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Cottonwood Tree (Near Abiquiu), New Mexico (1943) by celebrated American artist Georgia O’Keeffe is exemplary of the airier, more naturalistic style that the desert inspired in her. O’Keeffe had great affinity for the distinctive beauty of the Southwest, and made her home there among the spindly trees, dramatic vistas, and bleached animal skulls that she so frequently painted. O’Keeffe took up residence at Ghost Ranch, a dude ranch twelve miles outside of the village of Abiquiú in northern New Mexico and painted this cottonwood tree around there. The softer style befitting this subject is a departure from her bold architectural landscapes and jewel-toned flowers.<br><br>The cottonwood tree is abstracted into soft patches of verdant greens through which more delineated branches are seen, spiraling in space against pockets of blue sky. The modeling of the trunk and delicate energy in the leaves carry forward past experimentations with the regional trees of the Northeast that had captivated O’Keeffe years earlier: maples, chestnuts, cedars, and poplars, among others. Two dramatic canvases from 1924, Autumn Trees, The Maple and The Chestnut Grey, are early instances of lyrical and resolute centrality, respectively. As seen in these early tree paintings, O’Keeffe exaggerated the sensibility of her subject with color and form.<br><br>In her 1974 book, O’Keeffe explained: “The meaning of a word— to me— is not as exact as the meaning of a color. Color and shapes make a more definite statement than words.” Her exacting, expressive color intrigued. The Precisionist painter Charles Demuth described how, in O’Keeffe’s work, “each color almost regains the fun it must have felt within itself on forming the first rainbow” (As quoted in C. Eldridge, Georgia O’Keeffe, New York, 1991, p. 33). As well, congruities between forms knit together her oeuvre. Subjects like hills and petals undulate alike, while antlers, trees, and tributaries correspond in their branching morphology.<br><br>The sinewy contours and gradated hues characteristic of O’Keeffe find an incredible range across decades of her tree paintings. In New Mexico, O’Keeffe returned to the cottonwood motif many times, and the seasonality of this desert tree inspired many forms. The vernal thrill of new growth was channeled into spiraling compositions like Spring Tree No.1 (1945). Then, cottonwood trees turned a vivid autumnal yellow provided a breathtaking compliment to the blue backdrop of Mount Pedernal. The ossified curves of Dead Cottonweed Tree (1943) contain dramatic pools of light and dark, providing a foil to the warm, breathing quality of this painting, Cottonwood Tree (Near Abiquiu). The aural quality of this feathered cottonwood compels a feeling guided by O’Keeffe’s use of form of color.

ジョージア・オキーフ

Between Île-de-France and Burgundy and on the edge of the Fontainebleau Forest lies the medieval village of Moret-sur-Loing, established in the 12th century. When Alfred Sisley described its character to Monet in a letter dated 31 August 1881 as “a chocolate-box landscape…” he meant it as a memento of enticement; that its keep, the ramparts, the church, the fortified gates, and the ornate facades nestled along the river were, for a painter, a setting of unmatched charm. An ancient church, always the most striking townscape feature along the Seine Valley, would be a presence in Sisley’s townscape views as it was for Corot, and for Monet at Vétheuil. But unlike Monet whose thirty views of Rouen Cathedral were executed so he could trace the play of light and shadow across the cathedral façade and capture the ephemeral nature of moment-to-moment changes of light and atmosphere, Sisley set out to affirm the permanent nature of the church of Notre-Dame at Moret-sur-Loing. Monet’s sole concern was air and light, and Sisley’s appears to be an homage keepsake. The painting exudes respect for the original architects and builders of a structure so impregnable and resolute, it stood then as it did in those medieval times, and which for us, stands today, as it will, for time immemorial.<br><br>Nevertheless, Sisley strived to show the changing appearance of the motif through a series of atmospheric changes. He gave the works titles such as “In Sunshine”, “Under Frost”, and “In Rain” and exhibited them as a group at the Salon du Champ-de-Mars in 1894, factors that suggest he thought of them as serial interpretations. Nevertheless, unlike Monet’s work, l’église de Moret, le Soir reveals that Sisley chose to display the motif within a spatial context that accentuates its compositional attributes — the plunging perspective of the narrow street at left, the strong diagonal recession of the building lines as a counterbalance to the right, and the imposing weight of the stony building above the line of sight.

アルフレッド・シスレー

1870年代初頭、ウィンスロー・ホーマーは、ニューヨーク州のハドソン川とキャッツキル山脈の間に位置する、小麦の栽培が盛んな小さな集落での田舎暮らしの風景を頻繁に描いていました。ハーリーといえば、1872年の夏に描かれたホーマーの代表作『鞭打ちのスナップ』のインスピレーション源として知られる。この地域からインスピレーションを得た他の多くの絵画の中でも、「麦畑に立つ少女」は情感に富んでいるが、過度に感傷的になることはない。この作品は、1866年にフランスで描いた習作「麦畑で」と、アメリカに戻った翌年に描いた別の作品に直接関連している。しかし、ホーマーが最も誇りに思ったのは間違いなくこの作品であろう。肖像画であり、衣装の習作であり、ヨーロッパの牧歌的な絵画の偉大な伝統に則った風俗画であり、ドラマチックな逆光と雰囲気のある力作で、すぐに消えてしまう宵闇の時間に、花の香りと麦の穂のタッチで浮き立たせた。1874年、ホーマーはナショナル・アカデミー・オブ・デザイン展に4点の絵画を出品した。そのうちの1枚に「少女」というタイトルがつけられていた。それはこの作品ではないだろうか？

ウィンスロー・ホーマー

<div>When forty rural Sacramento Delta landscapes by Wayne Thiebaud were unveiled at a San Francisco gallery opening in November 1997, attendees were amazed by paintings they never anticipated. This new frontier betrayed neither Thiebaud’s mastery of confectionary-shop colors nor his impeccable eye for formal relationships. Rather, his admirers were shocked to learn that all but seven of these forty interpretations had been completed in just two years. As his son Paul recalled, “the refinements of my father’s artistic process were ever changing in a chameleon-like frenzy.” The new direction had proved an exhilarating experience, each painting an affirmation of Wayne Thiebaud’s impassioned response to the fields and levees of the local environment he dearly loved.   </div><br><br><div> </div><br><br><div>Viewed from the perspective of a bird or a plane, "The Riverhouse" is an agrarian tapestry conceived with a kaleidoscopic range of shapes and simple forms; fields striped with furrows or striated fans, deliriously colored parallelograms and trapezoids, an orchard garnished pizza-shaped wedge, and a boldly limned river, the lifeline of a thirsty California central valley largely dependent upon transported water. "The Riverhouse" is a painting that ‘moves’ between seamlessly shifting planes of aerial mapping that recalls Richard Diebenkorn’s stroke of insight when he took his first commercial flight the spring of 1951, and those partitions engaging a more standard vanishing point perspective. Thiebaud explained his process as “orchestrating with as much variety and tempo as I can.” Brightly lit with a fauve-like intensity, "The Riverhouse" is a heady concoction of vibrant pigment and rich impasto, one that recalls his indebtedness to Pierre Bonnard whose color Thiebaud referred to as “a bucket full of hot coals and ice cubes.” Among his many other influences, the insertion of objects — often tiny — that defy a rational sense of scale that reflects his interest in Chinese landscape painting.  As always, his mastery as a painter recalls his titular pies and cakes with their bewitching rainbow-like halos and side-by-side colors of equal intensity but differing in hues to create the vibratory effect of an aura, what Thiebaud explained “denotes an attempt to develop as much energy and light and visual power as you can.” </div><br><br><div> </div><br><br><div>Thiebaud’s Sacramento Delta landscapes are an integral and important part of his oeuvre. Paintings such as "The Riverhouse" rival the best abstract art of the twentieth century. His good friend, Willem de Kooning thought so, too.</div>

ウェイン・ティーボー

<div><font face=Lato size=3>Widely recognized as one of the most consequential artists of our time, Gerhard Richters career now rivals that of Picasso's in terms of productivity and genius. The multi-faceted subject matter, ranging from slightly out-of-focus photographic oil paintings to Kelly-esque grid paintings to his "squeegee" works, Richter never settles for repeating the same thought- but is constantly evolving his vision. Richter has been honored by significant retrospective exhibitions, including the pivotal 2002 show,  "Gerhard Richter: Forty Years of Painting," at the Museum of Modern Art, New York.    "Abstraktes Bild 758-2" (1992) comes from a purely abstract period in Richter's work- where the message is conveyed using a truly physical painting style, where applied paint layers are distorted with a wooden "Squeegee" tool. Essentially, Richter is sculpting the layers of paint, revealing the underlayers and their unique color combinations; there is a degree of "art by chance". If the painting does not work, Richter will move on- a method pioneered by Jackson Pollock decades earlier.    Richter is included in prominent museums and collections worldwide, including the Tate, London, The Museum of Modern Art, New York, and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, among many others.</font></div>

ゲルハルト・リヒター

The frame of reference for Irish American Sean Scully’s signature blocks and stripes is vast. From Malevich’s central premise that geometry can provide the means for universal understanding to Rothko’s impassioned approach to color and rendering of the dramatic sublime, Scully learned how to condense the splendor of the natural world into simple modes of color, light, and composition. Born in Dublin in 1945 and London-raised, Scully was well-schooled in figurative drawing when he decided to catch the spirit of his lodestar, Henri Matisse, by visiting Morocco in 1969. He was captivated by the dazzling tessellated mosaics and richly dyed fabrics and began to paint grids and stipes of color. Subsequent adventures provided further inspiration as the play of intense light on the reflective surfaces of Mayan ruins and the ancient slabs of stone at Stonehenge brought the sensation of light, space, and geometric movement to Scully’s paintings. The ability to trace the impact of Scully’s travels throughout his paintings reaffirms the value of abstract art as a touchstone for real-life experience.<br><br><br>Painted in rich, deep hues and layered, nuanced surfaces, Grey Red is both poetic and full of muscular formalism. Scully appropriately refers to these elemental forms as ‘bricks,’ suggesting the formal calculations of an architect. As he explained, “these relationships that I see in the street doorways, in windows between buildings, and in the traces of structures that were once full of life, I take for my work. I use these colors and forms and put them together in a way that perhaps reminds you of something, though you’re not sure of that” (David Carrier, Sean Scully, 2004, pg. 98). His approach is organic, less formulaic; intuitive painter’s choices are layering one color upon another so that contrasting hues and colors vibrate with subliminal energy. Diebenkorn comes to mind in his pursuit of radiant light. But here, the radiant bands of terracotta red, gray, taupe, and black of Grey Red resonate with deep, smoldering energy and evoke far more affecting passion than you would think it could impart. As his good friend, Bono wrote, “Sean approaches the canvas like a kickboxer, a plasterer, a builder. The quality of painting screams of a life being lived.”

ショーン・スカリー

Tom Wesselmann will undoubtedly be remembered for associating his erotic themes with the colors of the American flag. But Wesselmann had considerable gifts as a draftsman, and the line was his principal preoccupation, first as a cartoonist and later as an ardent admirer of Matisse. That he also pioneered a method of turning drawings into laser-cut steel wall reliefs proved a revelation. He began to focus ever more on drawing for the sake of drawing, enchanted that the new medium could be lifted and held: “It really is like being able to pick up a delicate line drawing from the paper.”<br><br>The Steel Drawings caused both excitement and confusion in the art world. After acquiring one of the ground-breaking works in 1985, the Whitney Museum of American Art wrote Wesselmann wondering if it should be cataloged as a drawing or a sculpture. The work had caused such a stir that when Eric Fischl visited Wesselmann at his studio and saw steel-cut works for the first time, he remembered feeling jealous. He wanted to try it but dared not. It was clear: ‘Tom owned the technique completely.’<br><br>Wesselmann owed much of that technique to his year-long collaboration with metalwork fabricator Alfred Lippincott. Together, in 1984 they honed a method for cutting the steel with a laser that provided the precision he needed to show the spontaneity of his sketches. Wesselmann called it ‘the best year of my life’, elated at the results that he never fully achieved with aluminum that required each shape be hand-cut. “I anticipated how exciting it would be for me to get a drawing back in steel. I could hold it in my hands. I could pick it up by the lines…it was so exciting…a kind of near ecstasy, anyway, but there’s really been something about the new work that grabbed me.”<br><br>Bedroom Brunette with Irises is a Steel Drawing masterwork that despite its uber-generous scale, utilizes tight cropping to provide an unimposing intimacy while maintaining a free and spontaneous quality. The figure’s outstretched arms and limbs and body intertwine with the petals and the interior elements providing a flowing investigative foray of black lines and white ‘drop out’ shapes provided by the wall. It recalls Matisse and any number of his reclining odalisque paintings. Wesselmann often tested monochromatic values to discover the extent to which color would transform his hybrid objects into newly developed Steel Drawing works and, in this case, continued with a color steel-cut version of the composition Bedroom Blonde with Irises (1987) and later still, in 1993 with a large-scale drawing in charcoal and pastel on paper.

トム・ヴェッセルマン

<div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black>Irving Norman conceived and created <em>The Human Condition</em> at a time when he must have reflected deeply on the totality of his life. Given its grand scale and cinematic treatment, it impresses as a profound culmination of his artistic journey, synthesizing decades of themes, insights, and experiences into a single monumental work. A man of great humility and an artist of uncommon skill, he translated a horrendous war experience into impactful allegories of unforgettable, often visceral imagery. He worked in solitude with relentless forbearance in a veritable vacuum without fame or financial security. Looking to the past, acutely aware of present trends, he knew, given the human predicament, he was forecasting the future. As one New York Times reviewer mused in 2008, "In light of current circumstances, Mr. Norman's dystopian vision may strike some…as eerily pertinent," an observation that recalled recent events.<br><br></font></div><br><br><div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black>Irving Norman's figures, manipulated by their environment and physical space, are of a style that exaggerates the malleability of the human form to underscore their vulnerability and subjugation. This literal and symbolic elasticity suggests that these figures are stretched, compressed, or twisted by the forces of their environment, emphasizing their lack of autonomy and the oppressive systems that govern their existence. While these figures reflect vulnerability, Norman's structural choice in <em>The Human Condition</em> creates a stark juxtaposition that shifts attention toward the central tableau. A commanding female figure, rising above the calamitous failures and atrocities of the past, is joined by a man, forming a symbolic "couple,” suggesting the unity and shared responsibility of a new vision. Their hands, magnified and upturned, present these children as a vision offering hope and renewal for the future. The gesture, combined with the futuristic clothing of the diminutive figures, reinforces the idea of an alternative path—a brighter, forward-looking humanity. The central tableau acts as a metaphorical offering, inviting the viewer to consider a future untouched by the weight of darkness from which these figures emerge.<br><br></font></div><br><br><div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black>Here, Norman underscores a hopeful, if not optimistic, vision for generations ahead. The structural decision suggests a deliberate shift in focus: the darker scenes relegated to the sides represent the burdens, past and present. At the same time, the central figures embody the potential for a future shaped by resilience and renewal. This juxtaposition distinguishes <em>The Human Condition</em> as a reflection of Norman's later years, where a tempered hope emerges to claim the high ground over the war-mongering, abject corruption, frantic pleasure-seeking, and the dehumanizing effects of modern society.<br><br></font></div><br><br><div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black>Throughout his long career, Norman stood tall in his convictions; he turned, faced the large, empty canvases, and designed and painted complex, densely populated scenes. As for recognition, he rationalized the situation—fame or fortune risked the unsullied nature of an artist's quest. Ultimately, <em>The Human Condition</em> is a summation of Norman's life and work and a call to action, urging us to examine our complicity in the systems he so vividly depicted. Through meticulous craftsmanship and allegorical intensity, it is a museum-worthy masterwork that continues to resonate, its themes as pertinent today as they were when Norman painstakingly brought his vision to life.</font></div>

アーヴィング・ノーマン