Category:johns, rauschenberg, et al

August 21, 2015

In The Palm Of Your Hand

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Jasper Johns, Untitled, 1954, collection hirshhorn

I went to a gallery talk at the Hirshhorn by Amy Boyer, of the museum's education department, on their rare, early Jasper Johns work, Untitled (1954). It's one of just four known Johns works to survive destruction by the artist in 1954, because it was in someone else's possession. That someone was Rachel Rosenthal, an important friend and collaborator of Johns, whose face is cast in plaster there in the bottom. [Rosenthal sold the work to the Hirshhorn in 1987.]

In his 1996 conservation interview at the Menil with Carol Mancusi-Ungaro Johns noted that the collaged element in Untitled, probably shared paper and stationery from various "exotic," foreign sources with the work he made next, Untitled (Green Painting), which first belonged to Rosenthal's mother. [Asked her name, Johns replied with a laugh, "Mrs. Rosenthal."] The torn printed bits are overlaid with similarly sized fragments of brown tissue paper that veils but doesn't obscure the texts. A piece of glass is fitted over the collage, held between pairs of tiny nails in a fashion similar to Star, the Star of David-shaped painting Johns made for Rosenthal.

johns_untitled_hirshhorn_verso.jpg
bad photo of a laserprint of a 2006 photo of the back of Johns' Untitled, 1954 via hirshhorn

But today the party was definitely in the back. Bower presented images taken at the Hirshhorn in 2006, which showed two images Johns had affixed, one to the canvas, and one to a wooden backing. They were identical white-on-black palm reading diagrams printed with the caption, "Hand of Accidents and Travels." Bower wondered if this indicated the work was originally intended to stand, like a sculpture, or possibly to be handled.

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same, a detail: "Hand of Accidents and Travel"

Seeing the palm reading hands, along with the shape of the Untitled collage (16.4x7-inches), made me think of the Shirtboards collage/drawings Rauschenberg made in 1952 while traveling through Italy and Morocco with Cy Twombly. Bob would glue etchings and illustrations he found or bought in street stalls onto the leftover cardboards folded inside his laundered shirts. Hopps wrote that because Rauschenberg never framed the Shirtboards, "they exist potentially as hand-held objects."

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Robert Rauschenberg, Shirtboard collage with palm reading diagram, 1952, lost or destroyed, image: Walter Hopps' Rauschenberg: The Early 1950s

Of the eleven elongated (14x5-in.) Shirtboards included in Walter Hopps' 1990 catalogue, ten were in the collection of the artist, the Sonnabends, or Sue Weil. The other one was listed as "lost or destroyed." It had a palm reading diagram, in black on white, the inverse of Johns's.

Did Johns bury Rauschenberg's Shirtboard palm down under the collage of Untitled, only to bring it back as an X-ray, or was he just giving Bob a secret high five?

Jasper Johns, Untitled, 1954 [hirshhorn.si.edu]

August 7, 2015

Robert Rauschenberg, Dad

I've been reading the transcript from Susan Weil's interviews for the Robert Rauschenberg Foundation Oral History Project. It's four sittings over several months, so stories are retold with slight variations depending on who's there, more Thanksgiving chestnut than Rashomon, but still interesting.

One example, in her first interview session, Weil talked about the collapse of her marriage to Rauschenberg in the Summer of 1951, just as Christopher was being born, and of the aftermath, raising him as a single parent. [Bob was at Black Mountain College during the birth, then soon took up with Cy Twombly and headed to Europe for 17 months. By 1953-4, Rauschenberg was back in New York, way downtown, and in a relationship with Jasper Johns.]:

And was Bob able to see him from time to time?

WEIL: Yes. Particularly when he was in New York, that worked out. He would see him from time to time. But Christopher, he always--they'd try to do things together, and of course at that time, Bob was really into making his art life bigger and broader. So he'd often cancel meetings with Chris, because he would have a meeting with a museum person or something.

And so Bob was supposed to take Chris to the circus, and he said, "Well, Mom, he probably won't be able to come, because he'll have something more important." And I felt so terrible. And of course he did come, but Christopher had it all in his head that he was not at the top of the list.

Ouch.

rauschenberg_chris_letter_det.jpg

The circus reminded me of this letter, which is collaged to the face of one of Rauschenberg's earliest combines, Untitled (1954) [above], and which was mentioned in two essays in Paul Schimmel's 2005 Combines exhibition catalogue:

"I hope that you still like me Bob cause I still love you. Please wright me back love LOVE Christopher." And there's a circus clown in the corner. Same circus? Who can say? What's notable is not whether Rauschenberg was a good dad, but that he incorporated the letter in his artwork, and how.

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Untitled (1954-58), also called Untitled (Man with White Shoes) and Plymouth Rock, collection: MOCA, image: RRF

The letter is just below and to the left of an overexposed headshot of a toddler Christopher, but the handwriting is not that of a 3-year-old. Though it's dated 1954, Rauschenberg clearly kept working on Untitled for several years. This photo of the artist's studio shows that Christopher's letter and photo were on there by 1958, though, the year of his (and Johns') breakout shows at Castelli.

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Rauschenberg in his Front St. studio in 1958, with various combines behind him. photo: Kay Harris via RRF

In reviewing Schimmel's show and catalogue, Yve Alain-Bois mocked the idea of seeking insights into Rauschenberg's combines from close readings of their collaged elements, even as he pointed out the photo of Johns and the Twombly sketch on Untitled.

When I first connected Weil's story with Christopher's letter, it was tragic and infuriating. Rauschenberg wasn't busy meeting any museum people between 1954-58, he was just not seeing his son. But in Weil's later tellings, with her son sitting alongside her, a much more sanguine version emerges; as he got a little older Christopher recalled hanging out at his dad's and helping him make work. He was a teenage studio assistant on screenprinting, rollerskated inside, and helped unleash the turtles at E.A.T.'s 9 Evenings. In short, it got better. And in retrospect, putting his son's letter and photo on a sculpture meant he saw it every day; Rauschenberg used his combine as the studio equivalent of the refrigerator door, sitting right in that gap between art and life.

Robert Rauschenberg Oral History Project [rauschenbergfoundation.org]
Robert Rauschenberg: Combines, the catalogue from Paul Schimmel's 2005 exhibition, is great [amazon]
Previously: The Orgies of Art History

Gerhard_Richter_Tisch_1962.jpg
This is a great photo, btw. I love the edge, the space, the painting's objectness. I assume it's old, pre-frame, but I don't really know; and the site I ganked it from didn't seem to have any awareness, much less answers. Anyway, it's here on purpose.

I'm not sure when I knew that the blur in the center of Gerhard Richter's Tisch/Table (1962, CR:1) isn't a brushstroke, but a smear, but I didn't give it any thought until I started looking hard at Rauschenberg's work on Erased deKooning Drawing. Then it completely changed for me.

The first time I saw it in person was 2002. Richter told Rob Storr that he had "canceled the painting by blurring." I read Table's blob alongside the brushy blur of the early photopaintings. And those soupy loopy Vermalung paintings whose AbEx-style gestures preceded but didn't exactly prefigure the squeegees.

But that's not what's happening.

erased_dekooning_sfmoma.jpg

In trying to understand what Jasper Johns did to Erased deKooning Drawing, I also had to figure out what Rauschenberg had done:

He was trying to make a mark with an eraser. It's the difference between erasing a drawing, and drawing with an eraser. And when he was done, the result was both an erased de Kooning and a drawing.
At just that moment I read John J. Curley's essay, "Richter's Cold War Vision," in Gerhard Richter: Early Work, which tied them together:
Richter's Informel-esque brushstroke was not painted over the image of the table (as some have suggested), but was the product of erasure. The artist attacked the canvas with a solvent (perhaps turpentine) after the initial image was already painted. The new mark has diminished the original painted surface, leaving traces of bare canvas showing through.
But as with Rauschenberg, this is not negation; cancelation is not rejection. [Richter would later designate Table as the first work in his Catalogue Raisonné, even though it is not.] As Curley wrote, the erasure "naturalizes a false realism" in Tisch; its abstract disruption provides cover and credibility for the table's "off-kilter" representation and "structural impossibility." Erasure becomes "the crux of both the table and the painted gesture."

cleveland_park_tag_erasure_gregorg.jpg

Well that blew my mind. I've ended up thinking about Tisch all the time, at first because of the blogging, and then the Destroyed Richter Paintings project. But then mostly because there's a lamp post near our place in DC that I pass almost every day on my way to the train or the store. It has a basic graffiti tag that someone tried to erase--I was about to say unsuccessfully, but I think it looks a hundred times better like this.

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Jasper Johns Blue Ceiling, 1955, 12x10 feet [!], image: postermuseumblog

How did I miss this? Just a week after I posted about Matson Jones' hand-painted plaster melons and pomegranates, poster dealer Philip Williams revealed an incredible Matson Jones find: a set of cyanotype/photograms titled Jasper Johns Blue Ceiling.

Each of the four panels depicts an underwater scene featuring a male figure holding a trident, or with a Trojan-style helmet; the only figure not in profile has pointy, Sub-Mariner-style ears. They're all signed "Matson Jones" in the image, and apparently, the title, which is apparently a reference to Johns's bedroom, is written on the back in what Andy Warhol said was Robert Rauschenberg's handwriting. They surfaced in the 1980s from the office of Gene Moore, the guy who commissioned Matson Jones [the commercial pseudonym of Rauschenberg & Johns] to create window displays for Bonwit Teller. The prints were apparently a backdrop for a window made in 1955.

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Rauschenberg & Weil making a blueprint photogram, 1951, LIFE Mag via tate

Rauschenberg, of course, had made and shown similar photograms with his wife Susan Weil. She'd lie on the photosensitive paper in a composition, and he'd swing a lamp around her, Pollock-style, to make the image. [MoMA has one.] Weil kept making photograms after their divorce, but I never realized they shared joint custody of the technique. Or that Rauschenberg would use it with his next model--and that's the question here, I guess: is that Johns?

matson_johns_profile.jpg

Who else could it be, right? And if it wasn't Johns in 1955, it certainly was in 1962. These 1-to-1 scale photograms make me think of Johns's Study for Skin drawings, which he made by pressing his oiled up face and hands against a sheet of drafting paper, then rubbing it out with charcoal. Richard Serra owns a full-body Johns Skin job from 1975, too, so it's not like he gave it up.

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Jasper Johns, Study for Skin I, 1962, image via nga

There's also Rauschenberg's large-scale, 1968 print triptych Autobiography, and though it's a stretch across time, the shadows remind me of Johns's landmark Seasons paintings and prints of 1986-7, which all feature the artists' shadow.

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Jasper Johns The Seasons print series from ULAE

Connecting Johns's imprint of the body to Rauschenberg's--and Weil's--photogram process would be interesting enough; but these photograms also connect Matson Jones' production more directly to the art practices of Johns and Rauschenberg.

It does not feel great to not be the first to make this connection. In a Feb. 1959 column in Arts Magazine that is a master class of insiderish gay-bashing, Hilton Kramer denigrated Johns and Rauschenberg as "visual publicists" working in the commercial art "gutter":

Rauschenberg, for example, is a very deft designer with a sensitive eye for the chic detail, but the range of his sensibility is very small -- namely, from good taste to "bad"...Frankly, I see no difference between his work and the decorative displays which often grace the windows of Bonwit Teller and Bloomingdale's. The latter aim to delight the eye with a bright smartness, and Rauschenberg's work differs from them only in 'risking' some nasty touches. Fundamentally, he shares the window dresser's aesthetic to tickle the eye, to arrest attention for a momentary dazzle...Jasper Johns too is a designer...Johns, like Rauschenberg, aims to please an confirm the decadent periphery of bourgeois taste.
There are a couple of other examples of gender-coded criticism early on in Johns and Rauschenberg's careers, but Kramer's knowing sneers link gayness with non-seriousness, taking a double swipe at the artists' rapidly growing reputations. Johns wrote an angry letter in response, saying "a kind of rottenness runs through the entire article."

Which is why Williams' post of what "may very well be the only known surviving Matson Jones work," is unsettling. It ends with this shoutout, "Today, Friday May 15th, is Jasper Johns' 84th birthday. From everyone here at Philip Williams Posters Happy Birthday Mr. Johns!" Almost as if they were inviting the artist--who has a penchant for destroying early work that doesn't necessarily fit his preferred narrative--to buy it back. Frankly, they belong in a museum. If there is a museum bold enough to take them.

Jasper Johns Blue Ceiling by Matson Jones [postermuseumblog]

November 25, 2014

Through The Perilous Fight

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Flags, 1968, image metmuseum.org

In 1968 Jasper Johns produced an edition, Flags, with ULAE featuring two American flags and an optical phenomenon. After staring at the inverted spectrum flag, green, black and orange, on the top, a viewer would then switch to the bottom flag, which would momentarily appear red, white and blue.

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American Flag in Negative Colors of the Spectrum, 1968, image: juddfoundation.org

This was more than a visual trick. It carried symbolic and political meaning. Or at least such things could be ascribed to an inverted flag. In 1968 Donald Judd had American Flag in Negative Colors of the Spectrum made. It was included in "The Public Life," a 2011 show at the Judd Foundation about the artist's civic and political engagement. I have not been able to find out much background for this object or its creation.

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Flag (Moratorium), 1969

In 1969, Johns again used the inverted flag, for Flag (Moratorium), a fundraising/protest poster for the Committee Against The War In Vietnam. The small white focal point in the center facilitates the same optical phenomenon as the ULAE edition, in which the viewer is called to action to envision, produce, and correct the flag in her own mind.

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African American Flag, 1990, image: moma.org

David Hammons' 1990 African American Flag is different. It's red, black and green colors derive from the Pan-African or Black Liberation Flag designed by Marcus Garvey in the 1920s. Miami collector Craig Robins has a Hammons flag; Rirkrit installed it for Design Miami Basel in 2011. It is also in MoMA's collection, and one flies over the Studio Museum in Harlem.

April 12, 2014

The Absence Of Evidence

rausch_johns_short_circuit.jpg
Short Circuit (aka Construction with J.J. Flag), c. 1958? photo: Rudy Burckhardt

Errol Morris's new film about Donald Rumsfeld has me thinking a lot lately in terms of the known unknown, and the unknown unknown. As I've tried to find the missing Jasper Johns flag painting that was in Robert Rauschenberg's 1955 combine Short Circuit I've kept running into another formulation which bridges the two: what we think we know.

It's not that the story of Short Circuit as it trickled down through history in footnotes and parentheticals and anecdotes was wrong, so much as incomplete. . And the elisions have shaped the widely accepted understanding of both artists' work. But it also prompts the question, "Who's 'we'?"

Because someone knows what happened to that flag painting. Someone's always known. It just wasn't me.

January 7, 2013

If He Did It: Johns Edition

Alright, let's get all these together in one place:

edkd_eda_unmatted.jpg

After claiming for more than 40 years that he had drawn it himself, Robert Rauschenberg acknowledged in 1999 that, in fact, Jasper Johns, who "lived upstairs," created the graphite text label collaged onto Erased de Kooning Drawing. Or as one person who knew the work when it was made told me last year, "Bob made it, but Jasper made it art."

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Minutiae

Jasper Johns in 1999, as published on the site of the artist's Foundation for Contemporary Arts [and first quoted here in 2011, in discussing collaboration and Jacob Kassay, actually]:

In 1954 I had helped Bob Rauschenberg a bit with his Minutiae set, his first for Merce Cunningham, and I continued to assist him with most of his stage work through 1960.
Rauschenberg is credited with costumes and/or set design for at least 10 works for the Merce Cunningham Dance Company between 1954 and 1960, including the iconic painted backdrop/leotards of "Summerspace" (1958). Johns's first actual credit doesn't appear until 1968.

rr_jj_summerspace_walker.jpg

Oh, but look, on this walkeradmin tumblr [? ;)], a detail from the "Johns/Rauschenberg backdrop for "Summerspace." I'm glad it's not just me.

Of the 18 works Rauschenberg is credited with between 1954-58 for the Paul Taylor Dance Company, 17 were for costumes, and one, "The Tower," (1957) was for set design. Jasper Johns is credited with making the costumes for "The Tower."

rauschenberg_tower.jpg
The Tower, by Rauschenberg & neighbor

The Tower, a 1957 Rauschenberg combine created for the dance set, which depicts a couple, was described by the Christie's representative trying to sell it in 2011 as both "autobiographical" and "cryptic," which, for these two, is redundant. For composer John Cooper's part, the Feb 10, 1957 program said he had been considering the "pastoral themes of the Adonis-Persephone myth." [Persephone and Aphrodite both fell in love with Adonis while babysitting him. So, yeah. Not sure what to do with that.]

rr_gold_painting_1956_menil.jpg
Untitled (Gold Painting), 1956, Menil Collection

I recently met someone who owned a Rauschenberg Gold Painting. The collector said that once Jasper saw it, and said, "Oh, yes, this is one I did." 10 existing gold paintings predate 1954, the year of Johns's and Rauschenberg's meeting, but according to Walter Hopps' 1991 catalogue, "two or three" were made afterward, at the "special request" of friends. Alison Gingeras included Untitled (Gold Painting), 1955, in "Unpainted Paintings," her 2011 show at Luxembourg & Dayan. The Menil's gold painting [above] dates from 1956.

In 1977, in the SoHo Weekly, art historian Roberta J.M. Olson had posed to Johns this kind of remarkable question:

During his early days in New York City Johns and Robert Rauschenberg shared a closely knit friendship of cross-fertilization...It has been said [it has?? -ed.] that during this period the two artists also painted works in each other's styles.
I asked whether any so-called "Johns paintings by Rauschenberg existed in collections today?

JJ: No, but there is one "Rauschenberg" by Johns. Really, though, it is a Rauschenberg because after I finished it, Bob fooled around with it and I do believe that he eventually signed it. It was a small painting and I don't know its whereabouts today...The only time I remember Bob actually working on a painting of mine was when he picked up the red paintbrush and went to work on one of the white stripes in a flag painting" [...]

One? Just one? Does no one ever ask follow-up questions? No, no one ever does.

Johns told Calvin Tomkins in 2005 that in 1960 Rauschenberg, who had been using maps as an element in his combines as early as Small Rebus (1956), "simply gave" him mimeographed maps of the US, which he painted on directly, and later enlarged into paintings like Map (1960).

UPDATE: In fact, Rauschenberg painted on maps as early as 1950, when he created Mother of God, which was part of SFMOMA's massive 1998 acquisition.

johns_map_moca.jpg
Map, 1962, image via moca.org

In 1988, Deborah Solomon told a version of Johns's Flag dream story that somehow includes direct quotes from--and a co-starring role by--Rauschenberg:

One day in 1954, Johns casually mentioned to Rauschenberg that he'd had a crazy dream the previous night. ''How crazy was it?'' Rauschenberg asked. ''Well,'' Johns replied, ''in this dream I was painting the American flag.'' The American flag? Rauschenberg didn't think it was crazy at all. ''That's a really great idea,'' he said.
And this all is aside from the Short Circuit saga; and the fact that Flag looks like it's constructed like a combine; and his paintings from the earliest canvas & fabric, drawer, canvas, fork, spoon, flashlight, plate, and letter set are essentially combines, too, only we don't call them that--even though Johns says he came up with the term.

There is so much we don't know about how these two artists worked and collaborated. So much that doesn't get asked, or is known and doesn't get written. So much about the similarities and cross-references and resonances in their work that has been overlooked, dismissed or deflected for so long.

From the earliest days, curators like Alan Solomon and critics were assiduous about keeping these two oeuvres separate and distinct. Whenever asked about influence, Johns would say he always tried to stay aware and move away from it. Rauschenberg would emphasize how diametrically opposite their personalities were, and that was that. Whatever the forces at work, whether the closet, the AbEx legacy of the lone genius artist, or the market's willful self-delusion, the work they made and discussed side by side, alone with each other, for six foundational years, is almost only ever considered in isolation.

1954: more than a decade before BMPT, and two decades before Prince & Levine [And multiple generations before Codax, BHQF, and Dylan]. What would it mean for the concept of authorship to find out Johns and Rauschenberg were making each others' work?

update: And while the PMA's amazing collaboration-related show has absolutely gotten me off my duff to post about this subject, I swear, I had no idea that Alistair Macaulay would publish his email q&a with Johns about his work with Merce Cunningham this morning. Great minds.

First things first, yes, I've heard the footsteps of the Tate's awesome, new, online exhibition/project, the Gallery Of Lost Art behind me, and I will be trying to wrap up the search for the lost Short Circuit Johns flag painting very soon. At least soon enough to give them time to write my triumphant detective work into their essay. Ahem.

Meanwhile, let's give credit where it's due, because the Tatefolk have lured SFMOMA's infrared imagery of Erased de Kooning Drawing out and onto the net.

Last year at CAA, one of SFMOMA's design & web people Chad Coerver talked about the debates over whether or how to present the wealth of information in the Museum's Getty-sponsored Rauschenberg Research Project. Whether to publish new infrared imagery of EdKD, for example, which might alter the way people perceive the object in ways the artist did not want or anticipate.

I guess they figured it out, because not only does the GOLA have it, the IR image is the teaser today on SFMOMA's tumblr. [via wiblog and MAN]

Or maybe they're still working on it. SFMOMA's Erased De Kooning Drawing page has this footnote:

The use of advanced imaging technology and its implications for our understanding of Erased de Kooning Drawing will be explored fully through SFMOMA's Rauschenberg Research Project, a four-year in-depth research program that will result in an online catalogue, slated for launch in summer 2013.
Carry on, then!

But the page also has this description, which seems to reflect a fuller, and different, understanding of the work than what was discussed during Rauschenberg's lifetime:

After Rauschenberg completed the laborious erasure, he and fellow artist Jasper Johns devised a scheme for labeling, matting, and framing the work, with Johns inscribing the following words below the now-obliterated de Kooning drawing:

ERASED DE KOONING DRAWING
ROBERT RAUSCHENBERG
1953

The simple, gilded frame and understated inscription are integral parts of the finished artwork. Without the inscription, one would have no idea what is in the frame; the piece would be indecipherable. Together the erased page, inscription, and frame stand as evidence of the psychologically loaded deed of rendering another's artwork invisible, enacted in the privacy of the artist's studio.

Which, hmm. It seems vital that Johns's central role in creating EdKD is acknowledged. I'd even argue it was equal, or equivalent, his precisely drawn marks the precise counterweight to Rauschenberg's vigorous erasures. And the title, even the titling, and thus the conceptual framing, is Johns.

Or at least it was. But the gilt and the current matting, has been changed, once and maybe twice or more, since Johns and Rauschenberg broke up. So it is Bob's. And the evidence of this evolution can be seen even more clearly, thanks to the Gallery of Lost Art's zooming feature, on the back of the work.

June 26, 2012

On Johns On Newman

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Jasper Johns, Ventriloquist, 1983, image via: MFAH

And now to the second oldest tab in my browser, an essay by Barbara Rose on Jasper Johns' references to works by Barnett Newman, which accompanied an excellent 1999 show of Johns's and Newman's editions at Brooke Alexander Gallery.

From his earliest days in New York, Johns saw and collected Newman's work, and Rose proposes an ongoing personal relationship between the artists that can be seen in Johns's work, even from the very beginning:

In the paintings he exhibited at Betty Parsons [in 1951 and 1952], Newman accomplished a goal Pollock was also intent on resolving; he eliminated the distinction between figure and ground. Instead of separating one from the other, he proposed a format in which the image was identical with the field, with no background left over. No shapes were depicted, not even as flattened silhouettes. Rather the field was divided into regular zones. This is of course the format of the iconic Flag that Johns dreamed of and then painted for the first time in 1954. Because Johns' image is both literal and identifiable, his medium is encaustic rather than oil, and he is more of an easel than a mural scale painter, the obvious debt of the horizontal bands of the flag, which line up to the horizontal framing edge as Newman's "zips" line up to the vertical frame, has hardly been noticed.
In the 80s, Johns began inserting pictures within pictures, both of his own artworks and works he collected.

bnewman-untitled-1961-lithograph.jpg
Barnett Newman, Untitled, 1961, image via baeditions

Rose discusses several examples of these autobiographical works, including Ventriloquist, top, which includes a mirrored/reverse image of Newman's 1961 lithograph, Untitled, which Johns owns, and the artist's own inverted double flag, a color combination Johns used for a 1969 fundraising edition/protest poster for the Committee Against the War in Vietnam. [The unsigned poster version, below, says "MORATORIUM" on the bottom; the signed, numbered edition does not. Maybe the customers for the more expensive version preferred their Johns Flags straight, so to speak, with less politics.]

jj_moratorium.jpg
Johns' 1969 Flag (Moratorium) poster sold for just £300 last Spring

Anyway, two interesting things Rose doesn't really get into much: the way Johns makes work about [and with] work he collects, not just work he admires. It's something that would resurface later in his Catenary series, which seem to relate directly to an early Rauschenberg combine Johns owned, then sold, which has the shroud lines from a small parachute hanging off it. And the resonance this picture-in-picture construct has to Rauschenberg's Short Circuit. I've always thought that Short Circuit was an outlier somehow for incorporating works by other artists; but it turns out that Johns himself eventually began doing something similar in his own paintings and prints.

Johns & Newman: An Encounter In Art, by Barbara Rose [baeditions]
Previously: Johns and Manet's Execution of Maximilian

May 20, 2012

At A Loss To Explain

rausch_johns_short_circuit.jpg

The first thing that was blowing my mind about Short Circuit was not just, how could there have be a Johns Flag before the first [sic] Johns Flag, but how could there be a missing Johns Flag? I mean, seriously, wouldn't that be rank just below the Gardner Vermeer in terms of stolen art? How could it be missing and the entire art world not have its eye out for it?

In fact, it's just the opposite situation, where, when they're not ignored completely, the stories of Short Circuit and its flag painting are misunderstood, misrepresented, and relegated to footnotes. It just didn't make any sense.

But it also seemed that as long as Short Circuit was ensconced in Rauschenberg's own collection, and Sturtevant's replacement flag was in place, no one had ever undertaken an actual search for it, or an investigation into what had happened.

And given the nature and history of the relationship between Johns and Rauschenberg, and the extraordinary custody agreement they reached, which Johns wrote about in 1962, to never show, reproduce, or sell Short Circuit, it's always been an open question to me whether the flag was actually ever "stolen," or whether it was just missing. Or removed. Or disappeared [in either the transitive or intransitive sense of the word.]

The question I ended my first Short Circuit post with 18 months ago, which should have been the easiest question to answer, turned out to be one of the most complicated: Was the Short Circuit flag ever registered as stolen?

The first and shortest answer was no.

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Since 2001 here at greg.org, I've been blogging about the creative process—my own and those of people who interest me. That mostly involves filmmaking, art, writing, research, and the making thereof.

Many thanks to the Creative Capital | Warhol Foundation Arts Writers Program for supporting greg.org that time.

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