Martin Puryear's Phrygians @ Matthew Marks

Thanks to Martin Puryear, and his phenomenal inaugural show at Matthew Marks Gallery, I now know what a phrygian cap is. Though, now knowing, I'm embarrassed that it escaped my knowledge previously. How could such an important symbol of liberty, starting during the French Revolution and used throughout the Americas, escape my knowledge until he picked up on the theme and seared it into my brain with twelve brilliant works of art?

I'm not sure how to answer that question, but at least I can now sound sophisticated as I try to find new and interesting ways to use it in every social setting I find myself in. I'm sure my friends and acquaintances will never grow tired of how I work it into conversations; and, in the process, they will surely thank me for continually wax poetic about Martin's thematically grouped work and how I found it to be such an inspiration.

Phrygian (cap in the air)

color softground etching with spitbite aquatint, aquatint, 

and drypoint on Somerset White paper

35" x 28"

2012

limited edition of 50

The entrance featured two limited edition etchings that look like they were part of the planning process for sculptures in the show. They are a smart way to introduce the viewer to the three dimensional work that follows; and a good way to give viewers a glimpse into the process Martin uses to envision his work. 

Untitled (State 2)

color softground etching with drypoint and 

Chine collé on Somerset White paper

35" x 28"

2014

limited edition of 40

Though Martin is best known for the world-class woodworking skills he brings to his sculptures, it is important to see he doesn't limit himself to one medium, technique, or even dimension. With this piece, Shackled, Martin again demonstrates that regardless of what medium used, his work is always thoughtful, visually interesting, and constructed with impeccable craft. In this way, his art, particularly in this show but in general as well, is accessible without being banal.

Shackled

iron

27 1/2" x 30 5/8" x 8 3/8

2014

Though a piece like Shackled may initially appear to lack subtlety with its obvious reference to slavery, by combining it with the liberty cap and using a beautiful textured surface (on the body) and contrasting smooth surface (on the brace), he adds ambiguity that leaves room for the viewer to create their own interpretation (by the way, I highly recommend checking out the gallery's fantastic images to get a better sense of this, really, these images and their website, with its ability to zoom in on pieces is the best I've seen). It is simultaneously somber and beautiful. 

Up and Over is similar in material but approaches the theme differently. It is more overtly a phrygian but its message is more subtle. What I find most interesting is how heavy the piece is, both in material and emotionally, being an aged rusty-brown and looking neglected/abandoned.

Up and Over

cast ductile iron

18 5/8" x 26 1/2" x 12 3/4

2014

Both of these sculptures seem to emphasize the absence liberty, but in different ways, and really set the stage for the other work in the show.

Up and Over (closeup)

With Cascade Martin is doing something that is diametrically opposed to the cast iron sculptures. Made with Alaskan yellow cedar, it is a large piece, 66 inches high, but virtually weightless, being made with veneer quality sheets. I didn't have my caliper handy at the time so I'm not sure the precise thickness, but the ribbon must be around 1/8th inch. Its light color and vaguely phrygian shape, along with what seems to be an abstraction of an infinity symbol, leaves the impression of a spiritual intent. Consequently, it seems to reference total freedom, being completely unbounded.

Cascade

Alaskan yellow cedar

66" x 54 3/4" x 17"

2013

There are several amazing things about this piece, many of which one will only appreciate if you work with wood and try to get something so thin to be flat, stable, and connect to itself as this sculpture does; but what I am really fascinated with is how it is hung on the wall. Martin seems to actually make the piece levitate since there is no visible hanging mechanism and any it is difficult to imagine how it is done. I also love how Martin adds a subtle complexity by slowly changing the width of the ribbon so that the change is only apparent where there is overlap.

Cascade (second view)

Phrygian Spirit is similar to Cascade in material and technique, but it is more overtly spiritual with its title.

Phrygian Spirit

Alaskan yellow cedar, holly, ebony, leather, 

string, milk paint

58 3/8" x 74 3/4" x 15 3/4"

2012-2014

It also more complex with plenty of overtly symbolic elements open to interpretation -- a black ebony ball hanging in mid-air from a blood-red-capped-pure-white holly "drum stick(?)"; a pale, weightless phrygian hanging magically against the wall; a beige cone (why a cone?) painted pure white at its base.

Phrygian Spirit (second view)

I like how the outline of the phrygian is completed with the hanging string of the black sphere.

Phrygian Spirit (first closeup)

Phrygian Spirit (second closeup)

Notice the cone isn't made with clear white holly like the "drum stick" at the other end of the piece, but rather beige Alaskan yellow cedar.

Perhaps Martin has a literal interpretation, and perhaps he had very clear intentions about the symbolism but, in addition to being a beautiful piece, it is beautiful how he leaves just enough symbolism to get the viewer thinking, but not so much that he gives any clear answers either.

Phrygian Spirit (third closeup)

With Phrygian Plot, Martin has taken a grid of black and white squares and laid them over an outline of the cap.

Phrygian Plot

Inlaid holly and black dyed veneer

60" x 74" x 4"

2012

There is an interesting, and confusing, complexity that arises by placing a grid over the outline because of the irregular shapes created, obscuring its underlying simplicity.

Phrygian Plot (second view)

Like many of the pieces in the show, Phrygian Plot toys with the edge of minimalism in being simple in form and concept, but its execution and visual arrangement are anything but simple. For example, at the top there is a little band of black, and slivers of white on either side of it. That little detail can easily be overlooked but that is also why it is my favorite part of the piece -- I find it both daring in its execution and mysterious in its existence.

Phrygian Plot (first closeup)

Faux Vitrine probably the most visually complex piece in the should, having two seemingly incongruous sides. 

Faux Vitrine

Mirror polished stainless steel, curly maple, black walnut,

marine plywood, Japan color

73 3/4" x 46 1/2" x 40 3/4"

2014

One side being colorful, vibrant, organic, smooth, and welcoming; the other, stark, angular, sterile, and cold. Looking at one side you'd never guess that the other exists, or even why it would exist.

Faux Vitrine (second view)

In fact, as much as any piece in the show, it is a bit of a conundrum. A sculpture based on a functional glass display case? But one that really couldn't display anything, and doesn't even have any glass?

Faux Vitrine (third view)

Opposite sides of a single coin? Mirror images of itself with mirrors? A piece that asks what do you see and actually shows you an image of yourself? Beauty and perfection existing on both sides even though they are completely different? A statement about commercialism? 

Faux Vitrine (fourth view)

In Shell Game is more direct, at least in the title, that he is playing with the viewers ability to decipher the intent of each piece and this one is a toy.

Shell Game

tulip poplar, milk paint

56 1/4" x 72" x 9 1/2"

2014

A spoon? A shell? A path from one to the other? Perhaps the shell symbolizes shelter or housing and the spoon, food, thereby creating a link between housing, food, and liberty.

Shell Game (second view)

Or perhaps, as a toy, he referencing the freedom of childhood play, imagining moving a marble around the track between the spoon and the shell.

Shell Game (first closeup)

Certainly the color selection and the painting technique have deep meaning as well, I'm sure they were selected carefully, but the intent isn't immediately clear.

One of the amazing things about all the pieces in the show is how they only become more interesting the closer you get to them.

Shell Game (second closeup)

What I love about Big Phrygian is that it can be see in so many different ways, it looks exactly like a phrygian, so it is representational; but at such a large scale it seems to take on a purely abstract form as well;

Big Phrygian

painted red cedar

58" x 40" x 76"

2010-2014

and, interestingly, it also has a very organic feel to it, as if it is representational of some blob-ish imaginary life-form.

Big Phrygian (second view)

In closeup you can see it was made with strips of red cedar using boat building techniques. Notice how Martin didn't try and hide the staple holes that were used to hold the strips to a frame during glue up, instead leaving them to contribute to the history of the surface along with the hand tool marks. Somehow the piece seems to perfectly balance impeccable craftsmanship with an imperfect surface that celebrates the hand of the craftsman. 

Big Phrygian (closeup)

With his slumped over taffy-pulled-like Question, Martin seems to playing with the viewers sense of what he intends. 

Question

tulip poplar, pine, ash

90" x 1091/4" x 34 1/2"

2010

A question mark that has been manipulated into a phrygian in a way that implies it has softened, twisted, and slumped over. 

Question (first closeup)

The weight of the "period" is also an interesting contrast with the rest of the piece. It seems so immovable and permanent relative to the flexibility and delicateness of the other section.

He is clearly saying something about the relationship of questions with liberty, but the intent remains ambiguous, leaving a question that can never be answered.

Question (second closeup)

Untitled is the largest, and final, piece in the show and, though it is also the most crudely made, combining stripped saplings tied together with twine, it is still assembled with artistry and precision. It is also interesting to see how closely it resembles the etching Untitled at the entrance of the show.

 Untitled

hardwood sapling, cordage

174 1/2" x 148" x 52"

2014
 (image taken from Matthew Marks Gallery website)

From the side you can see its depth and how it is strung together. It obviously holds a lot of tension, like a bow -- it is bound, held in place, and seems to want to move in a direction counter to where it is at, creating a visual tension between liberty and imprisonment/immobility.

Untitled (second view)

And from the closeup you can see how beautiful the binding is, but also note how excessive it looks relative to what would be needed to hold it in place, which I think is an important point of the sculpture. 

Untitled (first closeup)

Untitled (second closeup)

As a whole, I find the incredible diversity of styles, techniques, and forms Martin has demonstrated throughout the show astounding. He shows such a virtuosic range, like an opera singer who can hit unimaginable high notes as well as the deepest low notes and never falter. I'm impressed.

Anne Truitt @ Matthew Marks

One of the things I love about art is the surprise. The surprise in both the creation and in finding what I like about other people's art. Sometimes, as in the case of Anne Truitt's recent show, Threshold: Works from the 1970s at Matthew Marks Gallery (September 13 to October 26), the surprise is in finding that I love something I wouldn't expect to even like if didn't stand in front of it and experience it for myself.

Truitt's Arundel Series and particularly the one below (Arundel XXVII or XXX, I'm not sure) could very well be the most minimalist painting I've ever seen and it is also one of the most powerful. I love it, but if you described it to me, I wouldn't get it, I would expect to be totally unimpressed, and I would think you lost your senses if you told me you liked it. The contrast between the expectation and the experience is a huge surprise and, perhaps, one of the reasons I love it so much. From the image below it is difficult to see anything, it consists of a small vertical white line (maybe it is more like a smudge) painted on an unprimed canvas with a straight graphite line drawn on top of it.

 Arundel XXVII or XXX

acrylic and graphite on canvas

1975

Below is a closeup for a better view of the paint and graphite. There isn't much to it in terms of material or labor, but the emotional impact for me is totally out of proportion with the physical material. That fact makes me stop and think about why it is so powerful, which also adds to my love for it. I find the restraint it takes to do so little remarkable. It is completely counter-intuitive, but this work shows that a painter can sometimes say more without paint than with. Also, by painting so little, she forces the viewer to look closely, and think. It leaves space for thought, and interpretation, and questions. There is just enough on the canvas to attach to, to see, yet an enormous space to think about and wonder. It shows a tremendous amount of respect for, and trust in, the viewer. And finally, the contrast between the free-form vertical white smudge and the precise vertical graphite line says something emotionally that is beyond words.

 Arundel XXVII (or XXX) (closeup)

There were also a series of fully acrylic paintings in the show that I also loved, my favorite of which was Februare, which consists of a few horizontal lines, two white and one greenish, all perfectly horizontal but painted roughly, with imprecise edges. It is austere, full of emptiness (an oxymoron?) and subtlety while also providing a fixed point that draws the viewers attention. It seem well titled, an emotional translation of February to the visual.

 Februare

acrylic on canvas

1978

In this closeup you can see the roughness of the horizontal lines and the subtlety of the white acrylic on a white canvas.

 Februare (closeup)

I also love Echo and how the boarder color is so close to the interior one that the viewer is forced to look closely to see what the form is.

 Echo

acrylic on canvas

1973

In this closeup it is easier to see the two colors. I especially like how the inside color moves subtly out at the center. I find it beautiful, simple, and thoughtful.

 Echo (closeup)

Though the above paintings aren't made with wood and seem out of place in a wood art blog, I'm covering the show because of her painted wood sculptures. I think the series raises the question of where to draw the line between sculpture and painting. For me, these are really three-dimensional paintings, the structure is merely a very complicated canvas, but no more complicated than canvases I've seen made by Frank Stella or Sean Scully, and no less painterly either.

Two of her wood pieces were horizontal, Grant and Remembered Sea.

 Grant

acrylic on wood

1974

 Remembered Sea

acrylic on wood

1974

The rest were vertical. All, regardless of orientation, are so austere, rigid, and perfect. I find it amazing that after forty years the pieces seem to be as perfect as the day they were made, no gaps or visible seams anywhere. Everything is completely smooth. I don't know what her method of construction was but she knew what she was doing, it is no small feat to make these pieces out of wood and have them remain perfect for so many years. Additionally, her painted surfaces and lines are completely smooth and clean.  

 Jaunt

acrylic on wood

1977

Some of these pieces play with contrasts, as with Jaunt, where the top and bottom are small but dramatically different than the middle;

 Jaunt (closeup)

and Second Requiem,

 Second Requiem

acrylic on wood

1977/1980

where one side is dramatically different than the other three.

Second Requiem (second view)

While others are very subtle, forcing the viewer to look closely to discover the designs, as with Landfall,

 Landfall

acrylic on wood

1970

which I love for the two subtle changes at the bottom, as well as the very slight vertical band;

Landfall (closeup)

and Morning Child, where the bottom is, similarly, a slightly different blue.

 Morning Child

acrylic on wood

1973

Here changes are so slight sometimes, they make me suspect that she changes colors from one side to the next, leaving the viewer in complete mystery because of the impossibility of determining whether there is a change due to the differences in lighting.

I found the most important aspect of the show was the emotional impact it had on me. I feel that the show as a whole, and each of the pieces as well, made me feel very sad and lonely, and I really appreciate that -- not that I enjoy the feeling but I love art that makes me feel anything strongly. The affect made me wonder what impact it had on other people so I asked a couple of gallery assistants how the show made them feel. One said "happy," he thought the work was joyful (which I don't really get), the other said "calm" (which I do get). Regardless of what her intent or inspiration was, the show is powerful and if the viewer takes the time to look, think, and feel, it should add to their understanding of what great art is.