.5 x 56"

It takes patience to take in all the possibilities that are offered in these paintings. Unlike black and white thinking, the longer you look, the more you see. 

The images in this post first appeared on gallery and museum websites.

A brief meditation on red blue blue

SUZAN FRECON     red blue blue, 2012      watercolor on paper, 9 1/4 x 27"

In red blue blue there is a presence at once familiar and deeply felt, but unnamed.  

The image is intimate, yet coupled with a sense of never-ending space.

And there is a just-rightness to the curves that brings a calm certainty to the composition. 

The red brown, with its subtly varied coloration, serves to anchor the image and allows the blues to sing.  And those blues are so very lush, each imbued with a unique presence. On the left, the red cuts away revealing a deep blue that floats behind the red while receding. On the right, the blue watercolor has pooled on the paper, leaving a mottled and multi-hued form that seems to hover over the red.

The deceptively simple composition along with the irregularity of the paper add to the timelessness of this intensely beautiful painting.

Small abstractions: Intimate and expansive

Artists have been painting large scale canvases since the late Renaissance, and these paintings are filled with scenes depicting religious parables, historical events and occasional moments of ordinary life. They were intended to inform as well as show off the technical mastery of the artists as they rendered complex architectural space, the landscape, and scenes replete with human activity. (For the ultimate in monumental Renaissance works, see Tintoretto's Paradise-- a whopping 30 feet high x 74 feet wide).

(You might be wondering where I'm going with this--just where are the small abstractions mentioned in the heading?  Read on.) 

COURBET  Allegory: The Artist's Studio, 1854   11'8" x 19'6" inches

 
As abstraction began to take hold during the mid-20th century, the focus of the newer monumental works, now devoid of concrete subject matter, shifted towards color, gesture, and emotion. Accompanying this was a change in the experience for viewers, who were no longer reading a painting to be informed, but rather to be transformed. What became mythic was the experience of the color or gesture, rather than the historical moment. The source of wonder was the depth of the spiritual charge of the painting, rather than the skill of an artist in rendering lifelike details.

POLLOCK    One: Number 31, 1950        8'10" x 17'6"

MARDEN The Propitious Garden of Plane Image, Third Version, 2000-2006    6' x 24' (six panels)

To enter a gallery space lined with enormous paintings can be dazzling, humbling, spiritual, and at times overwhelming. When the paintings are installed with enough room to breathe, when we can view them from far enough away to see them in totality yet not be distracted by other works, it is perhaps possible to enter a meditative state. It is at times possible to have the paintings take over and lose oneself in them. 

But to take in a monumental painting in a single glance, we are often quite distant from it--too far away to simultaneously delight in seeing the painter's hand while losing ourselves in universe of the painting. And when we move closer to see the surface, the subtleties, the marks of the hand, we have lost the totality of the image. We are likely to peruse just a small area of a monumental painting from this intimate distance. Of course, looking at these paintings on a computer screen at a fraction of their actual size completely changes the experience. But you have been there, so close your eyes and recall the experience.

 
And this is where my discussion turns to the beauty of small abstractions, which I often find simultaneously intimate and expansive.  Paintings of this size demand that you lean into them.  Something magical happens when you draw close to a small painting and your entire gaze falls on the image. The rest of the world seems to disappear and the universe of the image is all encompassing. 

 

KLEE   Fire in the Evening, 1929      oil on cardboard     13 1/4 x 13 1/4"

ALBERS    Study for Variant, 1947     oil on paper     9.25 x 12.437"

Your attention rests on the the irregularity of the surface and the most subtle gradations of color. Perhaps you are viewing the painting from the same distance as the artist when it was first painted. Paintings of this size do not allow the artist to hide, so the conversation with the artist begins to feel more direct. The intention behind the work comes through with powerful and concentrated clarity.

REINHARDT    Untitled, circa 1935      gouache on board      5-1/8 x 4-1/8"

SERUSIER     The Talisman, 1888     oil on wood panel    10-1/2 x 8-1/2"

  

DIEBENKORN    Cigar Box Lid No. 7, 1976     oil on board    9 x 7-3/4

You notice marks and underpainting that are only visible because you are standing at most an arm's length from the work. What appeared to be a solid band of color from a few feet away is revealed to be numerous narrow bands neatly stitched together.  And once you are engaged in this dialog with the artist as maker, you linger because there is no need to step back. The entire image is there to hold you. 

BOURGEOIS   Untitled, 2005    Fabric     9-3/8 x 11"

H. MIRANDA WILSON    Time of Night, 2012    oil on panel   9 x 12"

Some small works are incredibly intricate, while others resonate with seeming simplicity. They may be boldly painted or beckon quietly. But they each exert a pull on me that far exceeds their modest size.

FRECON  version o, dark to light, 2008     oil on panel     10 x 8"

SCULLY  Untitled from Ten Towers, 1999    aquatint and etching      image 10 x 4"

Brice Marden and drawing: Cold Mountain

Over the past several years, as painting became my primary medium, I gradually lost touch with drawing. Although I periodically filled small sketchbooks with explorations of the grid, branch studies, and occasional studies from observation, I missed the feel of a gesture extending from my arm and hand. I missed the resistance of a stick of oil pastel against paper and being free of concerns about color. As I write this, I realize that this is a prelude to finding my way back to drawing.

Recently, I have spent a great deal of time thinking about the artists whose work has stayed with me over the years (see my post about Old Friends).   So in this post, I am bringing together my renewed interest in mark-making with my admiration for the work of Brice Marden.

When I first encountered Marden’s work in the early 1970s, I was largely indifferent to it.  I had little interest in minimalism and didn’t take the time to notice the richly textured surfaces or the subtlety of his palette. Additionally, I wasn’t particularly drawn to the explorations of the grid that followed his large, single color paintings. I felt most at home with figurative painting and when I did spend time with non-objective work, it was the paintings of Diebenkorn that held my gaze. 

However, when Marden moved into the calligraphic mark-making that followed (beginning in the 1980s and into the early 1990s) I took notice.  It was those explorations that provided an entryway for me into all of the work that would follow, as well as a willingness to go back and consider the work that preceded it.

Marden and the grid

Marden had done extensive exploration of grids in his prints of the 1970s and would later make a connection between the grid and the structure of Asian calligraphy.  

Grid II (Lewison 18), 1971     etching with aquatint

Tile 1, 1979    etching

Post Card Drawing #1, 1983   Ink and gouache on paper

Developing an interest in Asian calligraphy

Marden’s interest in calligraphic mark-making coincided with his first visits to Asia in the early 1980s. He describes this in a 2009 interviewwith Harry Cooper, curator of Modern and Contemporary Art at the National Gallery of Art. In the interview, he speaks of trying to bring more drawing into his paintings at this time, as well as his growing interest in the structure of Chinese calligraphy.  What was of particular interest to me is that his intention to add drawing into his paintings was not just about finding a fluid approach to mark-making, but that it was coupled with an abiding respect for the grid.

The etchings of the mid 1980s show the beginning influence of calligraphy as Marden moved away from the strong vertical and horizontal axis of the grid and began to connect the marks from top to bottom as well as across the image.

24, Etchings to Rexroth, 1986

8, Etchings to Rexroth, 1986

 

The Poetry of Han Shan (Cold Mountain)

Marden's interest in the structural elements of Asian calligraphy was also accompanied by an introduction to the poetry of Han Shan (translation: Cold Mountain), who is believed to have been a 9^th century Chinese monk who spent several decades living in a remote mountainous area. Not only was Marden intrigued by the poetry, but he also saw a translation that included the Chinese characters on one page and the English translation on the facing page. For Marden, connecting the visual with the meaning would influence the development of his own calligraphic mark-making.  (To  read more about the life of Han Shan along with several poems, click here.)

Marden found out how the calligraphy was written on the page and meant to be read.  From my own readings, I learned that traditional Chinese calligraphy is done in a series of vertical columns, starting on the right side of the page and read top to bottom. (Apparently it is now more popular for characters to be written in horizontal rows and read from left to right, mimicking western writing).

Making marks 

Marden developed his own calligraphic vocabulary by working with a variety of tools to make marks. For the works on paper he dipped twigs and branches in ink, and sometimes added gouache (applied with a brush).  In exploring line and gesture in his paintings, Marden would use brushes with 2-3 foot long handles— to keep his distance from the work as well as to change the level of control he would have in making the gestures.

Cold Mountain Study (Forms), 1990    Ink on paper

Marden describes his process: first drawing columns of calligraphic glyphs, top to bottom, right to left (paralleling the traditional process).  But, unlike traditional calligraphy, he followed that by going back into the grid of glyphs and starting to connect them within each column and ultimately across the columns.

Han Shan goes to the tropics, 1991   Ink on paper

Cold Mountain (Song), 1991     Ink on paper

At some point, he began to add  gouache to the ink drawings, painting over (but in no way obliterating) some of the earlier gestures.  And you can also see him begin to push against the edges of the sheet, which becomes an integral part of paintings that will follow a decade later.

Bridge Study, 1991    Ink and gouache on paper

Untitled with Green, 1989     Ink and gouache on paper

Bringing the gestures into painting

In 1989, Marden began a series of large scale paintings incorporating these calligraphic linear gestures.  But along with the move to working with paint, Marden began drawing the lines with brushes, rather than twigs, stating "I do all of my drawing with sticks. But I don't paint with sticks because you can't get the paint off the stick onto a canvas."   His painting process is complex, and includes painting the gestural marks with a brush, scraping them down, wiping down the surface with turpeniol, sanding and toning the surface, and repeating the process over and over again. Although the paint layers are thin, what results is a densely layered surface rich with networks of lines and ghost lines and a quiet, meditative luminosity.

In an interview with Pat Steir, Marden makes clear that he does not see his approach to mark-making as a form of writing. While he begins with structural elements of Chinese calligraphy, he lets the drawing take over, connecting the columns, going back in and scraping down, layering over some of the lines.  In this same interview, you can read about the challenges of bringing the same fluidity into the painted lines.

Cold Mountain 6 (Bridge), 1989-1991   Oil on linen     108 x 144

"

Cold Mountain 2, 1989 - 1991    Oil on linen     108 x 144"

I find Marden's work from this period rich with quiet emotion, and it brings me a sense of wholeness and calm. Although he makes clear that the paintings are not about the poetry of Han Shan, perhaps Cold Mountain's thoughts are somehow present in this work and infuse the activity of the gestures with tranquility. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If you wish to read more about this period in Marden's work:  Brice Marden Cold Mountain, by Brenda Richardson, 1992 is an excellent place to start. The book includes essays about Han Shan and Chinese Calligraphy, Marden's thoughts about Pollock and extensive comments about his process.