Louise Nevelson: Pasted Form

Untitled, 1959; cardboard, paper, and wood collage on board, 36 x 48 in.

(I apologize for the reflections in the photos.)

After seeing the recent exhibition of Matisse cut-outs at MoMA, I've been more alert to the possibilities of collage, even including pasted shapes in some of my own potato prints. So it was a real treat to see a recent show of Louise Nevelson's powerful collages at Pace Gallery. The show included several later assemblages, but what most interested me were the earlier, flatter works, of various materials pasted onto wooden boards. The images are graphically strong, the use of materials wide-ranging and inventive; anything that came to hand was of use. Of course there is a strong tie to the earliest collages (from the French coller, "to glue") by the Cubists Picasso and Braque. Nevelson's work might be closer to that of Kurt Schwitters, who made wooden collage/assemblage constructions, and built entire environments.

Untitled, 1956; cardboard, foil, paint, and wood collage on board, 46 x 36 in. 

A triangle fits into a partial circle, and the curve and diagonals are repeated in the forms below. A piece of foil adds light....

Untitled, 1956 detail

....the flaps of a flattened cardboard container add gentle angles, the verticals of the corrugation repeating the larger wooden verticals alongside.

Untitled, 1959; cardboard, foil, paint, paper, and pencil collage on board, 46 x 36 in.

This piece emphasized verticality, but balances that with horizontals above the tall, thin verticals, tops it off with a large broken curve, and surprises us with a black lacy semicircle. I love the lines of circles at the bottom of the cardboard shape. We have a strong sense of knowing where the ordinary stuff used to make these collages comes from––a doily, a box that held cans––but it is transformed into the stuff of art.

Untitled, 1959, detail

The elements have an architectural feel to them, as though the forms reference built structures. The color, though subtle, is very beautifully adjusted, one surface to another.

Untitled, 1960; cardboard, paper, pencil, and wood collage on board, 36 x 36 in. 

Elegantly curved forms are alongside pieces of wood that are torn and jagged; the deep browns and blacks make the work an elegy.

Untitled, 1957; fabric, leather, and wood collage, 40 x 30 in.

Untitled, 1957; cardboard, metal, pencil, velvet, and wood collage on board, 40 x 30 in.

The two pieces above may be my favorites in the show: the stacking of rectangular elements is so satisfying to my eye. And then there is the reference to books in the shape and in the use of what look like leather bindings.

Untitled, 1963; cardboard, foil, paper, spray paint, and wood collage on board, 36 x 23 7/8 in.

The regularity of those rectangles is unusual, though, in Nevelson's body of work; she reveled in combining disparate elements and making them into a whole. In the gallery press release she is quoted as saying "the way I think is collage". Untitled, 1963 is emblematic of her putting one seemingly disconnected thing next to another––a torn piece of wood and some lace; aggressive next to sedate, irregular next to patterned––and making a unified statement.

Moon Spikes, 1953; wood painted black, 22 3/4 x 49 3/4 x 7 3/4 in.

I'd like to end with a small early sculpture by Nevelson. In it we can see her desire to place shape next to shape and to see what conversation emerges. From the book Dawns and Dusks by Diana MacKown, 1976, (found on the Louise Nevelson Foundation site) is this quote from Nevelson:

When I compose, I don't have anything but the material, myself, and an assistant. I compose right there while the assistant hammers. Sometimes it's the material that takes over; sometimes it's me that takes over. I permit them to play, like a seesaw. I use action and counteraction, like in music, all the time. Action and counteraction. It was always a relationship – my speaking to the wood and the wood speaking back to me.

Snow Melt

A touching phenomenon happens in the woods at this time of year: the temperature is warm enough that natural objects begin to sink into the snow as into a soft enveloping cushion; there's a feeling of tenderness in the way each small thing is held.

A bit of evergreen stem rests beneath an ice-rimmed hole.

Dried leaves have settled into the footstep of a deer.

Scattered needles make a pattern on and in the snow.

Circles bare of snow have widened around the warmth of trees.

Snow and ice have retreated from the bark of an ancient apple tree, and mosses have emerged, looking like a miniature hilly landscape.

The temperature was in the mid 40s today, a beautiful and delightful day. It feels as though it's been 6 months since we've experienced that mildness, though it's probably been only 3. It was a perfect day to begin pruning my apple trees, so after my snowshoe in the woods, I took my hand pruner out to my old lady tree, the first tree I prune each year.

She's very old and bent over, and I don't expect her to live much longer, but there are vigorous new shoots every year, heading straight up, that have to be pruned off. This tree seems so wizened, yet has so much life left in it, that it's a lesson in aging gracefully and with energy.

A New Painting: "Rectangular Blues"

Rectangular Blues, egg tempera on calfskin parchment, 7 1/8 x 9 1/2 in.

It's interesting to see the responses to our work out in the world: sometimes pieces we think "meh" of are greeted with enthusiasm, and works we really like are duds. Does this mean our own judgement is faulty, or that of the viewers? Maybe neither, and it's just a matter of taste. I happen to really like this painting I recently finished, and didn't like the last one much. I have an austere streak, and this image satisfies it: very simple overlapping rectangles, all variations of one color, with areas of black. Sunlight crosses the blue at repeating diagonals. I made the source image's light grassy areas into deep darks to keep a minimal expression of form; I added a bar across the left center of the painting, to bring light into it.

Rectangular Blues detail

I considered changing the curved forms at the upper left into a rectangle to keep with the shaped theme, but I thought that the variation added some energy to the composition. Although based on real things out in the world, balancing these paintings feels much like making an abstract image. I am concerned that the light and the form are convincing, and that the painting stands on its own without reference to the real world.

At the Met: The Grace of Korean Ceramics

Brush holder with lotus decoration, mid 19th century; porcelain with openwork design, 5 1/4 x 5 1/4 in.

At the Metropolitan Museum of Art, there's a gallery––#233––in the Asian wing dedicated to Korean art. I often stop in there on my visits to the museum because there are always beautiful objects on display. There is currently an exhibition there celebrating "Korea: 100 Years of Collecting at the Met", which contains many wonderful things, all of which you can see at the exhibition link. What most pleases my eye, as is often the case in this room, are the elegant and graceful ceramics, often with a celadon glaze; their color and shape, their sensitive delineation of natural forms, are refined and have a sense of perfection. It is a warm perfection, one that elicits a longing for beauty.

Gourd-shaped Ewer with decoration of waterfowl and reeds, early 12th century; stoneware with carved and incised design under celadon glaze, 10 1/2 x 7 7/8 in. 

This ewer has marvelous curves and fanciful little squiggles at the top of the lid and handle. When I see a piece like this I can't help but wonder what it feels like to lift it, to pour a liquid from it, to run my hands over its curves. My sensuous experience has to be limited to sight. A you can see from the date of this ewer....

Bowl with foliate rim and peony decoration, first half of 12th century; stoneware with mold-impressed and incised design under celadon glaze;, 2 1/4 x 7 5/8 in. 

....and of this elegantly incised dish.....

Melon-shaped ewer with decoration of bamboo, first half 12th century; stoneware with carved and incised design under celadon glaze, 8 1/2 in. 

.....and this inventively decorated piece, these three works are ancient. As I learned from this brief essay on the Met's website, they were made during the Goryeo dynasty (918-1392). The artisans learned much about celadon technique from China. The color comes from "the raw materials from which it was made––iron in the clay and iron oxide, manganese oxide, and quartz particles in the glaze––and to the reduction atmosphere created at a certain stage of firing by dramatically reducing the level of oxygen inside the kiln." For me the color is more than a reference to the natural world, the greens of the plant world; there is quality of innate light, of calm pleasures.

Dish, second half of 15th century; porcelain, 1/2 x 8 7/16 in.

Bottle, first half 19th century; porcelain, 13 15/16 x 8 1/4 in.

Two very simple pieces, made hundreds of years apart, both showing how attention to the flowing movement of a curve can make an object that is wonderfully satisfying.

Moon Jar, second half of 18th century; porcelain, 15 1/4 x 13 in. 

The fullness of this irregular jar, named Moon Jar ––dalhangari––because of its shape...and I think of the full moon just passed hanging round and white in the sky, with reds on it as it rises.

Jar with decoration of flowers and insects, mid 18th century; porcelain with underglaze cobalt-blue design, 13 1/2 x 11 3/8 in. 

Fresh and delicate drawings enliven the surface of this jar, with insects flitting about and the flowers and leaves floating in a breeze.

Square bottle, first half of 19th century; porcelain, 7 x 4 1/4 x 4 3/8 in.

Amidst all the curves, it is a nice surprise to come across this rectangular form, simple and clean; perhaps it alludes to architecture or furniture. The slight curves of the neck play off nicely against the square sides. It is a very lovely thing.

Kashyapa, 1700; wood with polychrome paint, 22 x 9 in. 

Finally, I bit of joy to end: a small sculpture of Kashyape, "the eldest of the two principle disciples of the historical Buddha Shakyamuni." His visage and gesture are full of peace and calm and loving-kindness; what perfect feelings to be conveyed by a work of art.

New Hooked Wool Drawings

2015 #1, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 18 x 13 1/2 in.

When I first began this series of hooked wool drawings in 2010, my images were all centered on the linen surface, like sketches in a notebook. I later began using the entire surface, creating a different kind of energy. With this group of four I thought I'd stay with the centered image. Above are two ovals, one in paint and one hooked.

2015 #2, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 18 x 13 3/4 in.

Here are more ovals––or should I call them ellipses?––arranged horizontally. Three of them are painted in different yellow hues, the fourth, the smallest one is hooked in wool.

2015 #2 wool choices

After I'd painted the ovals, I wasn't sure I wanted to use the color of wool I'd originally decided on. I can't even remember which one it was of the three, but I did end up using the color in the middle because of its assertive contrast. It often happens that a color of wool I'd picked out for a drawing looks wrong once the shapes are painted.

2015 #3, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 15 x 18 1/2 in. 

In 2015 #3 there is a hooked line, a hooked shape, and a painted shape; the shapes are different reds, the line a greenish yellow.

2015 #4, hand dyed wool and egg tempera on linen, 17 x 13 in.

As in 2015 #3, #4 has the elements of hooked shape, painted shape, and line, but in this case the line encloses the painted shape.

2015 #4 detail

This closer look gives a better idea of the way the different surfaces play off each other. The textures make a kind of mini-relief sculpture whose physical presence contains a lot of the meaning (such as it is) of the work.

Waiting Patiently

We are still in deep winter here in northern Vermont: today the wind is howling and snow is blowing. But there are tight little packages on trees and shrubs ready to burst into flower and leaf when the time is right. A pair of American Cranberry buds stand up tall, their rounded shapes coming to a point like onion domes.

In the woods, the buds of beech trees are long and elegantly wrapped.

The lilac has large rounded buds, which look as though they're ready to open, but it will be two months before that will happen.

Branches and buds of blueberry bushes are a vivid red, pulsing with life next to the cool white snow.

Small buds climb raspberry canes.

Two red apple tree buds point downwards, but hold up hope.

The apple trees, with their pointing red fingers, look like they are celebrating their good fortune on a bright and cold day. Some day in May, the buds will open, leaves will begin to form; this year there will also be flowers, and if all goes well, fruit in the fall. The trees and shrubs know that winter will end and the growing season will begin; they remind me to be as calm and patient as they are.

Merlin James: Paint as Love

Single Flower, 2014; acrylic on canvas, 18.9 x 18.1 in.

A painting of a pink flower in a bright green vase on a table: what could be more silly or clichéd? And yet, through Merlin James's brush, it becomes a touching image, a sign of the fleeting tenderness of beauty. The green-spotted vase is like a figure holding aloft a delicate gift.

Single Flower detail

The painting's surface is built up of marks and drips and stuff stuck in the paint, giving a sense of the intense involvement of the artist's hand and eye, his joy in the surprising things that happen: a leaf-shaped drip, a stem sinking into paint, pink petals both light as air and physically solid.

Still Life, 2014; acrylic on canvas, 23 x 30 in.

Merlin James's show "Genre Painting" at Sikkema Jenkins was a wonderful surprise for me (there are excellent images at the link; the photos in this post are my own): I hadn't seen his work before, and when I looked at the show online it seemed to me to be too much of a grab bag of styles and ideas and subject matter and form; this made it look as though it were held together solely by an intellectual construct, a theoretical way of approaching painting, a high-handed cleverness. Oh, how wrong my assessment was! I have several times been disappointed by seeing work in person that I very much liked online, but I don't remember such a turnabout from skepticism to love when in front of actual work. It is the quality of the paint––its searched-for texture and touch––and the artist's sensibility, that pulls it all together into a celebration of painting.

Of the genres that James tackles, one is still life: the dark mood of Still Life is very different from the optimism of Single Flower. In both paintings there is a thing-ness to the objects depicted, a palpable presence in a built environment. In both paintings, and in others in the show, the vertical sides are bowed inwards, as though yielding to the pressure of the external world. We tend to ignore the rectangle of most paintings; it's a neutral space. The bending of the rectangle adds energy to the picture plane; it asks us to notice the window.

Moon, 2014; acrylic on canvas, 22 x 19.5 in.

Another genre: landscape. A silvery moon, reflected in some clouds, hangs above a sweep of greenish land. The simplicity of the image is punctuated by a line of green and dabs of paint at the bottom. This added gesture both removes the painting from ordinariness, and interjects the artist's personality. It allows a closer look at the transparent layers of paint above, the little dots of imperfection.

By Marshes, 2004-14; acrylic on canvas, 33 x 23 in. 

Another painting approach that James takes is that of the abstracted landscape: an image, appearing non-objective, yet based on something seen, as we are informed by the title. This painting has a luscious surface, but not in the sense of juicy; it's actually very dry, looking like sand or cement, but holding lots of color.

Abstraction, 2002/2015; acrylic on canvas, 19 x 27.5 in.

On to pure abstraction, shapes and colors without reference to objects in the world. In this oddly balanced painting, every element feels perfect, even the rough dark canvas used as a ground.

Abstraction detail 

The painting support is very irregular, and I wonder if it's just a burlap sack. The touches of color on it are so carefully placed, so richly brushed, that they transform the disheveled surface into a thing of beauty. 

Red, 2013-14; acrylic on canvas, 17.5 x 26.5 in. 

All the works in the show are labeled as being on canvas, I believe to assertively identify them as paintings and not as constructions or anything else. Whatever the support, traditional or not, opaque or transparent, the paint on it has great sensitivity and thoughtfulness. There is also tremendous charm in a work such as Red.

Red detail

The brilliantly colored support, with shiny threads, looks like nothing more than a sack that holds oranges or other produce. How magical to transform this bit of detritus into a painting both serious and playful; I honestly can't say how James does it.

Capriccio, 2014; acrylic on canvas, 41 x 31 in. 

Yet another body of work in this show are the transparent paintings, in which we see a frame, and through the transparent material, the support and construction behind it. The first thing to notice is the composition of the wooden structure, but then....

Capriccio detail

....there are small bits of paint here and there, circles repeating the cut circles in the four corners. A special surprise is the tiny "cityscape" tucked away in a corner.

Old Kiln, 2012-15; acrylic on canvas, 28.5 x 33.5 in.

In Old Kiln, pools of color flow across an acrylic surface. Here too a small construction shifts scale: pieces of wood closer to and farther from the surface create a visual depth; their geometry plays with the organic movement of paint; their softening with distance becomes fading memories, just out of reach.

Sunset, 2014; acrylic on canvas, 26.6 x 22 in. 

Sunset's "window" is strongly curved, making an elegant surround for the pink glow of the "canvas". There's something almost Renaissance-architectural about it for me.

Sunset detail

There is very little paint on this work, just enough to make it intentional, to show that there is a surface to paint on and that paint changes what it touches. Paint carries emotion, whether delicately on a transparent surface....

Marine Painting, 2014-15; acrylic on canvas, 28 x 21 in. 

...or gesturally in a still life....

Tree and Wall, 2014; acrylic on canvas, 24.375 x 22.375 in.

...or thickly painted and scratched in a landscape....

Old Fortified Buildings, 2010-14; acrylic on canvas, 40 x 24 in.

....or richly painted on layered materials in an abstracted landscape. Merlin James uses paint with reverence and with delight and love.