There was so much stuff to see that I think I'll stick with my favorites.
Carl Andre
Rooms full of primordial geometry stacked or arranged in ways that reminded me why I found lincoln logs, building blocks and legos so fascinating when I was a kid (not that I don't find them fascinating still). Everything there I found to be real, with the wonderful attitude that accompanies so much minimalist art that seems to say "you're here, this object is here, now look at the simple things in life a little bit closer." You can't fake it with minimalism. Carl Andre's palette is simply materials and geometry. Copper plates, brick, steel, blocks of wood, and stone. Working with what one finds in the world. It's nature, arranged in ways that can't deny the substance or the artist. And the amazing thing is, in these apparently simple pieces, the artist is so remarkably present that at times you can clearly see the way he thinks. It's almost an instinctual paring down of what is necessary into an eloquent phrase. I looked at a stack of cubes and thought "why can't I think of that?". Carl Andre is someone who loves the materials for their weight, their sensation, and their texture that can together evoke an experience in one's plastic consciousness. To me, his work made me want to get back to basics, to love whatever is pure about a square, to contemplate the existence of things in space. It reminded me of why I thought people made things like Stonehenge, and why that is important to do. Why art is important for people to make. His poetry is also fantastic and on display in little cases.
Robert Ryman
It's so easy for people to look at the color white and then look away. White has connotations generally as to the state of a canvas before anything is done to it. Robert Ryman's work is mostly white but if the viewer gives it a chance it is incredibly rewarding. I was never that familiar with Ryman's work but the applause in this case goes (in my humble opinion) to firstly, the way in which the white is articulated. Ryman proves that once you move into pure abstraction the language isn't just the color, it can be the way in which that color is painted. And once you realize that white is a color, his paintings make perfect sense. And then can be looked at and enjoyed tremendously. I also picked up that attitude that framed the minimalist attitude in Dia:Beacon for me: a call to looking and experiencing works of art in a different way, a more ontologically realistic way, where all that's there is the object and you and what you make of all this. But such wonderful things can be made of it. I was struck by a row of white square paintings all hung flat on the wall, which I almost walked past when I entered the room. But as I looked closer, I did the subtlest double-take ever and realized that all the squares were off a shade or two, either warmer or cooler, of white. Also the way each one was hung on the wall was different, and the little black hinges and screws were actually part of the piece. The hangings were having a visual conversation with their paintings, which were relating quietly in hue with each other and the wall behind. How clever.
Richard Serra
I like Richard Serra a lot. Not only because he's possibly the biggest, baddest, most aggressive monster in the room, but because he's right about absolutely everything he does. He knows he doesn't fake it, you know it, and all you can do is let him take over your space and environment and just be confronted by the monolithic reality of his work. There were several gigantic barrow-like, maze-like pieces made up of concentric rings of steel plates about twenty feet high and which could be entered by slits in the sides. They were similar to the one that was on view at the Gagosian gallery earlier this year, but fun size (comparably). These overpowering environments were like a tilting cave of rust-brown steel that wove back and forth, threatening and calming my experience with their strong presence and somehow simultaneously aggressive and meditative beauty. When I tried to question it, it seemed to just be, stoic and there. And Serra seemed to be behind it, saying "Hi, little viewer. I'm Richard Serra. Yes, I am that impressive." All I could hypothetically respond with would be "Yeah...wow." It's like being in the world of someone who controls everything and you don't mind at all. In fact, you'd rather be there than in a lot of other places. What really made sense to me as a Richard Serra piece was this one particular wedge-shaped piece of steel, which just looked like a shallow ramp going about 6 inches high into the wall. But upon closer inspection, I realized that it wasn't the type of wedge I first thought. The entire floor of the room was sloping down those 6 inches, and the wedge of steel was in fact maintaining the level of the floor. Serra's piece had established the reality of "level" in this existence, and I had to agree. The room now bent to Serra's rules and nothing else could be said. I left the room more than a bit amazed.
The rest:
There are many more things I could write about, but maybe later. Hats off to John Chamberlain and his wonderful sculptures made from wrecked cars, and I spent nearly an hour trying to wrap my head around the Blinky Palermo paintings (with much-loved success). I enjoyed the Louise Bourgeois for a few different reasons, and didn't like them for a few others. Fred Sandback, who was another artist with whom I was not previously familiar, was quite incredible, creating incredible planes and intervals with pieces of yarn. He was like the ghost of John McKracken. Donald Judd was good as ever, and there was another guy whose name I can't remember who did a painting every day for a number of years of the text of the date on which it was made (e.g. there are hundreds of paintings of the actual text of the date, such as "Feb.16, 1976", made on that day, so on and so forth). What a pursuit. Overall, it was a day well spent and I have to head back in the near future. Also, I'm looking forward to the Matisse cutouts exhibition at MoMa. I think it opens in November.
Carl Andre
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