Suzan Frecon insists that art is a wordless experience, that paintings invites us to a plane beyond understanding.
Looking at the upcoming shows from Pace, David Zwirner, Gagosian, and Hauser & Wirth one hardly gets the sense that we are in a moment of acute crisis.
The Nazis had transformed Klee’s beloved land of Goethe and Mozart into an alien and threatening environment.
After surviving the Japanese occupation, the Korean War, and martial law, not to mention arrest, torture, and a narrow escape from a firing squad, Yun Hyong-keun developed a way of painting in which assertion and self-cancellation have become inextricable.
A pair of exhibitions at David Zwirner conveys the photographer’s skill at perceiving arresting visual juxtapositions, revealing a consciousness that is supple and keenly insightful.
Highly analytical, Mitchell was a master of setting off one form or color against another, advancing the idea that a painting can be made of separate but layered and entangled parts.
Mystified as ever by the rise of Josh Smith whose work resembles the efforts of a tipsy van Gogh in an art bar, seeing this show, my inner critic is confronted with mostly disagreeable choices.
I remember David Zwirner Gallery back in the 1990s, before Chelsea, when the New York art world was much smaller and more manageable.
The show evokes a prelapsarian aesthetic world from which viewers — following the story of the expulsion from the Garden of Eden — are barred.
When Ray Johnson killed himself at the age of 67, the air of mystery surrounding his personality, life, and art only thickened.
These paintings are what the artist Suzan Frecon calls “slow,” meaning that they reveal themselves quietly over time.
Asawa was a woman of Japanese ancestry making art in the years after World War II, which was a double whammy.