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AGNES MARTIN (1912-2004)

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Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall."
Sans titre n° 7197472 x 72 in.(182,88 x 182,88 cm) acrylique, crayon et gesso sur toile
Provenance
Galerie Pace, New York
Helen W. Benjamin, New York
Sotheby's New York, 8 mai 1996, lot 50
Collection privée, États-Unis
Ace Gallery, Los Angeles
Collection privée, acquise auprès de la personne susmentionnée, mai 1998
Exposition
New York, Pace Gallery, Agnes Martin : Nouvelles peintures, 1975
Littérature
Beeren, W.A.L., Bloem, M. (1991), Agnes Martin : Peintures et dessins 1974-1990, Stedelijk Museum. p. 62 (illustré)
Bell, T., Agnes Martin Catalogue Raisonné : Paintings [En ligne], Cahier's d'Art Institute
Gruen, J. (septembre 1976), "...Plus.....Agnes Martin : "Tout, tout est une question de sentiment... de sentiment et de reconnaissance"". Artnews, p. 91, illustré en couleur
Gula, K. (mai-juin 1975), "Review of Exhibitions : Agnes Martin at Pace", Art in America 63, p. 85, illustré en couleur
...MOINS.....
Parmi les nombreux peintres modernistes qui ont imprégné leurs géométries d'une dimension spirituelle, Agnes Martin est celle dont les peintures résonnent le plus profondément avec une vie de simplicité ascétique. En 1967, elle quitte New York et le monde de l'art, renonce à ses occupations mondaines et s'embarque pour une odyssée de dix-huit mois à travers les paysages sauvages de l'Ouest américain. C'était le prélude à une vie de réclusion, où sur une mesa isolée près de Cuba, au Nouveau-Mexique, Martin a construit un sanctuaire à la main, façonnant de l'adobe et du bois pour en faire un domicile unique. Vivant sans les commodités du téléphone, de l'électricité ou de la plomberie intérieure, elle pratique l'art de la vie, et non la vie d'un peintre. Cette quête spirituelle et morale profondément dévouée sépare Agnes Martin des visionnaires géométriques tels que Piet Mondrian ou Ad Reinhardt, avec lesquels elle serait autrement associée. Après une interruption de sept ans, Martin, 62 ans, est réapparue en 1974 pour reprendre son voyage et créer des peintures minimalistes rayonnantes.

"No. 7" (1974) est l'une des premières peintures de cette deuxième phase majeure de sa carrière. L'intention est de mettre l'accent sur une réorientation dramatique de la couleur plutôt que sur la ligne ou les grilles tabulées de son travail d'avant 1967. Une observation distanciée des bandes pâles et luminescentes permet d'apprécier les changements subtils et radieux entre les zones de couleur. De nombreux phénomènes naturels et éléments inhérents à l'expérience du désert du Nouveau-Mexique ont pu inspirer ces idées nouvelles et expansives. La verticalité des mesas, des falaises et des ravins, ou les rayons de lumière qui traversent les nuages pour atteindre le sol du désert, ont pu inspirer l'orientation verticale de l'œuvre. Cependant, l'impact de "No. 7" (1974) est certainement dû à sa dévotion aux idéaux bouddhistes et taoïstes qui recherchent la beauté de l'intérieur, et non de points de référence étrangers. Martin demande au spectateur de considérer ses faisceaux répétitifs ou ses bandes de couleur pâle comme une sorte de mantra autant que comme une expérience visuelle. Elle défie la capacité de notre imagination, l'encourageant à s'exprimer librement et à considérer cette œuvre comme un objet de contemplation, tout en sachant que ses peintures exigent un certain degré d'engagement. Et comme pour réprimander ceux qui n'ont pas la patience d'absorber l'impact de l'éclat mystique d'un autre monde inhérent aux peintures ou la façon dont elles affectent la conscience de chacun du potentiel d'expression du sublime, nous avons son commentaire : "Il n'y a personne qui ne puisse rester tout l'après-midi devant une chute d'eau".
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