On A La Monte Young Birthplace Historical Site

a log cabin in a field against a blue cloud sky, taken by marian zazeela in bern idaho in 1979
Cabin, October 14, 1979, photographed by Marian Zazeela, via Mela Foundation

First, La Monte Young is not related to Brigham Young. Not a grandson, not a great great nephew, not a third cousin, none of that. It was such a standard part of the composer’s Mormon roots origins that I assumed it had been checked, or that it had come from him. Brigham Young University musicologist Jeremy Grimshaw obliquely dismissed any connection in the foreword to his 2011 biography of Young, Draw A Straight Line And Follow It, only to somehow embrace it as confirmation of Young’s prophetic narrative. And it still persists, probably for reasons.

I mention Young’s genealogy because he cites childhood experiences in towns in rural Idaho founded by his Mormon pioneer ancestors as foundational to his most important musical innovations. The earliest sustained tone sounds Young recalls, he often recalls, included the droning hum of power lines and the electricity substation next to his grandfather’s gas station in Montpelier; and the winter wind whistling through the walls of the log cabin where he was born, five miles up the Bear Lake Valley in the tiny cheese-making enclave of Bern.

And I mention it now because according to Cameron Rowland’s Estate, Dia bought the cabin in 1979, “for La Monte Young historical site and museum. Birthplace of La Monte Young. Never used.” This was in January, just after closing on the second building in Marfa for Donald Judd, and just before buying 6 Harrison Street, a 45,000 sf building in Tribeca as a performance and rehearsal space for Young, Marian Zazeela, and Pandit Pran Nath. 6 Harrison was sold in 1985, during Dia’s first financial implosion. But Young and Zazeela’s New York City real estate is well known, or as well known as Dream House, the sine wave drone and light installation they’ve been performing in various locations since 1979.

google streetview screencap of a double wide log cabin with a porch on the right side in a field of amber grass, and a post fence in the foreground. the neighborh's little shed is on the left. the mountains of the bear lake valley in the distant background.
2025 Google Streetview capture of the Bern cabin, which is actually two one-room cabins combined

It’s the cabin in Bern that seemed exceptional. Dia transferred ownership of it to Young and Zazeela’s Mela Foundation in 1993, amidst another of Dia’s spasms of financial upheaval and its separation from Dream House. It turns out Zazeela’s photo of the cabin on the Mela Foundation website, [top] was taken during a visit in 1979 on Young’s 44th birthday.

Trying to figure out what story a La Monte Young Birthplace Museum would tell, I did the most Mormon thing, and looked at his family history on FamilySearch.org. While people in the minimalist music and postwar avant-garde were confused about La Monte being related to Brigham, the Youngs posting decades of family photos and personal histories to their communal online genealogy network knew the whole family tree. There are letters where La Monte’s parents, Dennis Young and Mary Evelyn Grandy let relatives know that LaMonte and Zazeela will be joining them at family reunions in Idaho during the 1980s, the Dia era.

a 1938 salt lake tribune article with a photo of two log cabins, about the bern cheese factory, and mrs leonard wilde who runs it herself, posted to family search by descendants of mrs wilde

So it was just me, then, who was surprised to learn Young’s connection to Bern came from his father’s mother, who, like almost everyone else in Bern, was a Kunz. Dennis was 22 and Mary Evelyn was 19 when La Monte was born in 1935, and Dennis’s mother, Ella Grace Kunz Wilde, was married to her second husband (both named Leonard), and single-handedly running the Bern Cheese Factory. Wilde turned 800-900 pounds of milk/day into 80-90 pounds of cheese, in two log cabins built by her grandfather John Kunz in 1872. In the Salt Lake Tribune’s 1938 article, the cabins don’t look so different from the one the Youngs lived in. They were still there for the 1940 census, but decamped to Los Angeles in 1942, looking for work.

In a 1979 interview transcript with her aunt Florence Kunz Jenson, Mary Steck mentioned, I think, La Monte’s museum project:
“Isn’t that little Bern Library or Bern Museum cute? It’s not much yet but I think it has the beginnings of something really special. I hope ( ?) keeps up with it.”

“He will, for as long as he’s alive, you know – and maybe it’s a good thing Warren’s involved. Warren’s a little younger than him.”

“Warren cares about it. I know he cares about it. He’s very proud of his heritage.”

Warren Kunz was Florence’s nephew, six years younger than La Monte, who sold the cabin to Dia. He died in 2017.

google streetview screencap of a log cabin in a one-acre field of dry grass, with a fence in the foreground, and a disassembled truck cab, chassis, and bed strewn on the side of the road in the foreground. along the left edge is an evergreen tree and white building of the neighbor sticking their junk on la monte young's historic site
GSV of Bern

In Zazeela’s photo, the cabin looks like it’s in the absolute middle of nowhere, which may be how Bern feels compared to big towns like, say, Montpelier, or nearby Paris. But it’s right on the main road in town, across from the little LDS chapel, and next to the brick schoolhouse, built in 1921, whose roof has since collapsed. Google Streetview finally came to town last year, and captured the cabin’s next door neighbor storing parts for a project truck in front of it.

These days, adverse possession is probably low on the Mela Foundation’s list of concerns. A decade of funding shortfalls and the pandemic left Mela’s current Dream House installation, its performance program, and its archive in “existential” peril. Besides a general gofundme in 2020, Mela put out a fundraising plea in 2023 specifically to help make urgent repairs to the cabin’s roof. The “archival postcard” prints of Zazeela’s cabin photo, signed by Young, are still listed for sale on Mela’s site. Zazeela died in 2024. An email inquiry to Mela about the cabin’s status has so far received no response.

Tsuruko Yamazaki’s Work

an installation photo of a gallery at the museum of modern at depicts six artworks on two abutting walls: a red reflective tin abstraction, three small black and white photos, a brushy us flag painting, and a cast nodule of objects in resin on a smallish pedestal.
installation view, 2020-25, Tsurko Yamazaki, Shōhei Tomatsu, Jasper Johns, and Natsuyuki Nakanishi, at MoMA, photo: Jonathan Muzikar for MoMA

From its acquisition in 2019 following the artist’s death until last year, Work, Tsuruko Yamazaki’s mesmerizing aniline dye on tin painting from 1957 was shown in a quietly bold installation about the moment of its creation.

Beginning in 1955, Yamazaki, one of the original Gutai artists, showed startling works made of tin containers cast off by the occupying US troops. Shōhei Tomatsu’s photos of occupied Japan from 1960 include some of those troops. Jasper Johns, meanwhile, made Flag beginning in 1954, after returning from a year in Japan, where he’d been drafted as one of those occupying soldiers.

magenta aniline dye on a sheet of polished tin leaves streaky brushmarks around teh edges, while the center is more metal, and somewhat reflective, as the blurry dark shape of a human figure at the center, a reflection of a photo-taking blogger, indicates. at moma.
Self portrait in Tsuruko Yamazaki’s Work, 1957, aniline dye on tin, 28 7/8 × 32 1/2 in., collection MoMA

Now, Yamazaki’s Work hangs in a gallery with more formalist resonances: postwar abstraction, messy process. It’s not easy to photograph, at least on its own; it always wants to implicate the viewer, too.

A Summer Group Show In Heaven

I went back to visit the group show some time after the opening. I took away one of the foam kickboards, which now seemed extraneous. The little constructions on the long plastic folding table had more room. Some olive oil from the little circle on the table had, over the intervening days, dripped and pooled neatly onto the polished concrete floor. Would it stain? It still looked right. While installing, I’d had the idea—unheard of—to pour this olive oil, almost hi-viz green, onto one of the little things. Was I ruining it? But it did look fantastic. And Marian was nothing but supportive. When I walked into the next gallery, edited kickboard in hand, she was there, smiling, standing next to another table of small assemblages, but not mine.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream so specific, or of such a situation. Writing it down now, it feels like I can recognize a bunch of the elements, though I also worry that I’m replacing things I can’t recall with references, like how memories are reconstructed anew each time you remember them. I can’t see the little sculptures almost at all.

And it seems like I dreamt remembering pouring the olive oil. I wrote that that detail was weird, notable, unusual, then specific, deleting each in turn, because I’m not sure it was any of those except specific, and the specificity was already dissipating.

Does it mean anything? Does it mean anything different because it’s a week after rethinking Johns and his dreaming? I can’t see the little sculptures almost at all now. Certainly not enough to wake up and decide to make them. I see that Rauschenberg tableful of scatole personale photo, or components of a Sarah Sze installation, or something larger than Yuji Agematsu normally makes, and can recognize only that neither was right.

Is that what Johns meant by examining his work and removing all the references to other people’s? If so, the only thing left blocking out the pleas of conservators, and pouring the most extra virgin olive oil I can find on a church table, as Marian Goodman looks on beatifically.

Estate Of Cameron Rowland

a white spiral bound booklet with the small title at the top,dia art foundation real estate 1974-2024, sits on a festive turquoise oilcloth placemat on a pine tabletop

I finally got a copy of Estate (2024), Cameron Rowland’s publication for their Dia exhibition Properties. The book also has the title, Dia Art Center Real Estate 1974-2024, and it’s a pageturner. It includes both acquisitions and dispositions, which, for Dia, is like half the story.

And while I knew the general narrative around conflicts, like the whole Judd/Marfa/Chinati mess; and the never-quite-permament permanent home for LaMonte Young and Marian Zazeela’s Mela Foundation; and the way the building that’s now The Kitchen was originally going to be for Robert Whitman, seeing it play out in chronological, site-by-site transactional detail is still fascinating.

And then there are some surprises. Lke, I knew about buying thousands of acres within sight of Lightning Field, but I did not know Dia’s acquired 520 acres around Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels, too. And I don’t think I’d ever heard about the Cy Twombly Museum, for which Dia bought a 3-story, beaux-arts building at 324 West 23rd St in 1980. Twombly had shown at Heiner Friedrich’s gallery since 1964. And in 1978 he showed Fifty Days at Iliam at the Lone Star Foundation, a de Menil/Friedrich joint for purchasing art that later consolidated with/into Dia, so I can see it happening.

a 1911 three story beaux arts building of limestone on west 23rd st in chelsea, nyc, has two corinthian columns with gold capitals and a pleasant flat facade otherwise. then there is a horrible five story post modern brick condo addition on top of it with dark cave-like balconies set into it, and a weird peaked roofline. there is a citibank on the ground level, with its associated blue awnings everywhere, via streeteasy
The Cy Twombly Museum (RIP), 1980-86, 324 W 23, via Streeteasy

I guess it all imploded in 1983, with the Marfa suit. Friedrich and Dia were burning through Philippa de Menil’s Schlumberger shares, and in 1985 her mother Dominique staged an institutional intervention. The family took over Dia and put Philippa’s inheritance in a trust.

Dia ended up selling the not-Twombly Museum in 1986. (They bought it for $550k, and sold it for $1.675m. In 1988 it got turned into a horrible-looking condo tower with a Citibank.) To ease Twombly’s loss, Dia gave him a show in 1988 in Bridgehampton instead. The series of green paintings Twombly made in 1988 for Venice were conceived as a permanent installation, and the Menil, which opened in 1987, eventually came through. All in all, a surprisingly coherent moment. A Twombly Museum on 23rd St. would have been amazing, though, ngl.

Anyway, what’s also interesting is what is not included in Dia’s real estate portfolio, namely the Spiral Jetty and Depreciation, Rowland’s own 2018 project in Edisto, SC. Dia does own Spiral Jetty the artwork, but not the lakebed land, which is, of course, leased from the State of Utah. Ask me how I know. As for Depreciation, when Rowland acquired the one-acre site of former plantation and reparation land, he placed the title in a non-profit company he manages. Dia has a longterm stewardship agreement with the artist. But unlike any other art-related Dia property, it is meant to not be visited.

Cameron Rowland: Dia Art Foundation Real Estate, 1974-2024, $10 [diaart.org]
Previously, related: Property Art
One Acre And Dia Mule
Rowland cameos in The Steve McQueen Bass Symposium

Jasper Johns Follow Your Dreams

jasper johns, 24, in a white sweater and slacks, sitting sideways on a crate next to a white painted brick wall with his feet together, hands around his knees, and leaning in over his knees with a serious, slightly intense expression. on the wall are his painting of a us flag, with part of the stars unfinished or in process of repair, but otherwise looking complete, and behind him, a saw. on the floor under the flag painting are several shallow round pans, as if johns was working on the painting, then sat to pose for a very starkly lit photo by his boyfriend robert rauschenberg, who was giving him posing instructions.
wait, you said you saw it in a dream? Jasper Johns, 24, with Flag and saw, the lean-in variation, 1955, photographed by Robert Rauschenberg, who had a combine upstairs called Rebus, via RRF

What if I’ve been wrong all along about the origin story of Jasper Johns’s Flag?

The first flag painting I did came in the Fifties when I was trying to become a painter, and I had been working in various…styles, I guess. Nothing seeming to mean much to me, except that one made a picture, there it was. And I one night dreamed that I had painted a flag of the United States of America and I got up the next morning and went out and bought materials and began to paint this flag.

That’s the longest version of the story I think I’ve seen, from a 1966 TV interview with curator Alan Solomon. When I put parts of the interview transcript online in 2011, I was skeptical of the dream story. Not that I didn’t believe it, or thought Johns wasn’t telling the truth, but that it seemed like he hinted at other possible stories, but was now sticking with the one no one could question or investigate.

There’s nothing more subjective and unassailable than a dream. It completely removes the historic or referential or metaphoric or biographical possibilities for painting a flag. Or rather, “this flag.”

But instead of holding out for a truer or more revealing alternative, long suppressed, maybe there’s value in taking Johns at his word, and accepting the dream story on its own terms. Because there is a natural follow-on question: “Why did you do what you dreamed you did?”

Continue reading “Jasper Johns Follow Your Dreams”

Frank Gehry Icehenge Liquidation

an array of cast green glass jagged blocks are placed and stacked around a green glass desk in the black terrazzo floored, steel and glass lobby of the inland steel building. behind the desk is a sheer white curtain, and the revolving door. image via freemans auction
Security theater prop: Frank Gehry’s Icehenge desk looking its absolute best, images all via Freeman’s

I knew but didn’t really clock that Frank Gehry made his massive cast glass security guard station specifically for the lobby of Skidmore Owings & Merrill’s Inland Steel Building in Chicago.

That realization came from reading the auction listing: “Although conceived specifically for its site, Gehry reportedly entertained the possibility of reconfiguring the 16 elements over time, allowing the work to evolve over time and in new settings.”

the thick cast glass slab tabletops of a security desk rest on cast glass cubes and a mirrored chrome cabinet in the black terrazzo floored lobby of a mid-century office building in chicago. across the desk is a spindly star of poles threaded all about with fine wire, and suspended between a barely there reflecting pool and a lighting panel, an artwork by richard lippold
Now that you mention it this is a helluva thing to have put in front of this perfect Richard Lippold sculpture, but I guess they had to put something. s/o to the mirror finish chrome cabinet on the lower left

Which, hmm, “reportedly entertained the possibility” better be enough to work with, because Gehry’s dead; his partners defaulted on the $56 million mortgage; New York Life seized the building in 2025; and the security desk known as Icehenge is being sold this week, sold and evicted: “Buyers will be responsible for arranging transportation, shipping, etc. from the lobby of the Inland Steel Building.”

Auction in Philadelphia, pickup in Chicago. Which is wild, because photos and slideshows really do not capture the sense of what this thing is; and buying it without seeing it in person feels crazy to me.

a cast glass desk made of two thick glass slabs on glass cubes and a chrome cabinet, with a black computer monitor and a black office phone, in the steel and black terrazzo lobby of the inland steel building in chicago.
the view from the pile of Amazon packages behind the desk of the worst monitor and phone imaginable for this situation. s/o mirror finish chrome cabinet on the lower right

The concept seems clear enough, in that it seems like a sculptural jumble of iconic Gehry-esque forms, but in cast glass. But what you’re buying is actually two slab tabletops resting on two cast glass cubes and two cubic plywood cabinets laminated in mirror finish chrome, surrounded by freestanding blocks and towers of blocks of freeform cast glass. I think there are twelve, and that the 16 elements mentioned above is just the glass and not the cabinets. I have to think the stacks and towers of chunks are fused together; there’s no way they would’ve survived just being perched on each other.

The mirror cabinets disappear and distort like they’re in a Paul Mpagi Sepuya photo, and the whole thing toggles from sublime to banal to ridiculous, depending on the angle. That monitor and phone feel like found objects stuck on a Rachel Harrison sculpture. And that’s without a keyboard, a mousepad, a chair. It’s as if Gehry never entertained the possibility a human being might actually do a job here.

[UPDATE: lmao it sold for $243,200, plus shipping, and will soon become the sickest private equity guy’s home office zoom backdrop it was destined to be. Great work, everybody.]

15 July 2026, Lot 108: Frank Gehry, Icehenge Desk, 2013, est. $100-200,000, opening bid: $50,000 [freemansinc]
Previously, related: Inland Steel Curtained Wall

Untitled (Erster Blick), 2016/2026

a gerhard richter print of a newspaper clipping of a fuzzy blobby image of the interior of a silicon atom and the german headline is mounted on a white board and framed in a thin flat maple frame. this edition of erster blick (2000) is selling at wright20 in july 2026
Gerhard Richter, Erster Blick, 2000, offset lithograph, 182 x 151 mm, mounted on board, ed. 16/100, published by Edition Staeck, selling 16 July 2026 at Wright20

In 2000 Gerhard Richter made Erster Blick, an offset edition of an enlarged newspaper clipping from 26 July 2000 reporting the Zentrum für Elektronische Korrelationen und Magnetismus at Universität Augsburg’s Institut für Physik’s first imaging of the interior of a silizium (silicon) atom.

a reprint of a german newspaper article showing the blobby blurry black and white image of the interior of a silicon atom has highlights on the name of the university involved, and a pencil line tracking the edge of the print gerhard richter made of a clipping of this same article. richter's name and the word probe are written in pencil along the left edge of the article. the blue stripe of the university's logo/letterhead runs across the top and the bottom, where an additional stamp of greg.org is placed next to the university's name. this sheet is taped to a white wall with two pieces of blue painter's tape. a 2016 edition by greg.org
greg.org Untitled (Erster Blick), 2016/2026, digital print and graphite on white bond, 386 x 273 mm (uncropped), signed, stamped, and numbered, ed. 100+20+10+6

In 2016, I made Untitled (Erster Blick), an edition in graphite on an enlarged newspaper article from the Zentrum’s press archive, to mark the occasion of one of Richter’s Erster Blick coming up for auction during Frieze London.

The edition, which matched Richter’s, of 100, plus 20 Roman numeral copies, plus 10 trial proofs, plus 6 other trial proofs, did not sell out before the Richter came up for sale. Which, it didn’t, turns out, but the print coming up next week, July 16, at Wright in Chicago, definitely will.

To mark this joyous event, I am reopening the Untitled (Erster Blick) edition, making it available until the close of bidding on the Chicago print. You can order it/them below.

Continue reading “Untitled (Erster Blick), 2016/2026”

BLM (Bôite Labels & Models)

a detail of a display in a vitrine at moma of photos and diagrams by marcel duchamp, centered on a small paper sculpture made of a black and white photo of a small cage filled with square marble cubes meant to evoke sugar cubes, which sits on a small white pedestal. to the right is a flat snapshot of the same image. stacks of printed labels which went unused by duchamp sit in between the items.
A paper sculpture study of Why not Sneeze by Rrose Selavy, and accompanying labels

I forgot until I heard Michelle Kuo mention it again on Modern Art Notes Podcast, but one of the real discoveries of the Marcel Duchamp retrospective was the large vitrine stuffed with studies, preparatory materials, and extras from the Bôites-en-valise.

There are various photos and experiments with folded photo sculptures of Why Not Sneeze? by Rose Sélavy (1921), on the way to making the sliced, curved, pop-up book-style photo that ended up in the deluxe edition.

a vitrine full of small photos, diagrams, and a brown papier mache model of a urinal on its back on a little white pedestal, a small aged black and white photo of a cage filled with marble cubes, and a reproduction or transparency perhaps of duchamp's large glass, all leftover or unused pieces from the boite en valise, at moma

But there’s also a papier-mâché model of Fountain. Can you just see Duchamp carefully crafting this tiny toilet, with his little bowl of slop at his elbow, while nazis roam the streets of Paris?

But my favorite things, or the things I was most surprised to see, were the labels. Stacks of labels for every object in the Bôite. Oh, no, unused labels where there ended up being no place to put them. Like for Fountain.

a stack of business card size labels for fountain by richard mutt hauter (height) 0 meter 60 cm, 1917, in a vitrine at moma next to a small white pedestal, the contents of which is cropped out of the image

Ironically, the clearest image I can immediately find that shows both the labels attached to the matted reproductions and the curved 3-D photo of Sneeze is at Peggy Guggenheim’s collection, where I decline to “rent this image file” of a 1941 work with a claimed copyright of 2023. Peggy Guggenheim, for whom Duchamp reserved ed. I/XX, and to whom Duchamp smuggled all the ingredients for 50 Bôites while posing as a cheese merchant, and who packed them with her collection for shipping to the US.

So thanks, at least, Peggy Guggenheim, for getting these graphic design is my passion labels out of Europe, and affording us the opportunity to deduce the specific functionalities of each line’s different typefaces. These might be what I, too, fiddle with making during a nazi occupation.

Sleeping Wake

large undulating lozenge shapes of curved corten steel slabs sit on a gravel bed in a darkening park in seattle, right before the guard opened the gate again to let me out
Richard Serra, Wake, 2004, Olympic Sculpture Park, Seattle

Turns out Olympic Sculpture Park is *not* open 24/7; I just walked into the other entrance from the guard closing it for the night. I realize I’d not seen a Richard Serra work in twilight before. Maybe one night walking out of the Carnegie International opening party. But this was better.

The Rick Owenscene Future Is Here

At first I thought the sunblasted video of Rick Owens’ 2027 collection, presented last week on the shadeless place of the Palais de Tokyo in the midst of the 40-degree Saharan omega heatdeath of Europe, felt like a prequel to Mad Max, with stranded club kids trudging through the desert, clinging to the increasingly tenuous expectation that there’ll be a gas station, and it’ll have gas.

As I was typing this out, I thought of a rebooted Gerry, Gus Van Sant’s near-wordless exploration of survival and the violent sublime, with the roles of Casey Affleck and Matt Damon replaced by 100 models.

But then I come back to Sand and Sea (Marina), the climate catastrophe opera installation at the Lithuanian Pavilion at the 2019 Venice Biennale, where performers loll about on a doomed beach, only it’s restaged by the S&M goths scurrying under the glass floor of Anne Imhoff’s Faust in the German Pavilion the Biennale before.

Having experienced complicated awe at Owens’ similar show on the identical site in 2024, I have to say I had some concerns, stifled them, and now find it bleaker than I feared.

Previously, awkwardly related: Rick Ruled (S/S25)

The Arch Is Done

Everyone is talking about Trump’s mock up arch at the Great American State Fair, so I filmed it from top to bottom and front to back for everyone who can’t see it in person.

amanda moore 🐢 (@noturtlesoup17.bsky.social) 2026-06-28T21:11:48.282Z

I have never changed my mind so quickly and thoroughly as I have about the f’ing arch. Now that I’ve seen it, I support it completely. It is the perfect monument to the man and the moment, an authentic marker for all he and his movement have achieved so far, and it is indicative, even prophetic, of the things to come every day he remains in power.

I admit I was under the impression it was going to go on the traffic circle at the cemetery, but I expect they’ll just put it on a flatbed truck after this Mall thing wraps up. The pool guy probably has one.

The Steve McQueen Bass Symposium

I think I made the mistake of listening to Dia’s 2025 Steve McQueen Bass Symposium while driving, instead of watching it. Now as I scrub back through to find various salient points again, I realize how integral so many of the images and video clips are. And above almost all, it’s just wild that the symposium was held in the Dia Beacon gallery surrounded by Warhol’s Shadows.

There’s so much to flag here in all three speakers’ talks:
Solveig Nelson talks about Bass as a work of cinema—light and sound—and in the context of McQueen’s other artworks. This brings in Exodus (1992/97), one of McQueen’s instantly sublime films, but also some generative discussion of Derek Jarman’s Blue. I know I was driving, but when I say I was seated…

Then Stanley Wolukau-Wanambwa goes deep on the interrelation between Bass and the works of Black artists in the galleries above, particularly Cameron Rowland—with shoutouts to Melvin Edwards and Senga Nengudi—and to the aggro video of Bruce Nauman.

And then Michael Veal zooms out, deciphering the linguistics of bass and African talking drums. I’m two hours in—I was not going to sit in the car for the 35-minute audience q&a, but I didn’t want to wait to post.

Previous, related: OG Steve McQueen at Dia Chelsea

Raphael Facsimile Objects (R1 & R2)

chris santa maria's photo of two small vertical devotional painting panels at the metropolitan museum's raphael show. the one on the left is a penitent woman n a hairshirt, in a columnar gold frame; on the right a woman in a robe and tunic with the indentical background scheme, is in a red velvet lined frame.
Chris Santa Maria’s photo from the Met’s Raphael show of two small devotional paintings by Raphael on the backs of two amazing paintings

I will not have seen the Raphael show before it closes tomorrow. But it wasn’t until twelve days ago, that the loss of this opportunity hit me, when @chrissantamaria posted photos of these freestanding side panels, reunited from a lost triptych.

On the left is Mary Magdalene, on the right, Saint Catherine. The St. Catherine is on loan from the Galleria Nazionale delle Marche in Urbino. The Magdalene sold last year at Sotheby’s for a mere $3.1 million. The cartoon for this panel is also included in the show, a loan from the Kupferstichkabinett, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. I’m sure they’re a delight for many.

a composite image of two nearly identical raphael paintings on the backs of two narrow vertical wood panels. each shows a large dark roundel in the center with a mary-related prayer inscription. the rest of the panels are painted in splotchy swirling muiticolored abstraction, like patterns in an agate or other hardstone
[l] Raphael, Magdalene, verso, c. 1503, painted surface verso: 14 ¼ by 4 ⅝ in.; 36.2 by 11.7 cm, panel: 15 by 5 ¾ in.; 38.1 by 14.6 cm. [r] Raphael, St Catherine of Alexandria, verso, c. 1503, panel: 15 3/8 × 5 7/8 in.; 39 × 15 cm.

My interest was piqued and my lament intensified when I saw the backs. Though the frames are different, the verso of each panel is an inscribed roundel set into a variegated field of marble or hardstone. Is it? I mean, it honestly doesn’t even look like the grain of a stone at this point. The Magdalene panel on the left apparently includes a fingerprint, indicating Raphael’s technique of applying or working these painted surfaces by hand.

The trompe l’oeil inscriptions together form one entreaty: “NOS CUM PROLE PIA BENEDICAT VIRGO MARIA [May the Virgin Mary bless us with Her Offspring].”

The Mary Magdalene last sold in 2000 as a Saint Mary of Egypt, and has only one entry in its exhibition history: at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts in 1983. In 1990 it was acquired by “a museum foundation,” and then went to a private New York collection, “probably in 1996.” This seems like information that could be known. Yet while the connoisseurial analysis of Christie’s 2000 lot essay for the Mary panel is extensive, the provenance is literally one guy.

Notably, it is the details of the reverse decoration and the measurement of the panels after both works passed through Christie’s (the St Catherine was sold there in 1991) that confirmed these to be side panels of a small triptych, and not fragments of a single, chopped up picture.

I will not see these versos [versi?] together, which is motivation enough to create facsimile objects of them.

Adequate reproductions of these lesser, minor, backs of the important Raphaels had proved difficult to find. Not for the Magdalene panel, obviously, which was well documented by Sotheby’s, even down to the dimensions of the painted areas vs the panel itself.

The Met’s thumbnail was useless, and the GNDM did not even have a photo of the verso, I thought. In response to my plea for visitor photos of the verso, greg.org hero Brian Hilley tracked down images online; it turns out the Galleria does publish it on their Italian site [though a hi-res image is only offered for the recto.]

a pair of verso paintings by albrecht durer on the backs of two small religious paintings. the one on the left is shorter, and depicts a fiery ball in the dark sky, possibly a meteorite; the one on the right is taller and filled with multicolored swirls that approximate a polished agate surface. this pair was made into a diptych in 2021
Albrecht Dürer Facsimile Objects (D1) and (D2), both verso paintings obv

The Dürer Facsimile Objects made during the pandemic were conceived as surrogates for the inaccessible and underdocumented elements of these objects. They were time-limited to the moments when these Dürers were locked in empty museums. But seeing these Raphaels together will be impossible beginning on Monday, and for the knowable future. That kind of distorts the model.

Previously, related: Albrecht Dürer Facsimile Objects

La Copie Laocoön d’Alberto Giacometti

alberto giacometti's sketch of the laocoon is a dense tangle of ballpoint pen swirls and circles that somehow traces the shape of the contorted figures of the large old man and his two small sons wrestling with serpents
Alberto Giacometti, Lacoön, after a statue in the Vatican Museums, 1952, ballpoint pen on paper, 11 1/2 x 8 1/4 in., collection the Giacometti Foundation, via Sotheby’s

Sotheby’s is selling a full-scale bronze cast of the Laocoön made in the early 19th century, when the statue had been looted by Napoleon and brought to Paris. But that’s not important now. Because look at this ballpoint pen drawing Alberto Giacometti made of the statue in 1952.

“Ever since I first saw reproductions of works of art—and this goes back to my earliest childhood, to my earliest memories—I felt an immediate desire to ‘copy’ all those that I liked best, and this delight in copying has never really again left me,” Giacometti said in “Notes on copies,” a text included in the posthumous 1967 publication, Le copie del passato, published in English as Alberto Giacometti: A Sketchbook of Interpretive Drawings. Some of Giacometti’s notebooks were exhibited in the Guggenheim’s 2018 retrospective

I Like Art That Doesn’t Sell

Sometimes I worry I just look too much at auctions, and that my blog is just filling up with free spon for luxury goods from big artists showing at megagalleries.

And then there’s now, when I checked the tabs I had opened for the things that looked interesting at Sotheby’s London yesterday, and literally none of it sold. People really are leaving the good stuff behind these days:

a jim hodges work on paper is on two sheets of paper attached and standing here like a 30 inch tall open greeting card. the left side is swirls of blue on white. the right side is swirls of blue on white with abstract or irregular forms like the gaps through a canopy of trees laid down in gold leaf.
Passed: Jim Hodges, A Passing Gate (for Meredith), 2009, gold leaf on screenprint, each sheet 30 x 20 in., ed. 20 unique variants, did not sell at Sotheby’s yesterday

Gotta admit, I’d mostly watched this Jim Hodges edition on paper because unlike the other 19 in the edition, this one has been for sale so much. It’s one of those see-it-in-person situations, because it’s actually in a corner-mounted shadowbox. It’s got the gold you want from a Hodges. Maybe it holds the corner until you get a spider web.

two thin wood ladderback chairs that almost look like they were jacked from a party rental truck, have been covered by phyillida barlow in globules of concrete and lord knows what else, until they're encrusted with thick mess, which is then painted. one chair is turned on its head with its feet in the air, they're both glorious
Phyllida Barlow, untitled: chairs, 2012-13, timber, plywood, cement, plaster, polyurethane foam, sand, builder’s plaster, scrim, PVA and paint, each: 100 by 54 by 57 cm, did not sell at Sotheby’s

Truly I am glad for whatever Hauser & Wirth did to help Phyllida Barlow realize the ambitious and gloriously monumental sculptural projects she was so genius at. But we cannot ignore that she also made some of her greatest work while stuck at home, and from whatever she could scavenge. These chairs give off that domestic garbage era vibe in the best way. Even if they did come from Hauser & Wirth.

the top of a sarah sze sculpture is a little diorama perched on an alarmingly thin brown cardboard mailing tube. a sandy brick sits on a square mirror, while a battering ram shaped structure made of matchstick like bits of wood rises on its flat surface. a spiral of reed taped together extends from the structure, and a pair of rabbit ear like thin leaves project from that. two large clear tumbler glasses appear to be cemented together, and a weirdly long rubber band hangs off a painted twig that is clamped to the top of the glasses tower. there are a couple of sugar packets of atypical varieties, as if sarah sze collected them for use some day in a tiny sculpture. and here they were.
Sarah Sze, detail of Model for a Dangling Modifier, 2015, mixed media? come on, for GBP 50,000, tell me what’s in there: there’s glass, grass, twigs, handhewn matchsticks or something, clamps, tape, sugar packets, a mirror, a mailing tube, a wood shim, rubber bands, a brick of the kind your conservator’s warned you about, 154.9 by 76.2 by 45.7 cm, didn’t sell at Sotheby’s

And speaking of stuff from the bin, one of the things that’s most impressed me about Sarah Sze’s sculptural works is how infrequently they *have* come up at auction. I think once you learn how to live with one, you never want to let it go.

installation view of one floor of Sarah Sze’s 2015 exhibition at Victoria Miro Mayfair

This small sculpture, Model for a Dangling Modifier, was from a whole series of unusually self-contained works she called models that feel like perfect Sze moments you can pack in the back of a Range Rover. With each one perched atop a Cy Twombly-style tube, though, these feel precarious in a whole new way. Considering a whole early corner installation just sold for $69K, maybe GBP 50,000 was just a bit aspirational.