By Jef With One F
By Pete Vonder Haar
By Abby Koenig
By Olivia Flores Alvarez
By Jef With One F
By Christina Uticone
By Angelica Leicht
By Altamese Osborne
The Menil Collection's Willem de Kooning exhibition, curated by Klaus Kertess, seeks to explore the painter's creative process, but winds up raising even more provocative questions about art, aging and the mental process. The intriguing "Willem de Kooning: In Process" is the second consecutive abstract expressionist show from the Menil, coming on the heels of a 40-year retrospective of the facile and repetitive work of Sam Francis.
The exhibit explores de Kooning's creative process by focusing on late works from the '70s and '80s. De Kooning was notorious for repeatedly working and reworking paintings. His iconic painting Woman I (1950-52) was the result of an 18-month process involving drawn, traced and retraced images laid on the canvas in a fight to deconstruct the figure. He always kept other works or sketches of works close by and fed off the reincorporation of his images, energized by a studio cluttered with his own paintings. As he painted, he would sometimes squash vellum onto the surface of a wet painting to sop up excess paint. The act would create a mirror image monoprint to be used as a source for later works, maintaining an almost umbilical connection from work to work.
A drawing of a figure, usually female, was almost always a departure point for de Kooning's paintings; he couldn't stomach the initial blankness of a canvas. His work was based on an abstraction of reality rather than an abstract image created purely from the combination of line, color and form. The source image is often only vaguely discernable, if at all. De Kooning's 1950s-era Woman series evoked cries of misogyny because of the dynamic and sometimes violently gestural way they were painted and abstracted. There is undoubtedly a psychological element in the series -- he may well have hated his mother, who by most accounts was a particularly nasty piece of work -- but there are additional reasons for using a figure. De Kooning studied for eight years at a traditional art academy that would have required copious figure drawing. Work from a figure long enough, and it ceases to be a figure; it becomes a collection of shapes that just happen to belong to a human being, a compositional tool.
Three images of women from the '70s present a more playful alternative to the ominous women of his '50s work. Loosely graphic black lines and the primary colors of Sunday comics combine to create glimpses of high heels, wooden shoes and glove buttons. The cartoonishly exaggerated figures look like an incomplete hybrid of Betty Boop meets Minnie Mouse. They're genial and goofy, revealing de Kooning's love of comics like Krazy Kat and the Katzenjammer Kids. According to Kertess's essay in the exhibition catalog, de Kooning even hung one of the original Katzenjammer Kids drawings in his studio bathroom.
The exhibition is dominated by the '80s work in which the recycling of images plays a more visible role. From at least the mid-'80s on, an opaque projector was used to transfer Xeroxes of primarily 1960s drawings to the canvas. The paintings are thinly painted and linear, with none of the thick gestural smears of paint that mark his earlier work. The 1966 drawing Untitled (Seated Woman on the Beach) appears in untitled 1986 and 1987 works. The catalog essay details other such linkages throughout the show, and what you end up with is an art historian's Where's Waldo in which the viewer tries to find evidence of the earlier drawing in the later painting.
The '80s work has been a controversial topic, one addressed in the 1997 Museum of Modern Art exhibition "Willem de Kooning: The Late Work." De Kooning outlasted his hard-living and hard-drinking abstract expressionist colleagues by virtue of luck and genes, rather than caution and temperance. His drinking had been growing progressively worse until his estranged wife, Elaine de Kooning, returned and forced sobriety upon him in 1980, a lifestyle change that most likely coincided with the onset of Alzheimer's.
Signs of the disease may have been manifesting themselves as early as the late '70s, but he wasn't formally diagnosed with Alzheimer's until 1989, the same year his daughter Lisa had him declared legally incompetent. De Kooning died eight years later, in 1997. The diagnosis called into question the validity of the '80s works. Alzheimer's is an insidious disease that manifests slowly and gains momentum; by the time it's diagnosed it is usually quite advanced. Regarding de Kooning's art, the generally agreed-upon cutoff date for lucidity is 1988. Kertess scrupulously shows works that go up to only 1987. As for the matter of lucidity, Kertess feels the works speak for themselves, and that should be the final answer.
Basically you can go with one of two readings. The romanticists hold that the late works are yet another step in de Kooning's investigation of painting, a spare and lyrical climax to a lifetime of exploration. They believe that although his speech and memory were impaired, the core of his artistic ability remained untouched. The conspiracy theorist camp asserts that de Kooning was increasingly incapacitated and that his assistants played an overly active role in the creation of the paintings, selecting images to be projected, mixing colors, arranging compositions and painting in areas. The truth may be a little of both.
According to a description of Alzheimer's from Principles of Neural Science, "patients show abnormalities of memory, problem solving, language, calculation, visuospatial perception, judgement and behavior." When you think about it, highly regarded work has been made by artists who were mentally, physically and chemically incapacitated. Van Gogh was mentally ill; Monet painted while suffering from cataracts; Pollock was a tremendous drunk; Basquiat was a heroin addict. The work should be judged on its merits, and you shouldn't have to pass a urine test or a psychiatric exam before your work can be considered.
But knowledge of de Kooning's decline does color a viewing of the work. An untitled (1980) scrawled ink drawing of two women led to three 1987 paintings. Comparing the 1980 drawing to a 1966 drawing, the former looks much looser, and even the signature is less emphatic. Is this the result of infirmity or a 24-year difference in drawing style? But more important, the paintings that result from the drawing are not especially satisfying. They feel awkward. The images seem plopped down and filled in, not created on the canvas.
A more successful series of untitled paintings from 1985 cannibalize themselves for composition, each one taking a part of the one before. There is a clarity of color here, bright shimmering tones of blue and reddish-orange lines curving over white surfaces that radiate with obscured color. They look like a curvilinear version of Mondrian. There is something kind of appealing about the bright, looping strokes and the thin, controlled paint. I just don't know that "kind of appealing" is enough. I think you're probably willing to accord them more attention in the context of de Kooning's work than they would merit as lone paintings.
De Kooning will always remain a seminal figure in the development of American art. Throughout his career he took risks, and his painting was never static. The physical and visual interaction with paint was the issue for him, not the end result. The later work shown in the exhibition raises many questions, but in the words of an artist who saw the show, "Well, at least de Kooning senile is a helluva lot better than Sam Francis lucid."