Author: greg

How I missed Night Coming Tenderly, Black, Dawoud Bey’s extraordinary series of photos about the Underground Railroad is completely beyond me. Maybe Colson Whitehead had me looking one way, and Bey was right in front of me with portraits. Still, I have no excuse. So thank you, Michael Lobel for putting this 2017 project in my timeline.

Night takes its title from two lines by Langston Hughes, and its deep, dark tones and printing from Roy deCarava, but the evocation of place, history, memory, and the at-once embracing and ominous atmosphere of these nighttime spaces is entirely Bey. The series, 25 images, printed large, was commissioned by FRONT International: the Cleveland Biennial curated in 2018 by Michele Grabner. It was installed in St John’s Episcopal Church, the oldest church in Cleveland, and one of the last stops on the Underground Railroad for enslaved people before crossing Lake Eerie to freedom in Canada. In 2019 the series was exhibited at the Art Institute of Chicago.

When it opened in Cleveland, Maurice Berger discussed it in the Times, and Judd Tully did a feature on Bey keyed to the show in Chicago. But the most in-depth discussion I’ve found so far on the project is from the Art Institute photography curator Matthew Witkovsky, which was, for some reason, published in Art in America.

What absolutely blows my mind is that Bey printed these giant, 44 by 55 inch gelatin prints, manipulating the details of tone in the darkroom, and resulted in prints you can really only see in person:

By printing large, he makes room for the viewer’s body, and by printing so darkly, he effectively renders the viewer’s knowledge partial as well. The works demand time. We must stand before them and wait until details become clearer, then change our position to overcome additional interruptions from reflections or glare.

The prints, moreover, do not reproduce well. All illustrations of the works (including in these pages) are made from image files that Bey lightened with dissemination in mind. The originals would be hard to decipher in print, and they are also difficult to transmit via smartphone—they come through as black rectangles. The nighttime passage may thus be grasped only in person; it cannot readily be “shared” or “liked” and the version made available to a broad audience is a deliberate compromise.

Even between the image circulated by the museum for the show [top] and the image used to record the Night print the museum acquired, the difference is dramatic.

But from the installation view in St John’s Church, it is only partly accurate. The prints look like monochrome slabs that only reveal their image over time, to someone sitting in front of them in the pew.

Bey’s project turns out to not to be an illustration of the secret network which was only possible because of its invisibility, but an incarnation of that invisibility itself. And of the difficulty we in the present face as we try to look back into the past.

Escaping to Freedom, In the Shadow of Night (Berger) [nyt]
Dawoud Bey’s Shadowy Landscapes… (Witkovsky) [art in america]
‘I Ranged Far and Wide’… (Tully) [artnews]

For a split second after @octavio-world brought this image of the back of a little Lucio Fontana that sold this week in Milan into my tumblr timeline, I had to process the ghost of the World Trade Center. Then I marveled that I’d never seen the back of a Fontana before, and did they really all look like this?

Fontana, whose whole spatial concept for his Concetto Spaziale was the piercing and slashing of the picture plane, then carefully bound it back up with black tape?

Yes, yes he did. This remarkably similar little Fontana was found at the flea market on 6th Avenue in 2001, was cleaned up, consigned at Christie’s, and then withdrawn after being declared by the Fondazione Lucio Fontana to be authentic but “irremediably damaged.”

When Wright20 sold it in a design auction in 2014 [for $50,000, a tenth of what the Milan painting just sold for], they noted this alleged but unspecified damage was not apparent to the conservators or auctioneers.

But in addition to some discloration and unevenness to the field of color on the front, the back shows this black tape has been frayed, torn, or itself punctured anew. Was this black fabric strip, ostensibly meant to ensure a featureless backdrop to the slashed void, and to prevent further tearing, also actually holding the work together conceptually?

A third Fontana makes me wonder if what’s going on in the back has been more important than we realize. This Concetto Spaziale on paper, with a series of orderly stabs contained in a roughly outlined egg shape, sold at Rago Arts in September 2024.

Comparing the recto and verso, and the direction of the tears and paper residue, it looks to me like Fontana stabbed it in the back. We may have been looking at the wrong side of these works the whole time.

Martin Herbert on Marion Baruch:

In her studio, many dozens of these works, constituting acres of potential wall space, were folded into little boxes, closely stacked: the canny stratagems of an artist without much money, physical mobility, arm strength, storage space, or external expectations of what she should be doing, but with an inextinguishable urge to make art. I thought about that, afterward, whenever I saw a show where an artist had evidently been handed a large production budget and acquiesced to making more of the stuff that demonstrably sold.

The particular work he’s describing is made from the textile offcut/void/remains Italian fashion designers. Which is fascinating enough, but he also considers other artists not producing on an assembly line: Paul Chan, Duchamp, Bruce Connor, Sarah Rapson, Sara Deraedt. No one writes better than Martin Herbert about artists thwarting the art world in the name of art.

“You made me do this.” Martin Herbert [moussemagazine.it via geraldine]

What an extraordinary piece of research, and an equally amazing finding.

For at least a century, an 18th century portrait in the V&A of a free, Black Jamaican man named Francis Williams was considered to be a racist caricature of Williams cosplaying as a gentleman. But after a team of experts and conservators imaged and studied the painting anew, Fara Dabhoiwala discovered Williams was demonstrating not only his rare mastery of then-new Newtonian astrophysics. He was documenting his observations and calculations of the first documented return in 1758 of Halley’s Comet, at a moment when he was one of the only people alive who’d known Newton and Halley at the time they’d first published their theories.

If this feels like a spoiler, you can still read Dabhoiwala’s account in the LRB to see how he pieced Williams’ history and the painting’s history together from the most hostile sources and the barest archival traces.

A Man of Parts and Learning: Francis Williams Gets His Due [lrb.co.uk via @caleb.crain.bsky.social]