Courtesy Storefront for Art and Architecture.

This month, Storefront for Art and Architecture populates its narrow space with tall, spindly poles, each supporting the floppy spine of a zine. These small publications, which are meant to be plucked from their stands and browsed by the curious visitor, are sometimes no more than a few pages long. Gathered together for the exhibition, Archizines, they engage idiosyncratic or specific issues of architectural practice that are often difficult to address through mainstream publications: Junk Jet is “about wild forms and found objects;” Piseagrama deals with “the impossibilities of childhood in the city;” engawa is “an experiment based on randomness and the pleasure of sharing thoughts.”

Though an exhibition of publications on architecture might not seem immediately relevant to contemporary thinking on drawing, it is arguably the evidence of the hand – hesitant, thoughtful, contrasting the clean and decisive lines of many architectural drawings – that makes the ideas contained within the zines so visible and resonant. Engawa, for example, is scattered with small drawings of feet; one contributor points out by way of explanation: “if there’s one thing I do in this city, it is walk.” A similarly humble publication, City as Material, is not so much a narrative as an evocative collection of musings on the experience of urban life; quiet drawings of homes and landscapes are accompanied by comments like, “Even though I live and work on the river, I rarely get time to just walk up and down the shore, think and talk.”

Many of the zines are published by student architecture groups, and they experiment with new combinations between images and words, collaging hand-drawn illustrations over theoretical texts. Cartoons are shoehorned in between close-up images of street curbs, gutters, viaducts and vents. This patchwork of ideas taps into the potential for unstructured mutability in drawing; the smallest detail can have the greatest impact.

The experience of reading and looking at close range–and particularly the diminutive size of many of the drawings–individuates the audience’s experience of the architectural landscape they inhabit. One zine presents a critical view of the (over)-development of Dubai through a graphic novel. The visual approach, which shows characters living out a seldom-seen everyday life in the contested region, provides a striking example of the way in which real events are depicted through fiction. Likewise, a recent issue of another zine from the exhibition, Scapegoat: Architecture/Landscape/Political Economy, included an artist’s project called “News Coloring Station,” a series of line drawings depicting controversial news topics. The drawings are organized into coloring books, and the public is invited to color them together, “as a platform for conversation and discussion.”  Scapegoat thus combines the individualized experience of receiving and creating images with our collective, political experience.

Together, the zines provide a sense of the potential for drawing to flexibly and informally explore experimental relationships between people and architecture. Marginal yet powerful, their scale may be small, but the possibilities they present are immeasurable. –Nova Benway, Curatorial Assistant

For further information and images please contact
Anne Edgar, Anne Edgar Associates
646 336 7230 | anne@anneedgar.com

Emily Gaynor, Public Relations and Marketing Officer
212 219 2166 x119 | egaynor@drawingcenter.org

The Drawing Center at 35 Wooster Street. Rendering courtesy WXY architecture + urban design.

April 13, 2012

New York, NY – Executive director Brett Littman today announced that The Drawing Center will reopen on Thursday, September 13, 2012, after a yearlong hiatus, in a newly expanded facility at 35 Wooster Street. It is from this venerable cast-iron building in SoHo that the much-loved kunsthalle has long illuminated that most primary of human activities—drawing.

The newly transformed Drawing Center retains its iconic off-white storefront space, while extending into floors above and below. The $9.6 million expansion provides fifty percent more exhibition and public space, including a pair of ground-floor galleries that will be notable for their lighting and flexibility and, on the lower level, an education center and gallery suitable for staging exhibitions, media programming, and public gatherings. The third floor will house offices.

The clean simplicity of the design belies the extensive infrastructure upgrades required to repurpose the 19^th-century structure for public use over the next half-century or more. “All three floors were completely gutted and rebuilt,” notes Brett Littman, executive director. “In the end, we needed every single design element and square foot to count. There is no excess.”

The expansion has been designed by Claire Weisz, founder and principal of the acclaimed New York-based firm, WXY Architecture + Urban Design. “Claire has given us an ideal platform from which to explore art and ideas. It’s as if she handed us an amazing Rubik’s Cube to click into whatever form we need to serve a particular artist’s vision,” says Frances Beatty Adler, chair of the Board of Trustees.

Littman continues: “Artists today are redefining the outer reaches of what constitutes drawing—whether they are drawing in cyberspace or on buildings, doing animation, or making marks through the movements of dancers. This space serves that future.”

Guillermo Kuitca: Diarios, on view from Thursday, September 14 to October 25, 2012, is the inaugural exhibition in the Main Gallery. Diarios is the first museum showing in the U.S. of works in a series that is considered the most transparently personal in the oeuvre of this celebrated Argentinean-born artist. Also slated for the upcoming season is a series of performances conceived by the Egyptian artist Susan Hefuna and the Italian choreographer Luca Veggetti; West Coast artists Suzanne Lacy and Andrea Bowers; and New York-based, New Orleans-born Rashaad Newsome.

The Grand Reopening at The Drawing Center will feature a daylong series of community activities on Saturday, September 15, including guided tours of the exhibitions, artist commissioned DrawNow! Projects, which bring drawing into the streets of SoHo, and family workshops.

ARCHITECTURE

Substantial alterations have subtly reconfigured the original façade of 35 Wooster Street. With the removal of a black metal loading dock, the main entrance is now centered and set atop a low-slung, metal staircase—providing easier access from the street. New floor-to-ceiling windows ensure that the Center’s activities will be more visible.

From the front door, there is clear view of the new bookstore and the Main Gallery. In the anteroom, the bookshop will stock all Drawing Center titles, including the influential Drawing Paper series. In addition, a new collaboration with Thomas Heneage Art Books in London will provide bibliophiles access to a curated selection of rare and hard-to-find contemporary and antiquarian books.

Past the bookshop and visitor services desk, a loft-like Main Gallery functions as the hub of the new facility. The Drawing Room, once located across the street, is now behind the Main Gallery in a serene, light-washed space designed to encourage the close and intimate viewing of art. In the basement, a new gallery called the Lab will be the site of short-duration, experimental, and artist-driven projects that extend the multi-disciplinary and diverse explorations of the medium today.

A key design decision was made to retain the row of fluted Corinthian columns running throughout the central axis of the ground floor. Weisz not only refurbished these load-bearing columns, but also echoed their form and footprints in new pillars on the lower level. Visitors can access the lower level by elevator, by a front stairway off the anteroom, and by a back stairway off the Main Gallery and Drawing Room.

“Now, for the first time in its history, The Drawing Center has fully climate-controlled galleries—some 4,300 square feet in which to present exhibitions from around the world that we never could have secured before, as well as to organize never-before-possible exhibitions of delicate materials,” says Littman.

Says Weisz: “Although all of us on the design team thought a lot about the artists who will be using this space, we made no obvious art historical references in the design. Mostly, given three large rectangular floors, we concentrated on when to separate space. Sounds simple, right? But that process led us to design a visual conundrum that we hope will be experienced as effortlessly as an open book.”

Faced with the need to make three floors of a first generation SoHo building functionally relevant, The Drawing Center invested much of its budget in the basics necessary to ensure its optimum usefulness to artists. The institution repaired old infrastructure; replaced electrical and plumbing systems; laid new floors; installed an elevator to take visitors from the street to the other floors; inserted a motion-sensor glass door to the Main Gallery for climate control; put radiant heat in the floors; and installed flexible, energy efficient, and non-UV-emitting LED lighting in the top and lower galleries.

Sustainability is addressed in new mechanical and electrical systems that exceed the NYC Energy Conservation Code: from the dedicated, high-efficiency boiler and the energy recovery system that incorporates heat exchange to reduce energy usage and cost, to the program-specific zoning system that efficiently distributes heating and cooling.

The expansion of The Drawing Center is made possible in part by a $3 million grant from the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation (LMDC), whose mission includes providing support for non-profit organizations engaged in programs that benefit Lower Manhattan. “In the aftermath of 9/11, we have seen the neighborhoods to the east and west of SoHo rebound and evolve into a new arts corridor, with more than 25 nonprofits and 75 commercial galleries—only a third of which existed in 2005,” notes Littman.

ABOUT THE DRAWING CENTER

Since 1977, The Drawing Center has fostered a spirit of inquiry that is legendary for its originality, scholarship, and reach. As the only arts institution in the U.S. dedicated to drawing, the institution presents historical and contemporary drawings. Subjects have included rare sketches by Michelangelo, architectural drawings by Gaudi, animated cartoons, tattoos, business ledgers, and contemporary works by the Canadian collaborative Royal Art Lodge. Memorable exhibitions have brought new ways of thinking about the work of renowned artists such as Richard Serra, Leon Golub, Eva Hesse and Gerhard Richter, and have explored a variety of themes, such as the connection between drawing and botany in the development of early photography (Ocean Flowers), the relationship between drawing and musical composition in the work of visionary architect and composer Iannis Xenakis, and intersection of film and drawing in Drawing on Film.

Altogether, The Drawing Center has presented over 250 exhibitions, produced over 125 publications, and toured over 40 exhibitions around the world. In addition, The Drawing Center has shown the work of more than 800 local, national, and international emerging artists in over 100 Selections exhibitions. For 25 of its 35 years, The Drawing Center has operated from 35 Wooster Street, which has become something of a pilgrimage site for art lovers.

For additional information about the Museum, The Drawing Center invites the public to visit www.drawingcenter.org.

House in Air, Egbert L. Viele, View of Second Avenue looking up from 42nd Street, 1861. Museum of the City of New York.

The straight line has often been deployed as a metaphor for rigid enforcement (“toe the line,” “walk the line,” “stay in line”). By contrast, to deviate from the line is to break ranks, seeking adventure or individuation. Art historically, our understanding of drawing tends to follow this division as well: straight lines are used to form disciplined matrices, to separate spaces and ideas, while the curved or sketchy line represents freedom, creativity, imagination.

Commissioners Plan, John Randel, Jr., The Commissioners’ Plan of 1811. Courtesy of the New York City Municipal Archives.

The Greatest Grid: The Master Plan of Manhattan, 1811 – 2011, at the Museum of the City of New York through July 15, complicates the bad rap the straight line has always received. Organized by Hilary Ballon, Professor of Urban Studies and Architecture at New York University, the exhibition marks the two hundredth anniversary of the Commissioners’ Plan of 1811, which first established the city’s grid of right-angled North-South and East-West streets. The show counters the notion that the straight line forecloses creative thinking, proposing instead that in New York, it made, and makes, innovation possible on a much larger and more public scale.

In 1811, New York City was a bustling metropolis of 100,000 people, most of whom resided in a tangle of lanes below Canal Street. Shopkeepers and other landowners drew the boundaries of their properties as they saw fit, with little regard for how they might intersect with roadways or fit into a larger neighborhood community. Chaotic intersections bred gang activity and petty crime.

The principle planners and surveyors of the grid foresaw that such disorderly development would stifle the city if it continued apace with its booming population and burgeoning trade. In order for New York to expand without collapsing because of congestion and infighting over property rights, a system for future development would have to be devised.

The Greatest Grid suggests that the grid itself was laid tightly over the chaos like fisherman’s netting, with little regard for the tumult it met on the ground. Through the widespread practice of eminent domain, landowners were forcibly evicted to make way for the municipal restructuring. Many did not go quietly, and surveyors were arrested multiple times for trespassing on private property claimed for public development.

However, when the grid was complete, it presciently anticipated the northward expansion of the city, stretching to 150^th Street at a time when most of this vast area above lower Manhattan was farmland. At the same time, it prescribed no socio-cultural focal point for its inhabitants: “Such distinctive advantage of position that Rome gives to St. Peter’s, Paris the Madeleine, London St. Paul’s, New York, under her system, gives to nothing,” as landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted, designer of Central Park, wrote in 1877. In this sense of expansive anticipation, New York differs fundamentally from both newer American cities, which were planned wholesale with large populations and traffic in mind, and much older European cities, which spread outward from their well-established medieval cores.

Its introduction at a crucial time in the city’s history made the grid a topic of negotiation, not a foregone conclusion. It has remained so. In a fitting corollary to the show, the Museum has invited urban planners, architects and artists to submit proposals for how the grid might solve – not just contain – New York’s 21^st century problems: pollution, crime, and the ever-present congestion. In its depiction of the city’s matrix as a vital part of its evolution, the exhibition reveals the surprising dynamism and flexibility of the straight line. –Nova Benway, Curatorial Assistant

Curator Claire Gilman

Seven panelists were invited to respond to five questions about drawing, before transitioning to an open discussion among all attendees. Artists Deborah Grant, Ryan McGinness, Amy Sillman, J. Parker Valentine, and Terry Winters, along with Carter Foster, Curator of Drawings at The Whitney Museum of American Art, and Michelle White, Curator of The Menil Collection, shared their responses to the following questions:

1) How do we define drawing? Is it an activity or a medium? Can drawing exist without a material residue?

2) How do artists situate drawing in relation to the other elements of their practice-i.e. painting, sculpture, performance etc.?

3) Are drawing via the computer and drawing by hand two distinct media or should they be considered in tandem? What possibilities do digital technologies open up for drawing in all its many forms?

4) How does our constant exposure to virtual space change the way artists approach working in two and three dimensions?

5) What role does drawing still play in reproducing or navigating the world?

Click here to listen to a recording of the symposium!

Ryan McGinness

Terry Winters

Audience Participants

Special thanks to Victoria Marshall, Assistant Professor of Urban Design at Parsons the New School for Design at the New School, New York, and Director of the BS Urban Design Program, which is the first undergraduate urban design program in an art and design school in the nation, and Coordinator of the Drawing Lab, a Parsons-wide research lab. We are grateful to her and her entire team for their generosity in hosting this event.

Dan Flavin (1933-1996), in honor of Harold Joachim in pink, yellow, blue and green fluorescent light 8’ high and wide, 1984. Pen and ink and colored pencil on graph paper, 17 x 21 7/8 inches. Drawing done by Helene Geary Collection of Stephen Flavin. © 2012 Stephen Flavin / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photography: Graham S. Haber, 2011.

Dan Flavin is an artist most of us think we have down. Offsetting the austere self-determination of his iconic light sculptures, The Morgan Library & Museum’s current exhibition of Flavin’s drawings reveals a latent romanticism in portraits and nature sketches alongside rigorously detailed preparatory drafts. The show’s dense salon-style installation perforates a predictable narrative subtext—which might frame Flavin’s trajectory as the pursuit of an ultimate, refined formal language—with works of unexpectedly dispersed and imaginative inclinations. So many drawings together, representing more of his sculptural work than typically exhibited at once, foreground Flavin’s persistent investment in homage; dedicated to a mixed bag of artists, dealers, curators, family, and sociopolitical events, in this work we see a Flavin that, for all his sharp cogency, is not in the least impersonal.

The show begins with surprising early works from the mid to late fifties: fluid impressions of urban landscapes that verge on blind contour drawings, and improvisational sequences in ink and watercolor like Chamber Music I, after poems by James Joyce. A 1963 graphite portrait of Brancusi, dedicatee of Flavin’s first fluorescent piece, alludes to his early drawings for sculpture beginning on the wall opposite.

Here we first see Flavin utilize drawing as a formulating tool, detailing the technical specifications of his “anonymous and inglorious” icons (wooden constructions bounded by lightbulbs). Throughout the exhibition, Flavin experiments with positioning multi-work installations in space; here his geometric permutations are pertly titled “iconostases” after eponymous church partitions that display religious icons.

Dan Flavin (1933-1996), some colored options for a Whitney Annual Exhibition, 1970. Ballpoint pen, 8 1/2 x 11 inches. Collection of Stephen Flavin. © 2012 Stephen Flavin / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Photography: Graham S. Haber, 2011.

A few sketches of Duchampian altered objects with ironic titles (East New York Shrine, a single bulb on a tomato can; or The Zen-Like Rocker (with emergency seat belt)) culminates in Flavin’s imagined structure for filmmaker Michelangelo Antonioni, consisting of a frame with a door hinged on both front and back, a passageway with no interior which Flavin decides “should be extremely eloquent at making no point at all.”

The work’s course from freewheeling expression to witty concision is consummated in a final grouping of drawings for fluorescent light installations. At last, Flavin arrives at the diagram—the purest rendering of information in marks. “My drawing is not at all inventive about itself,” he says of his working drawings: “it is an instrument, not a resultant.”

Here is the no-frills Flavin we know, engineer more than rhapsodist, realizing sculptures from drafts and then outsourcing to assistants their methodical documentation on paper. And yet, adjacent to (and contemporaneous with) these aloof, distilled illustrations are Apollinarean calligrammes where cursive color names stand in for bulbs, and nearby, sincere depictions of sails on the Hudson in willowy graphite.

Tangent (and somewhat superfluous) to Flavin’s own work is a selection from his personal collection. This sideshow, including studies by his Minimalist contemporaries and European modernists alongside the natural imagery of the Hudson River School and Japanese masters, diffracts a temptingly neat articulation of Flavin’s career, providing a more versatile and interactive repertoire of influences than his scrupulous formalism readily admits.

Through its inclusive purview on Flavin’s stylistic ventures and idiosyncratic commentary about his work and world, the Morgan Library’s exhibition succeeds at opening up the work of an artist often too easily typecast, injecting whimsy where it was little suspected. -Kaegan Sparks, Special Events Associate

Fred Sandback, 16 Variations of 2 Diagonal Lines, 1972, Yellow acrylic yarn. Situational: spatial relationships established by the artist; overall dimensions vary with each installation. © 2012 Fred Sandback Archive; courtesy of David Zwirner, New York.

David Zwirner’s current exhibition of work by Fred Sandback (1943-2003) features a selection of yarn sculptures and works on paper from 1969 to 2000 that foreground the role of drawing as medium, gesture, and act. Sandback’s signature yarn works have directly evolved from the linear patterning of his drawings seen mostly notably in sixteen pastels on paper from 1974, which have the unmistakable texture of acrylic yarn itself. In fact, Sandback memorably remarked that the knitting yarn he used was like a “box of colored pencils” from which he could draw in three dimensions. With their myriad spatial configurations, this series of drawings appears both figurative and abstract – a dialectic structure allows for the possibility of the viewer’s free-association – while its sculptural counterparts create inhabitable drawings incised in the gallery. Combined serially, the works convey issues of similarity and difference that require each to be viewed closely and from a variety of vantage points in an engagement that takes place in and over time. In one such floor-to-ceiling vertical sculpture, Untitled (Sculptural Study, Twelve-part Vertical Construction) c. 1987-2012, the lines become “doors” through which the viewer can walk, foregrounding the process of perception. Because Sandback understood that how things look depends on what you do, and that movements of the body and head actively produce and affect one’s perceptions, the work asks us to look at ourselves looking, increasing our perceptual capabilities by essentializing our visual experience.

Fred Sandback, Untitled (Sculptural Study, Twelve-part Vertical Construction), ca. 1987/2012, Black, blue, and light yellow acrylic yarn. Situational: spatial relationships established by the artist; overall dimensions vary with each installation. Photo by Cathy Carver © 2012 Fred Sandback Archive; courtesy of David Zwirner, New York.

In many significant ways, Sandback adopts the Minimalists’ concern with the autonomous experience of the object as something you have to confront with able body and eyes; however, his works are never fully controlling of the perceptual situations they create. Throughout the gallery, objects appear to float on the wall and also eat into it, creating the illusion of depth out of flatness and by the same token, the illusion of flatness out of depth. In a more recent work, Untitled (Sculptural Study, Four-part Mikado Construction), 1991/2011, inspired by the chance-generated game of Mikado “pick-up-sticks,” lengths of aqua blue yarn are suspended at non-intersecting angles in three-dimensions that require a body-conscious type of viewing. In an age of increasing technological saturation, Sandback’s singular aesthetic—variations of line as line, and line as outline—refreshingly persist using the simplest of means.

-Joanna Kleinberg, Assistant Curator

To support ReDraw: The Capital Plan for 35 Wooster Street

David Lang; Photo by Mark Savage.

Pulitzer Prize-winning composer David Lang invites you to attend a benefit concert in his private home theater on Sunday, April 1. World to Come, composed by Lang, will be performed by cellist Maya Beiser with video by Irit Batsry, plus special guests.

Only forty seats are available for this exclusive event to benefit ReDraw, The Drawing Center’s current building expansion project.

6:00pm Reception | 7:00pm Performance

To purchase tickets, contact Kaegan Sparks at ksparks@drawingcenter.org or 212.219.2166 x216. Ticket price: $250

Below are some photos of ReDraw’s exciting progress. Stay tuned for updates during the coming months!

The Drawing Center Exterior

Main Gallery

Drawing Room

Lower Level

Sol LeWitt, Parallel straight pencil lines of random length from left side, 1972. Graphite on paper, 11 x 11 inches. Courtesy Peter Blum Gallery, New York.

Drawing a Line in the Sand, a group show on view at Peter Blum SoHo through the end of the month, presents an elegant array of drawings (and one oil painting) made since 1960, when critic Clement Greenberg famously declared that a work’s artistic value is entirely determined by its form. Viewed in terms of the legacy of formalism, this half-century span of work on paper, mylar and Bristol board is extremely valuable both for the understatement and the overstatement of its material concerns.

When we first encounter the title of Drawing a Line in the Sand, the memory of drawing a straight but imperfect line in the sand (not unlike the one pictured in the press release) grounds our experience of the drawings; at the same time, the idea of ‘drawing a line in the sand’ meaning to declare a boundary or underscore an ultimatum, suggests something headier. Indeed, the title of Drawing a Line in the Sand, while it describes a playful form of contact with the material world, also distinguishes between the pursuit of “pure” form championed by Greenberg and the exploded sense of formalism elaborated in this show.[1]

Robert Ryman, Untitled, 1961. Oil paint onbristol board, 12 x 12 inches. Courtesy Peter Blum Gallery, New York.

The earliest work in the show, Untitled (1961), is a panel of brushstrokes by Robert Ryman. Pure painting, it functions as a point of departure for the show’s less strictly formal drawings. While it is distinct from the rest of the work in certain regards, however, Untitled is also small, painterly and perfectly square (at 12 x 12 inches), not unlike other early work included. When paired with Ryman’s Grey Drawing #8 (1962), an equally square and even more intimate pastel, the painting actually anchors the show in the crafty, process-oriented side of Minimalism.[2] Rounding out this promising launch, Sol LeWitt’s Parallel straight pencil lines of random length from left side (1972) is 11 x 11 inches and endearingly deadpan.[3]

Holding court at the other end of the timeline, January 2011—Like Nothing Else (2011) by Zipora Fried and January I 2011 (2011) by N. Dash apply lessons about material and process in a curiously industrious seduction. You could swim in Fried’s densely layered, arm-span long lines of graphite on mylar, or wear Dash’s creased, graphite-slick map to nowhere. Dash’s drawings in the show come from a larger series. As part of the project, the artist-in-transit (she’s on the train a lot) folds and unfolds pieces of paper, before “sealing” them with graphite or indigo pigment back at the studio.

Fried and Dash’s work is uber-contemporary and one wonders if all the press might not account for the slight air of predictability. It’s certainly not hard to imagine: a New York-based artist folds up a particular brand of Minimalism, puts it in the pocket of her fashionable new blue jeans and airs it out over a 21^st century commute to Brooklyn—Commuter Works are what one might expect to encounter sensitively pinned to the wall of her Manhattan gallery as a result.

Much of the work in the show, with its idiosyncratic inquiry into medium specificity, must be encountered to be experienced; to rely on an image of Dash’s drawings would be to deny their redeeming floppiness outright. Similarly, Léonie Guyer’s drawings need to be seen. They absolutely refuse to photograph, and for a host of good reasons. As you approach Guyer’s Untitled (2010), it starts to vibrate. The perfect outline of a shape you’ve never seen before, imperceptible only moments ago, shimmers above a cream colored ground. Old French paper never appeared less precious. The deckled edges come alive around the little figure, flexing as if in solidarity with the found paper’s incidental folds. Is it a strongman, a little Cycladic teapot, a ram’s head?

Considering the humor and surprising amount of space in Guyer’s work, it’s easy to see the influence of Alexander Calder’s wire circus, Fred Sandback’s colored string pieces, Agnes Martin’s inner landscapes, and Brice Marden’s glowing beeswax grounds, and yet, Guyer’s menagerie is, well, like nothing else. In an interview on her work in the show for biennaleart.tv, Guyer explains that the figures in her drawings are made by laying a graphite line over a colored pencil line. She says, “the vibration between the two lines, to me, makes it come alive.”

Guyer could have been describing the title of Drawing a Line in the Sand, as it sparks two overlapping lines of thought. On the one hand, we’re back at the beach, playing in the sand. At the same time, this selection demonstrates that the mid-20^th century line between form in art and certain forms of thought, Nature, feeling and fun has gradually washed away (to greater and lesser effect). Does the title dare us to deny a formal drive in recent art and strongly suggest that we discover it (for ourselves)?

This is a show to go and see. Louise Bourgeois’ sore drops of blood done in ballpoint, John Zurier’s Indian paper so thick it could have been handmade out of paper towels, Robert Zandvliet’s sense of transparency—and sense of surface—and Mireille Gros’ pilling hearts, come alive in the gallery space between viewer, figure and ground.

-Helen Miller, Contributor

[2] Minimalism is, I guess, a form or refusal of formalism, depending on who you’re talking to.

[3] This drawing may in fact be sublime. Does it remind anyone else of (drawings of) a sunset, or moonlight, or looking out the window at night? Do you see the horizontal slats of light on the water?