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The Art of Richard Tuttle
Museum of Contemporary Art
220 E Chicago Ave, Chicago. 312-280-2660
Through February 4, 2007
The Richard Tuttle exhibition, now on its third and final stop
in Chicago, originated at the San Francisco Museum of
Modern Art and spent last year at the Whitney Museum in
New York.
After first seeing this impressive show in San Francisco
there was an expectation that the show in Chicago would
not be as good -- thinking it would be reworked and
perhaps watered down. It was good to see this show a
second time, well intact, but in a completely different space.
The San Francisco exhibition had such a strong linearity in
its organization that moving through it was like marching
within a textbook. In contrast, many of the galleries on the
fourth floor of Chicago’s Contemporary open into one
another allowing for a meandering approach with many
possibilities for exploration and chance discovery. This
layout is especially suited for Tuttle’s work which contains a
continuity of poetic vision whereby mutable light, color and
line flow remarkably from one diverse group of work to the
next.
Organized as a chronological survey, this show offers a
wide-ranging look at a contemporary American artist who
stands at the forefront of late Modernism—a time of
accelerated change and cultural upheaval. Beginning with
his first efforts of painted low relief, which gained him
notoriety in the early 1960s, the show runs through his most
current series of plywood paintings, which seem to reflect
the sun bleached light and arid climate of the American
Southwest, the artist’s home since 1988.
Richard Tuttle is a product of turbulent 1960s America,
when he and his generation of young artists embraced the
aesthetic tradition of modern reductionism. Originally known
as Minimalism, this austere art movement gained
prominence in the late ‘50s in the works of Ad Reinhardt,
Carlo Carrà, and Frank Stella (and, musically, Philip Glass).
These were revolutionary times, as artists explored ideas
that sought to challenge and break down traditional forms,
materials, and processes.
Working as gallery assistant for the Betty Parson’s Gallery
in the ‘60s, Tuttle was a young artist at the center of this
New York City art scene, where he was infused within a
close—though often contentious—atmosphere of creative
energy. Here an individual’s ideas quickly became a group’
s ideology, as artists worked “hip to hip,” developing
thoughts that questioned the inherent legitimacy of certain
standards of form. Within this communal hotbed of critical
discussion many artists, including Tuttle, were reacting to
(mostly against) the established order and mainstream
success of the Abstract Expressionists, who were the titans
of the art world. Working with a certain amount detachment
Tuttle and other post minimalists sought to separate
themselves from the deeply felt attachments of traditional
materials like paint and bronze. In doing so, they liberated
their thinking, discovering new materials free from the
associations attached to predetermined emotive content.
Opening this retrospective are the painted plywood low-
reliefs, which were represented in the 24-year-old Tuttle’s
first one-person show in New York. These colorful letter-
shapes resemble characters from some alien alphabet.
Although they reference language, they remain mute, as
they gesture toward some truth or understanding. This work
was at the center of the burning issue at the time, which
was whether or not these things on the floor and walls were
paintings or sculpture. (Today, we readily accept them for
what they are… which is neither.)
Throughout all phases of Tuttle’s work there is consistency
in the artist’s contrary sensibility. This creates conflict, a sort
of radical aestheticism, by presenting a dichotomy between
opposing expectations.
Tuttle’s choice of materials opposes the expectations of
“fine art” because of his disconcerting use of common
materials and throwaway stuff. With many artists who
worked under the guise of minimalism this shared interest
in unorthodox materials was a way to revolt against the
commoditization of painting and sculpture while inventing
new ways of seeing. Tuttle’s “crummy” materials (ragged
chip-board, torn form-core…the worst!) are affective
because they negate the importance of physical durability
associated with permanence of fine craft and engineering.
In contrast, Tuttle uses insignificant material as his
ingredients to articulate weight and movement as it mixes
with light and air. Is the distraction (even repulsion) by
certain materials too different than being distracted by
technique in general? There is pleasure in looking at many
of Tuttle’s things, but the challenge, as it is in most cases
with looking, is seeing beyond the manipulation of the
materials. It can also be seen as a consideration of the
precept that art works, or anything for that matter, exist as
the summation of their parts and the combination of details
makes something particular, important and worthy of
contemplation.
Although Tuttle wished to merge art with its environment it
seems much of this work has too much dependence on the
architectural setting of the “big white box”. Sometimes the
larger works resemble clinging vestiges from the ‘60s,
almost nostalgic, like peace signs, lava lamps and the
songs of freedom. Seeing this work now, supported by the
white walls and high ceilings suggest an unhealthy co-
dependence between “needy” art and patrician/institutional
might. It’s an uncomfortable, if not a questionable
relationship. But it’s with redeeming pleasure that the
drawings and small works breathe life into this show. They
authenticate his vision by directing the viewer outside an
architectural framework and toward the mindfulness of keen
independent visual thinking. So what do the drawings look
like?
What makes this show so pleasurable is its lack of gravity
(in both senses of the word) and at the same time it’s
saying something important about both the fragility and
endurable strength of our existence. Whether the work
points to the limitations of our language (a scrambling of
mute signs and symbols), or the impermanence of the
things we surround ourselves with (a thin wire’s shadow on
wall), or how remarkably fine our understanding can be (the
relevance of a “crummy” piece of Styrofoam), Tuttle’s work
reveals how clarity of thought is as elusive as it is irrational.
- Richard Knight
Richard Knight is a painter and Director at the Tory Folliard
Gallery
Comments? Email comments@susceptibletoimages.com
Museum of Contemporary Art
220 E Chicago Ave, Chicago. 312-280-2660
Through February 4, 2007
The Richard Tuttle exhibition, now on its third and final stop
in Chicago, originated at the San Francisco Museum of
Modern Art and spent last year at the Whitney Museum in
New York.
After first seeing this impressive show in San Francisco
there was an expectation that the show in Chicago would
not be as good -- thinking it would be reworked and
perhaps watered down. It was good to see this show a
second time, well intact, but in a completely different space.
The San Francisco exhibition had such a strong linearity in
its organization that moving through it was like marching
within a textbook. In contrast, many of the galleries on the
fourth floor of Chicago’s Contemporary open into one
another allowing for a meandering approach with many
possibilities for exploration and chance discovery. This
layout is especially suited for Tuttle’s work which contains a
continuity of poetic vision whereby mutable light, color and
line flow remarkably from one diverse group of work to the
next.
Organized as a chronological survey, this show offers a
wide-ranging look at a contemporary American artist who
stands at the forefront of late Modernism—a time of
accelerated change and cultural upheaval. Beginning with
his first efforts of painted low relief, which gained him
notoriety in the early 1960s, the show runs through his most
current series of plywood paintings, which seem to reflect
the sun bleached light and arid climate of the American
Southwest, the artist’s home since 1988.
Richard Tuttle is a product of turbulent 1960s America,
when he and his generation of young artists embraced the
aesthetic tradition of modern reductionism. Originally known
as Minimalism, this austere art movement gained
prominence in the late ‘50s in the works of Ad Reinhardt,
Carlo Carrà, and Frank Stella (and, musically, Philip Glass).
These were revolutionary times, as artists explored ideas
that sought to challenge and break down traditional forms,
materials, and processes.
Working as gallery assistant for the Betty Parson’s Gallery
in the ‘60s, Tuttle was a young artist at the center of this
New York City art scene, where he was infused within a
close—though often contentious—atmosphere of creative
energy. Here an individual’s ideas quickly became a group’
s ideology, as artists worked “hip to hip,” developing
thoughts that questioned the inherent legitimacy of certain
standards of form. Within this communal hotbed of critical
discussion many artists, including Tuttle, were reacting to
(mostly against) the established order and mainstream
success of the Abstract Expressionists, who were the titans
of the art world. Working with a certain amount detachment
Tuttle and other post minimalists sought to separate
themselves from the deeply felt attachments of traditional
materials like paint and bronze. In doing so, they liberated
their thinking, discovering new materials free from the
associations attached to predetermined emotive content.
Opening this retrospective are the painted plywood low-
reliefs, which were represented in the 24-year-old Tuttle’s
first one-person show in New York. These colorful letter-
shapes resemble characters from some alien alphabet.
Although they reference language, they remain mute, as
they gesture toward some truth or understanding. This work
was at the center of the burning issue at the time, which
was whether or not these things on the floor and walls were
paintings or sculpture. (Today, we readily accept them for
what they are… which is neither.)
Throughout all phases of Tuttle’s work there is consistency
in the artist’s contrary sensibility. This creates conflict, a sort
of radical aestheticism, by presenting a dichotomy between
opposing expectations.
Tuttle’s choice of materials opposes the expectations of
“fine art” because of his disconcerting use of common
materials and throwaway stuff. With many artists who
worked under the guise of minimalism this shared interest
in unorthodox materials was a way to revolt against the
commoditization of painting and sculpture while inventing
new ways of seeing. Tuttle’s “crummy” materials (ragged
chip-board, torn form-core…the worst!) are affective
because they negate the importance of physical durability
associated with permanence of fine craft and engineering.
In contrast, Tuttle uses insignificant material as his
ingredients to articulate weight and movement as it mixes
with light and air. Is the distraction (even repulsion) by
certain materials too different than being distracted by
technique in general? There is pleasure in looking at many
of Tuttle’s things, but the challenge, as it is in most cases
with looking, is seeing beyond the manipulation of the
materials. It can also be seen as a consideration of the
precept that art works, or anything for that matter, exist as
the summation of their parts and the combination of details
makes something particular, important and worthy of
contemplation.
Although Tuttle wished to merge art with its environment it
seems much of this work has too much dependence on the
architectural setting of the “big white box”. Sometimes the
larger works resemble clinging vestiges from the ‘60s,
almost nostalgic, like peace signs, lava lamps and the
songs of freedom. Seeing this work now, supported by the
white walls and high ceilings suggest an unhealthy co-
dependence between “needy” art and patrician/institutional
might. It’s an uncomfortable, if not a questionable
relationship. But it’s with redeeming pleasure that the
drawings and small works breathe life into this show. They
authenticate his vision by directing the viewer outside an
architectural framework and toward the mindfulness of keen
independent visual thinking. So what do the drawings look
like?
What makes this show so pleasurable is its lack of gravity
(in both senses of the word) and at the same time it’s
saying something important about both the fragility and
endurable strength of our existence. Whether the work
points to the limitations of our language (a scrambling of
mute signs and symbols), or the impermanence of the
things we surround ourselves with (a thin wire’s shadow on
wall), or how remarkably fine our understanding can be (the
relevance of a “crummy” piece of Styrofoam), Tuttle’s work
reveals how clarity of thought is as elusive as it is irrational.
- Richard Knight
Richard Knight is a painter and Director at the Tory Folliard
Gallery
Comments? Email comments@susceptibletoimages.com
| All works by Richard Tuttle. |