Between 1962 and ’75, Willenbecher made a substantial body of work reflecting his interest in games and the night sky, in the ancient human desire to make order out of the inexplicable.
By employing a slow, deliberate process in which control is paramount, Remington shaped her passage in time.
It’s hard to identify precedents for Christopher Wilmarth’s sculpture, which uses its banal modern materials purely abstractly.
Rauschenberg was among the artists invited by NASA to attend the launch of Apollo 11, the spaceflight that landed two Americans on the moon 50 years ago this month.
If we compare her with other women artists from the 1960s working in a reductive vein, Eleanore Mikus seems to have thoroughly vanished, more so than her peers, and often isn’t included in surveys or textbooks of that period.
Myron Stout, who was born in Denton, Texas, in 1908, made an early decision to be a painter but didn’t hit his stride until the late 1940s, after he had served in World War II.
Plimack Mangold’s floor and ruler paintings are smart, tough, assured, direct and, more than forty years after she did them, they remain challenging: works in which she literally and figuratively cleared a space for herself in ways that have yet to be fully recognized.
Currently on view in the exhibition Jasper Johns: Sculptures and Related Paintings 1957–1970 at Craig F. Starr is “Book” (1957), a work I suspect many people either don’t know about or are not likely to have seen, even in reproduction.
Susan Rothenberg’s painting, “Untitled” (1974), couldn’t be more basic — brushstrokes of dusty red ochre scrubbed across a canvas; the image of a galloping horse bisected by a vertical line — but you’d be hard pressed to find a more compact expression of what painting is and what it can be.