Volume 1. No. 1. Winter 2006/07
ISSN 1752-6388
What interests me a lot about the work in the 1960s is where they reinvented material practice of painting. What I had in mind, for example, was both the shaped canvases of Frank Stella but also the paints he used. Stella very famously said he wanted his paintings to look as good as they were in the can, the whole point is that he made paintings out of tins of paint rather than tubes of paint. It’s industrial colour, it’s commercial colour, it’s not artists’ colour. It seems that this whole generation of artists did as much as they could to get away from traditional materials of art or painting. So you have tins of copper paint or enamel or aluminium paint used by Stella but also by a number of other artists. [Warhol, Marylin] Warhol’s fabulous body of work which is not mainly painting, well do you think of Warhol as a painter, I don’t know, they’re screenprints with some paint on them. But also Warhol’s range of materials, you include, piss, diamond dust, silver, oxidisation, and other were non-art, non-spectrum colours and materials. [Slide] A close up of the campest Donald Judd you’ll ever seen, its copper with fluorescent pink plexi-glass, and unfortunately the slide gives nothing of the strangeness of the materials and the colour.
I started talking about medium, I moved into talking about materials, I’m doing that then in order to talk about colour. As we’ve been threatening to talk about all day. I think the, the value of these artists for me, and others - [Slide} a Judd Colour Chart, to remind me to talk about how, for these generations of artists and for many, many since, that the organisation of colour is not done according to the colour circles, to the traditional predicates of colour theory, but through occupying the commercially available systems of colourments in the colour chart. Which makes in a way, every colour you use a readymade. It’s something you can go out and buy and apply rather than would mix up in the studio or something. And certain colour the way I think about is as a readymade. And a readymade of the everyday world of the city. And I think it’s clearly the case for all these artists and many others that the subject of the work, whether they are a colourist, I think they are all colourist in one way or another. The subject of the work is not the colours of nature, but the colours of the modern urban environment. And maybe Fried was right that the world have become impossible for painting to represent in its traditional forms, because I think the traditional forms of painting and what they were based on were calibrated to representing the effects of nature. And I think that for Rauschenberg, for Judd, for Stella it’s about dealing with, if you like, the surfaces of the modern city more than anything else. And oil painting is not very good at doing that. Or at least I couldn’t make it do that which is probably the more personal way of saying it.
[Slide] A very early Dan Flavin. I saw these earlier works of Flavin from 1962 or so before his signature works using neon flashing lamps.
I saw them when I was going round a private collection in New York. They are these two weird things, they are paintings, small 2 foot square boxy paintings with a light stuck inside. That seemed an extremely unlikely thing to do. And an extremely unlikely thing to make any sense, and yet somehow they kind of weirdly worked. This painting that didn’t want to be a painting, but didn’t know what else to be at the time. Art historians would call them transitional works. I think they’re fantastic, strange, irregular, occasional pieces.
If your interest in a subject is surface of the modern city and the kind of colours it generates, the one thing one has to attend to is that area where most colour takes place which is through electricity, petro-chemicals and illumination. Just not too get stuck on the North Americans, I think John Latham, his early work from the late 1950s 1960s is fabulous example of the medium of painting corrupted, contaminated by books, by text, by other materials which seem always to stand outside the medium painting. And yet, I think they are some of the best paintings made in the UK at the time, far better than most English pop art for example.
Another artist I want to keep within this cluster is Eva Hesse, who we think of probably as a post-minimalist sculptor, but in a way her work seems to me to come fundamentally out of painting. And in a way what it does, is that it spills beyond the frame of painting, exceeds the frame and quite literally in some of the works their frames were hanging off the wall. Her later work is flexible, soft, formalist materials. But still for me, there’s a great shot which I wish I’d brought with me of Hesse’s studio with all these drooping, gloopy, objects all hanging off the wall. But if it’s hanging off the wall then to me at least, it’s still in the realm of painting at some level.
[Slide] I’ve got a few slides of Judd’s materials to point out that sense that if you’re interested in the surfaces and the experience of the modern city, and you’re trying to represent it, you’ve got to, it seems to me - and these artists certainly felt they absolutely need to - deal with these colours and details head on, not by representing them through other means but by using those actual materials themselves, and that was to say plastics, metals, shiny surfaces, mirrors, reflective elements like that. Here’s a few of Judd’s materials from his own descriptions or titles of his work: orange pebbled plexi-glass and hot rolled steel; galvanised iron; black anodised aluminium and bronze plexi glass; red fluorescent plexi-glass and steel; stainless steel and amber plexi-glass; turquoise enamel on aluminium; hot rolled steel and turquoise enamel; Harley Davidson hi-fi red; 1958 Chevrolet Regal Turquoise. There’s a fantastic rich list of colours and material. The point and the curious thing about them is that none of them are traditional spectrum colours. It’s fluorescent, bronze, turquoise, Harley Davidson and so forth. For Flavin it was the kind of colours available through fluorescent light.
Top of next columnI wasn’t aware of it but maybe why I’m a failed painter is because I couldn’t make the work of painting match the vividness of the world that I was drawn to in the city I live in which is London. It’s very dangerous, very, very dangerous I strongly advise against doing a talk where you start with Rauschenberg and Stella and Flavin and end up talking about yourself it’s as if it’s a lineage and really, really, really I wouldn’t want to imply that. These are works, and I maybe I can bring it round the studio to this, that are a small group from a series of works called ‘I Like Kings Cross and Kings Cross Loves Me’ made about 1996-97.
There’s a small group in GoMA at the moment as part of the Art Council Collection. But these began as I was trying to make a post-Yves Klein vivid, brightly-coloured monochromes, and all I knew, I didn’t know how to make them, but all I knew was I didn’t want to sit on the wall in a conventional kind of way and I was trying to find a support for my shiny monochromes and I was making a one of a panelled plexi glass, painting on the back very shiny liquid almost surface when you flip it. And I was leaving them on to try and I stuck it on an old dolly in the studio and the weird thing was that this sheet of plexi-glass happened to be about the same size as the dollies and it looked like it fitted and it made me think of the possibility that that might be the support for these monochromes that I was trying to make: dollies, wheels, monochrome on wheels. I don’t think that had been done before, but the point of saying that is not that, it is in a way to illustrate for me why the studio is such an important place, which is that it’s a place where things come together that you hadn’t anticipated or planned. It’s where you can bring in a wide range of materials and see what happens when you throw them at each other. And in a way it’s often the studio accident where the most important shifts occur and work, things that you couldn’t or hadn’t imagined or anticipated, happen, as it were, in your peripheral vision. And those are the things for me that in a way generate the next step of work. And once I realised that I was kind of working with this sort of relationship between colours and surfaces of the city, and then I realised very quickly that I was gonna have to look at things like illuminated colour because that’s where so much of it takes place. [slide] This is a large tower of light boxes, again old commercial light boxes from shop signs; exit signs, shop signs, burger joints and so forth, which I just re-light with different bits of plexi-glass and vinyl, to generate in terms of colour tones a haphazard
arrangement of transparent and opaque colours - in this case a sort of 15 metre tower on old Dexian shelving units. And then the most recent work I’ve shown is a chandelier I made for the Bloomberg space in London which was made up 450 used plastic containers, bottle containers, each one individually illuminated on 450 lengths of cable. But in a way again the point for me I suppose was where are the great colours of the city? They’re in weird places, they’re in supermarket shelves. They’re on old streets like Brick Lane in London. They’re not in the high valued areas of the city and that in a way, for me it’s really only about asking that question and seeing what comes up as a possible answer. Going round the supermarket you see these fantastically bright coloured bottles. For some reason, they’re either cleaning fluids, hair products or fizzy drinks. I don’t know why but that’s it - so when you go up to the checkout with a trolley full of cleaning
fluids, hair products and fizzy drinks, you always feel like well someone thinks you’ve got a disorder, cleanliness issues or something. What I did first of all when I started looking at these bottles was simply get a few and bring it back to the studio to find out what you could do with it. I didn’t know what I was gonna be able to do with it, and then I found if you stuck a light up its arse it kind of glowed a nice colour and then that in turn led to various a few works and eventually to these chandelier type pieces. [Final slide] And I think always, always in any of the work make sure that the support – it’s the old Modernist in me in some respects - that what makes the work work, be it a physical support or electrical support, is always visible to anyone viewing it. And one of the reasons for that is that they’re always gonna be someone who sees a bright light in a darkened room and who will mistake it for a religious experience. In a way, the whole thing is if you can see the plug, then it stops you get mystical. I don’t know why it is exactly but its very, very important thing to always, always keep your plugs visible, otherwise you end up like James Turrell.