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| Piet Mondrian, Composition, 1921 |
One of the great joys of wandering the galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art is encountering art that spans centuries. From Egyptian sculpture dating back to 2,000 B.C., to contemporary works from the 20th and 21st centuries, the range of styles, cultures, and meanings is truly mind-opening. While there are certain areas of art I don’t particularly connect with—such as Italian 16th-century mannerism—I find something to admire in nearly everything, including modern and contemporary abstract painting. I was especially drawn to a small 19.5-inch square painting by Mondrian in the Modern and Contemporary galleries. It commands attention with its simple structure of rectangles separated by thick black lines. What’s particularly fascinating is that, unlike his later works which use only primary colors, this early painting features mixed colors, marking a key point in his exploration of Neo-Plasticism.
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| Leon Polk Smith, Accent Black, 1949 |
Leon Polk Smith's geometry is more lively than that in the Mondrian. The diagonal placement of rectangles and squares emphasize movement; the composition is then stabilized by the black at the bottom, holding the earth-red shapes in place.
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| Carmen Herrera, Iberic, 1949 |
With Carmen Herrera's
Iberic, I see yet another approach to geometry, using curves and points and shapes of different sizes. The composition is anchored by the slightly squashed divided circle at the center, held up by a thick line of horizontal black that angles into a vertical and meets orange. The color is both somber––black, and dark red, with deep orange––but also hot, in the warmth of red and orange. For me,
Iberic is quite playful in its rhythmic shapes.
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| Joan Snyder, Smashed Strokes Hope, 1971 |
After seeing the three paintings above, I walked into galleries that contained paintings which had been part of the exhibition "Epic Abstraction". The three following paintings are certainly epic in their size, and they are all "painterly". To be clear, I am not equating size with quality; it is simply a different characteristic. Joan Snyder's 6 x 12 foot canvas is covered with joyous paint; I see it in that spirit because of its color, like an explosive spring garden, and in the exuberant paint handling. There is open space, as in a Chinese landscape, and my eye follows paths across the canvas.
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| Joan Snyder, Smashed Strokes Hope, detail |
The paths are created by paint that is slathered, wiped. dripped; it is thick and thin; put on with brushes? hands? palette knife? The variety of marks, their physicality, adds energy to the painting; the brushwork lends such immediacy that it feels as though it's still in the process of being made.
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| Joan Mitchell, La Vie en Rose, 1979 |
Joan Mitchell creates an atmospheric landscape-like space across the four panels of this large painting. The upper area of the panels are gently violet-tinged; they contrast with the aggressive, agitated marks below. Because the painting is divided into four parts, with no continuity between them, it reads as a narrative, with four events unfolding over time; each panel has a slightly different emotional register, but all are passionate.
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| Joan Mitchell, La Vie en Rose, detail |
In this detail we can see much more complexity than when looking at a small image of the entire painting. Blacks and blues are layered over ochers and pinks, The brush jabs and sweeps, and the paint drips; there are thickets of strokes, evoking trees and brush. La Vie en Rose is an immersive experience, as though being within Mitchell's sense of space.
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| Willem de Kooning, Easter Monday, 1956 |
Ah, de Kooning! Even though I’ve seen many of his works, including this one and the 2011-12 MoMA retrospective, I stood transfixed in front of
Easter Monday during my recent visit to the Met. I felt as if I was exploring a real physical space, complex yet shallowly layered. While the painting appears frenzied—critic Thomas Hess described these works as "abstract urban landscapes"—
Easter Monday feels solid and balanced, despite the chaotic pace and gritty energy it conveys, reflecting the whirling dynamics of the modern city.
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| Willem de Kooning, Easter Monday, detail |
As with the two paintings above, it's impossible to get a true sense of the physicality of paint in a photograph, but if you enlarge the images by clicking on them, you'll get a better idea. In this detail we can see an transfer from a newspaper pressed onto the canvas. As explained on the
MoMA website: "
De Kooning often used newspaper in his painting process. He pressed it against the surface of his canvases to keep the paint wet." This adds an unexpected element to the painting, which is at odds, in a fascinating way, with its abstraction.
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| Willem de Kooning, Easter Monday, detail |
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| Willem de Kooning, Easter Monday, detail |
The brushstrokes are edgy, yet luscious. When I think of de Kooning's process, it brings to mind a quote of his in an interview with the critic
Harold Rosenberg, about the uncertainty of making art, and I believe this to be true no matter the style or medium of the artwork:
De Kooning: If you yourself made a sphere, you could never know if it was one. That fascinates me. Nobody ever will know it. It cannot be proven, so long as you avoid instruments. If I made a sphere and asked you, 'Is it a sphere' you would answer, 'How should I know?' I could insist that it looks like a perfect sphere. But if you looked at it, after awhile you would say, 'I think it's a bit flat over here.' That's what fascinates me––to make something I can never be sure of, and no one else can either. I will never know, and no one else will ever know.
Rosenberg: You believe that's the way art is?
De Kooning: That's the way art is.
