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<div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black>Clyfford Still occupies a monumental position in the history of modern art, often heralded as the earliest pure abstract painter to work on an expansive scale. By the early 1940s, Still had already arrived at a radically abstract visual language that transcended the aesthetic frameworks of his peers, rejecting representational imagery and producing canvases that were immense in size and conceptual ambition. Pollock famously confessed that “Still makes the rest of us look academic,” and Rothko once kept a Still painting in his bedroom as a guiding inspiration. His work was, as critic Clement Greenberg remarked, “estranging and upsetting” in its genuine originality, a raw and elemental confrontation of form and color that defied conventional expectations.<br><br></font></div><br><br><div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black>For viewers familiar with Still’s oeuvre, his paintings typically evoke a powerful physicality: vast canvases covered in richly textured layers of pigment—earthy blacks, ochres, siennas, and cadmiums—applied with a trowel-like rigor that recalls weathered geological formations. These thickly encrusted surfaces often alternate with more thinly painted passages, all juxtaposed against large swaths of bare canvas that lend his compositions a sense of immense scale and open-ended possibility. This aesthetic, rooted in the grandeur of raw and elemental presence, often manifests as jagged, opaque forms whose stark contrasts convey a primal energy.<br><br></font></div><br><br><div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black><em>“PH-589”,</em> on the other hand, marks a transition in Still’s career, where his already profound engagement with abstraction began to evolve toward greater spareness and a deeper exploration of the expressive potential of voids and open space. Painted in 1959, the expected density of his earlier surfaces gives way to a lighter touch and a more restrained use of paint. Against largely unpainted ground, two jagged shapes of continental significance hang suspended, their edges torn and irregular, as if wrested from the canvas itself. The bare canvas, which had served as a compositional counterpoint in Still’s earlier works, now asserts itself as a dominant feature, heightening the power of the painted forms while introducing an ethereal sense of light and space.<br><br></font></div><br><br><div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black>This shift was both aesthetic and philosophical. By the late 1950s, Still had grown increasingly disenchanted with the art world, distancing himself from its commercial and critical structures<em>. “PH-589”</em> is an anticipatory event before his move to rural Maryland in 1961 that coincided with a period of introspection and formal refinement when Still began to strip his compositions down to their essential elements. As Still explained, he sought to fuse color, texture, and form into “a living spirit,” transcending their materiality to evoke the human capacity for transcendence.</font></div><br><br><div><font face=Lato size=3 color=black><br><br>This painting signals the burgeoning openness of Still’s later works, where the interplay of painted forms and unpainted ground would become a defining characteristic. By the 1960s and 1970s, Still’s palette grew lighter, his gestures sparser, and his use of emptiness more deliberate, creating compositions that were at once monumental and ephemeral. Yet the seeds of that evolution are already present here in the restrained yet powerful interplay of color and space. His revolutionary approach to abstraction—both in scale and in spirit—provided a foundation upon which the Abstract Expressionists built their legacy. At the same time, his work resists easy interpretation, demanding instead an unmediated confrontation with its raw, elemental presence. With its terse eloquence and rhythmic vitality, this painting is both a culmination of Still’s early achievements and a momentous portent of his later innovations.</font></div>

CLYFFORD STILL

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."

AGNES MARTIN

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.

GEORGIA O'KEEFFE

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.

阿尔弗雷德·西斯利

19世纪70年代初，温斯洛-霍默经常在位于纽约州哈德逊河和卡茨基尔山之间的一个小农庄附近绘制乡村生活场景，该小农庄因其出色的麦田而世代闻名。今天，赫尔利因激发了荷马最伟大的作品之一--1872年夏天绘制的《鞭子的Snap》而更为著名。在其他许多受该地区启发的画作中，《站在麦田里的女孩》感情丰富，但没有过度感伤。它与1866年在法国画的一幅题为《在麦田里》的研究报告以及次年他回到美国后画的另一幅报告直接相关。但荷马无疑会对这幅作品感到最自豪。这是一幅肖像画，一幅服装研究画，一幅具有欧洲田园画伟大传统的风俗画，也是一幅戏剧性的逆光、大气的巡回画，浸透在迅速消逝的阴暗时刻的光线中，并带有羊脂玉般的花香和麦穗的点缀。1874年，荷马送了四幅画给国家设计学院的展览。其中一幅名为 "女孩"。难道不是这一幅吗？

温斯洛荷马

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. <br><br>"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. <br><br>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.

格哈德·里希特

根据布兰迪温河艺术博物馆编制的目录，《清教徒鳕鱼》的初稿是 N. C. 怀斯在 1945 年 10 月去世前完成的。该条目记录了草图的图像、艺术家的题词及其标题《Puritan Cod Fishers》，目录将其描述为 "备用"。无论是哪种情况，这幅大型画布都是一件独一无二的作品，安德鲁-怀斯后来回忆说，这幅画完全是由他亲手绘制的，是父亲的设计和构图与出色的儿子的执行合作的成果。对安德鲁来说，这一定是一次感触颇深的情感体验。鉴于父亲对细节和真实性的关注，这艘小帆船的线条代表了十六世纪使用的藠头。另一方面，安德鲁很可能比他父亲更深地描绘了躁动不安的大海的色调，这一选择恰如其分地突出了任务的危险性。

Andrew Wyeth & N. C. Wyeth

<div>In the mid-1920s, Rufino Tamayo embarked on the crucial development phase as a sophisticated, contemporary colorist. In New York, he encountered the groundbreaking works of Picasso, Braque, and Giorgio de Chirico, along with the enduring impact of Cubism. Exploring painterly and plastic values through subjects sourced from street scenes, popular culture, and the fabric of daily life, his unique approach to color and form began to take shape. It was a pivotal shift toward cosmopolitan aesthetics, setting him apart from the nationalist fervor championed by the politically charged narratives of the Mexican Muralist movement.  By focusing on the vitality of popular culture, he captured the essential Mexican identity that prioritized universal artistic values over explicit social and political commentary. The approach underscored his commitment to redefining Mexican art on the global stage and highlighted his innovative contributions to the modernist dialogue. </div><br><br><div> </div><br><br><div>Like Cézanne, Tamayo elevated the still life genre to some of its most beautifully simple expressions. Yet high sophistication underlies the ease with which Tamayo melds vibrant Mexican motifs with the avant-garde influences of the School of Paris. As "Naturaleza Muerta" of 1935 reveals, Tamayo refused to lapse into the mere decoration that often characterizes the contemporary School of Paris art with which his work draws comparisons. Instead, his arrangement of watermelons, bottles, a coffee pot, and sundry items staged within a sobering, earthbound tonality and indeterminant, shallow space recalls Tamayo's early interest in Surrealism. An overlayed square matrix underscores the contrast between the organic subjects of the painting and the abstract, intellectualized structure imposed upon them, deepening the interpretation of the artist's exploration of visual perception and representation. In this way, the grid serves to navigate between the visible world and the underlying structures that inform our understanding of it, inviting viewers to consider the interplay between reality and abstraction, sensation and analysis.</div>

鲁菲诺·塔马约

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.”

塞恩·斯卡利

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.

托姆·韦塞尔曼

<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>

欧文·诺曼