Johns Said Leave It Open

jasper johns target with plaster casts is a yellow and blue target on a red background, all in textured encaustic collage, with a shelf/cupboard structure on top with nine little individual compartments, each with its own wooden lid. the lids here are open, which is how johns liked them. like lucky charms each compartment has its own shape and color, a plaster cast of a body part painted in purple, blue white red pink orange green and dark purple? i can't remember, but the green one is a penis, and that got everyone worked up. this painting is owned by david geffen
Jasper Johns, Target with Plaster Casts (JJCR P4), 1955, encaustic and collage on canvas and wood with objects, also with encaustic on them, apparently 52 x 44 1/4 in., bought by Leo Castelli, 1958, sold to David Geffen 1993, currently on loan to the Guggenheim Bilbao, I believe.

Target with Plaster Casts (1955) has been vexing people since 1958 [or 1957, actually.] It’s the red-headed stepchild of Jasper Johns’s breakthrough work. Or maybe the green-dicked stepchild. The presence of body parts generally and a penis specifically have made critics’ questions seem especially awkward: What does it mean? What does it reveal about the artist? Oh wait, I didn’t mean that. But actually, does that mean the target’s a butt?

And the penis has been causing curators problems from the beginning. Meyer Schapiro selected Target with Plaster Casts and Green Target to show at the Jewish Museum in 1957. Then the museum put the work in a literal closet until Johns agreed to add some “mystery” to it by closing the penis lid; the artist angrily refused, and had the work returned. [This is where Leo Castelli saw Green Target and determined to track the unknown artist down and give him a show.]

It echoes the oft-repeated story—I’ve repeated it myself, in fact—of Alfred Barr at Johns’s groundbreaking 1958 show at Castelli, wanting to buy Target for Plaster Casts for MoMA, but only if Johns agreed to permanently closing the little door on the cast plaster penis. Johns refused again, and so Barr bought Target with Four Faces instead [and later gave the Sculls retroactive credit for the purchase, which they had nothing to do with], along with two other works, and he arranged for Philip Johnson to buy his other problematic fave, Flag, so he wouldn’t have to rationalize it to MoMA’s other trustees. And so Target with Plaster Casts became one of just two paintings that didn’t sell from that show. [Except that Leo Castelli bought it for himself, and kept it 35 years. So really, only White Flag didn’t sell, which is a mystery for another day.]

Anyway, a recent rightwing-coded attempt to rebrand AI fabrications as Saidiya Hartman-style critical fabulation reminded me of some of the contorted criticism of Johns’s work, his early work, and particularly Target with Plaster Casts. Gavin Butt’s 2005 dissertation on art world gossip, Between You And Me: Queer Disclosures in the New York Art World 1948-1963, is an important and fascinating excavation, not just of often underground context of queer art history; it also makes the case for pulling what had been considered out-of-bounds subjects into meaningful, even revelatory art discourse.

But Butt also writes some hilariously cringe speculative monologues, ventriloquizing contemporary responses to Target with Plaster Casts from the likes of Barr and Andy Warhol. So instead of worrying about trustee reactions or public controversy, Butt imagines Barr angsting out out over his unexpected attraction to Johns’s [sic] penis, while Warhol size queens out about it, certain that it is, in fact, Johns’s, right? This emphasis, like Fred Orton’s much more muted but uptight interpretations, and Jill Johnston’s interviewing, and Jonathan Katz’s queer metaphors, and a lot of criticism since the mid-1990s, ends up concentrating on autobiography and Johns’s identity—acknowledged or not, performed properly [sic] or not—as a gay man.

a young jasper johns leaning insouciantly, fingers interlaced, chin on hands, on the top of his sturdy wooden artwork, target with plaster casts, with three of the nine wooden doors closed, so he can fit, and the red yellow and blue target below him. he stands on a black and white tile floor, in a bright photo studio with black backdrop. above and behind him is target with four faces, a similar painting in color and composition, except there's one wide door open to show four plaster faces instead of various body parts. there's a red chair on the left edge. dan budnik took this portrait photo in 1958, and this particular print of it is for sale at etherton gallery in tucson for, i am sure, a fair price
See? He’s not doctrinaire about it: Dan Budnik, Jasper Johns at the Ernst Haas Studio with Target with Plaster Casts and Target with Four Faces, East 71st Street, New York, 1958, signed archival pigment print, 22 x 17 in., at Etherton Gallery

And suddenly it occurs to me that these constructions don’t do justice to Target with Plaster Casts specifically, and vice versa, and actually even miss some key things Johns was doing, and the context in which he did them. Here’s what I’m wondering, seeing and thinking: my sense is, this work is not an anomaly, but fits in perfectly with what Johns was making and seeing at the time, and with how he worked. And it wasn’t abandoned, a path not taken; it resonates with things he continued to explore.

Continue reading “Johns Said Leave It Open”

Helter Skelter, Reviewed

I want to sit down with you all and read Aruna D’Souza’s review of Helter Skelter together, out loud, and then read it again:

The show pairs two artists — one Black, one white — who have trained their vision for decades on both the US’s foundational violences and its rarer, complicated moments of beauty, through strategies of appropriation. Taken together, their work becomes a bracing indictment-slash-love letter to a deeply flawed nation. 

But to my mind, what makes the exhibition even more quintessentially American is the fact that the curator seems — almost perversely — unable to face (or at least name) the racial implications of her own curatorial conceit.

D’Souza gets at the heart of what I’ve sensed about the show [from afar so far] but couldn’t articulate so well: that it doesn’t quite have a handle on what Jafa and Prince are actually doing as their work conveys the experiences of, respectively, Black and white culture.

Also, it still seems buck wild to me that this supposed powerful reckoning of The Real American Pavilion is happening at the Prada Foundation. Also, it still feels to me that a show titled Helter Skelter should have Cady Noland in it, and while I’m thinking about it, a Noland/Jafa show is something I would like to see.

Helter Skelter can’t look America in the eye [hyperallergic]
Previously, related: The Spiritual American Pavilion

Happiness is no Readymade

Happy art advisors floating down the Rhine with your belongings in tethered ziploc bags trailing behind season to all who celebrate.

a shaggy haired and mustachioed art gallerist is reflected a couple of times in a pale aqua multilayer, mirror, lacquer, and polished aluminum artwork by monica bonvicini that reads happiness is no readymade in atypically spaced and kerned text, part of the offering at art basel 2026 by tanya bonakdar gallery
Monica Bonvicini, Happiness, 2026, 2 Components lacquer, mirror, aluminum, 150 x 100 cm, via Tanya Bonakdar Gallery

Meanwhile, I’m just staring in dazzled awe at the shimmering totality of Tanya Bonakdar Gallery’s Art Basel booth this year.

Among the glassy highlights: one of Monica Bonvicini’s mirror text works that simultaneously seduce with your own tinted reflection in a catchy text—Happiness is no Readymade—and unsettle with kerning-induced anxiety.

a 14.6 meter square panel of mirror polished aluminum with the cropped text, i do you in giant black letters leans against and towers over the modernist glass box on a stepped plinth of mies van der rohe's neue nationalgalerie in berlin, for monica bonvicini's 2022 show. photo, like every other art world photo in berlin, by jens ziehe
installation view, Monica Bonvicini, I do you, 2022, black foil on alucobond, aluminum trusses, 14.6 x 14.6 m, at the Neue Nationalgalerie, photo: Jens Ziehe via monicabonvicini.net

Bonvicini started the series in 2022, the same time she had an amazing show at the Neue Nationalegalerie in Berlin, I do you, that was fronted by a similarly tensely composed and cropped text on a mirror-finish aluminum panel.

Fun fact: in addition to the rubble and original glass from the just-completed renovation of the Neue Nationalgalerie, Bonvicini’s upper floor installation also included a structural sign element reading DESIRE, which in 2025 became a tattoo edition available through worksonskin.

Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, Art Basel 2026 Online Viewing Room [tanyabonakdargallery]

Previously, related, Bonvicini meets Bonnefous: Felix Gonzalez-Torres Tattoo: Origins

Duane Michals, The Bunch of Violets, 1872, 1983/2020

duane michals' 1983 photo of a tabletop in the manet's house has a small framed painting of violets and a closed fan in between a vase of red tulips and three short stacks of old art history reference books for morisot and renoir. the photo is in much larger black page, with the bunch of violets, 1872, written in silver underneath, as michals often did
Michals Manet Bunch of VIolets, 1872, 1983 via

Duane Michals died this week; he was 94. via Wayne Bremser comes an incredible archive at the Yale-hosted Praxis, of the archival photos, pdfs, and videos Michals began sending around to friends and colleagues during the COVID era. @bremser has pulled some interviews and video shorts, particularly. I’ll flag just one incredible pdf, sent on Sept 24, 2020, when Michals recounted his visit in 1983 to the descendants of Édouard Manet [manet.pdf]:

Everything there was something thrilling to see. One of my favorite paintings by him is of a little bouquet of violets and a ladie’s fan, and they owned it. I could pick it up, look at the back of it, and feel its patina.

Originally a gift to Berthe Morisot, the Manet family also owned the artist’s portrait of Morisot, which is now in the Musée d’Orsay.

Duane Michals PDFs [museumofnonvisibleart via @bremser]
previously, related: Not a Manet Facsimile Object

This Week At The Brooklyn Rail: Venice, Duchamp, Sepuya

The Brooklyn Rail was en fuego this week:

I spoil nothing by quoting the kicker from Jesse Weaver Shipley’s powerful, broad, and focused review of In Minor Keys, Koyo Kouoh’s Venice Biennale, realized after her recent death by her team of collaborators [shoutout to one of that team, @siddharthamiter, for the heads up]:

The uniqueness of this Venice Biennale is in positing African curation as an ontological stance from which to watch, listen, apprehend, adapt, connect fragments of the world, and forge new embodied modes of communication.

Shipley has deep, full looks at many African participants whose contributions to the Biennale I’ve not seen discussed too much elsewhere, and certainly not with any depth. I only single out blaxTARLINES KUMASI because the Ghanaian art/teaching collective’s name has the same Marcus Garvey reference that moves through Kahlil Joseph’s collaborative film/installation BLKNWS.

Between In Minor Keys, BLKNWS and the expanded Arthur Jafa-verse, and Saul Williams and Anisia Uzeyman’s mindblowing 2021 Afrofuturist musical Neptune Frost, it really does feel like a generative African/diasporic vision is coming into fuller view, not just of itself, but the world. And if white American/European critics and audience don’t recognize or resonate with key aspects of it, maybe that’s because for once/again, it’s not for them/us.

The New Social Environment panel with all three curators of the Duchamp retrospective: Matthew Affron, Michelle Kuo, and Ann Temkin was moderated by none other than Thierry du Duve. On the one hand, it’s amazing to have a moderator who’s as expert on the artist as the curators; on the other, a slightly less erudite interlocutor might have couched more things in the form of a question than a statement. But then we would not have had the fireworks of Francis Naumann refuting some of du Duve’s statements.

Though I don’t have enough basis to assess du Duve’s claims about Duchamp’s painting fails, I lean towards Naumann, whose decades of researching and dealing with Duchamp’s art objects feels of a piece with the material, chronological grounding of MoMA’s show.

I had a conflict and missed the NSE conversation with Paul Mpagi Sepuya, but it’s online now, so none of us has any excuse left. Will report back.

Codex Twombly

I have been waiting since February, when greg.org hero Jack sent along the link to the Master Drawings Symposium, for video of this year’s Ricciardi Prize lecture by Giovanni Lusi. I finally watched it, and it’s great.

screenshot of a horst photo of cy twombly's bookshelf with a gerhard richter grisaille portrait of a lady's head on the floor next to a bust of a caesar. to the right are four books of old master artworks giovani lusi identified from their spines in the photo.
While everyone else was distracted by the Richter, Giovanni Lusi was reading the spines of Twombly’s bookshelf. Screenshot from his 2026 Drawing Masters Symposium lecture via vimeo

Of course, anyone who reconstructs the period library of Cy Twombly by analyzing the spines on a bookshelf in the 1966 Vogue Horst photoshoot is going to have my attention. Lusi’s work goes beyond the circumstantial to trace Twombly’s early, formative engagement in Rome with the works of Old Masters—in this case, Leonardo da Vinci’s drawings and codices.

a slide from giovanni lusi's lecture on twombly and leonardo shows a page from codex atlantico covered with little diagrams, blocks of texts, and sketches. on the right is a twombly drawing with a less dense composition, but similarly filled by texts, crossed out texts, small sketches and diagrams, in a way that echoes leonardo's own ersatz composition.
Screenshot of a slide from Giovanni Lusi’s 2026 Drawing Masters Symposium lecture showing a page from Leonardo’s Codex Atlanticus and Twombly’s Delian Ode 55, 1961, which was shown in Geneva in 1963. The brochure has a collage of Twombly’s head peeking out from Leonardo’s beard. Incredible stuff.

Lusi locates specific references and connections between Twombly drawings and paintings, including unearthing gallery checklists that show works with original titles like, “About Leonardo.” But the most fascinating thing for me was the link between Twombly’s all-over text and diagram painting compositions and the packed, palimpsest content of a Leonardo codex. It’s a reference I imagine almost no one at the time would have suggested for a young contemporary painter—and apparently one which few Twombly observers have recognized since.

There’s much more to be understood about how Twombly worked, and whether he worked from encountering Old Master originals, or—as Lusi suggests—from studying them in reproduction. When he offhandedly identifies the paperback source of a set of Leonardo collages Twombly made in Captiva in 1968, it makes a strong case for an entire dissertation just on Twombly’s library.

[few minutes later update] Come for the Twombly X Leonardo, stay for Femke Speelberg’s introduction to a fascinating, monumental 15th century architectural rendering which is the centerpiece of a show at the Met right now.

Fernand Nadal Gets Out Of Saigon

I’ve had my copy of Nihon No Minka for 30 years, and I only just found these three photos between the book and the dust jacket.

three black and white photos stacked on a wood tabletop to give a sense of what they are without subjecting these early 20th century people to too much more colonial male gaze. they are all portraits of indigenous people, mostly lined up in a group, but the one on top is a man in a loincloth standing in front of a raised thatch house, while dozens of people in white european suits mill about in the distant background. all are by fernand nadal, a french photographer in saigon from 1920 to 1940 or so

They’re stamped Photo NADAL Saigon, the mark of Fernand Nadal, who operated a photo studio in Saigon for several decades in the early 20th century, when France still called the southern region of Vietnam Cochinchine.

Nadal did lots of work for colonial companies and surveyors, and most of the images I see online are from his souvenir postcard sets. They’re almost all cities, though, buildings and public spaces mostly devoid of people.

These are actual silver gelatin prints, 18 x 24 cm (actually around 17 x 23 by my quick check), with portraits of indigenous people in a rural village setting. The one photo of a man has a larger group of people in colonial dress in the background, but otherwise, everyone is South Vietnamese or Cambodian. Maybe the group of women are photographed under the same house the guy is standing in front of, I haven’t Errol Morris’d them yet.

There Is No Me in Minka

a two page spread of a large book on a wood table is open to a black and white photo from the 1950s of an early 19th century sake shop in hiroshima, with a vast single room and a high ceiling made of impossibly thick curved wood beams. the ground floor is filled with white rectangles like tables or tanks or something related to sake i guess the point is these sick beams tho
Mukai-ya, a sake shop in Hiroshima built in 1832, 📷: Futagawa Yukio via Nihon no Minka

The months after coming back from Japan are always when it hits the hardest, the desire to live in a minka by the sea. Except most minka are not by the sea, so you’d have to move it there. Or you’d have to live where the minka remain, in the mountains.

a large photobook from 1962 sits open on a wooden tabletop to a large black and white photo that fills two pages. the image is of a village in kyushu japan with thatched roofs, stretching toward a small hill in the background. nihon no minka
whole bunch of minka in Satsuma Shinashi, Kagoshima, I think, 📷: Futagawa Yukio for Nihon no Minka

Instead, I just pull out my copy of Itõ Teiji and Futagawa Yukio’s incredible 1957-59 survey of minka, 日本の民家, and soak in it. I read Craig Mod’s accounts of walks, and consider that rapidly depopulating rural Japan is probably not the place for foreigners to grow old in.

And then I rewatch Minka, Davina Pardo’s extraordinary 2011 short film about the love and life of two men and their house. And as I wonder if Yoshihiro Takishita still has any minka lying around, waiting to be reassembled, and then I’m like, yeah, three hundred years in, the heating really does sound like an unsolved issue, maybe I’ll just visit.

Previously, related: Kusakabe House, Takayama

In Gropius-Bau What’d Andy Do? A Speer Lichtdom Erect

thomas hoepker photo of andy warhol from 1981, with andy in jeans, a white shirt and green and blue rep tie, standing sheepishly, as if andy had any other posing mode, next to a stuffed great dane mounted on a pedestal, and with a stacked diptych in red above white of a black silkscreened image of albert speer's lichtdom, the cathedral of light the nazi architect created for a nazi party rally in nuremberg in 1934. the screenprinting process abstracts the beams of light, which are inverted and painted black, and form a slightly conical structure that would have been visible in the cloudy night sky.
1981 pic by Magnum photographer Thomas Hoepker of Andy Warhol at 860 Broadway with the caption identifying the stuffed dog, but not the Albert Speer-related paintings behind him, via @twixnmix via @voorwerk

I swear, until this morning I was just going to like and reblog this photo of Warhol and move on. And then the Angel of History started piling rubble on top of rubble on the White House lawn.

Albert Speer was Hitler’s favorite architect, and Andy Warhol loved him. In the early 80s he made multiple paintings of Speer’s Lichtdom, and they seem to exist only in the backgrounds of snapshots of Warhol himself. Though they appeared in a major international exhibition in 1982, they seem to have been ignored by dealers and curators and historians then and since.

Continue reading “In Gropius-Bau What’d Andy Do? A Speer Lichtdom Erect”

Museums Will Not Save Us, Annotated

“The Ultimate Fight ring had not yet been erected on the White House lawn.”

The first line of the survey I did for Art in America of museums’ America 250 shows already locks it into a slightly less bleak past, April, when this stupid UFC thing did not yet stand. And reading the piece for the first time in over a month, I gotta say, it goes downhill from there.

The headline is, “As the Country Turns 250, Why Won’t Its Museums Meet The Moment?” My editor’s working title for the piece was “Picturing Independence”; mine was “Museums Will Not Save Us.” It started bleak, and it got bleaker, but I am grateful for the opportunity and the insights and all the folks who helped along the way.

For reasons beyond me that perhaps relate to the article appearing first in print, the links I used for reference do not appear in the Art in America published version. So I’ve gathered them here, like bonus content for a DVD. [Ask your parents.]

“As the Country Turns 250, Why Won’t Its Museums Meet The Moment?” [art in america, summer 2026]

A YouTube video of the bonkers CG history of America projected on the Washington Monument beginning on New Years, 2026:

Continue reading “Museums Will Not Save Us, Annotated”

Creation & Expulsion by Giovanni di Paolo is at The Met

a 15th century italian painting of god the father in a toga swooping out of a wormhole in the sky in the upper left to create the world, which is nested in a series of concentric circles that each represent the heavens and the elements, with a map of the edenic earth at the center. this is the left side of the painting. the right side is a winged angel shooing adam and eve out of their garden paradise, with a couple of symbolically loaded trees behind them, and some rivers at their feet. painted in 1445 by giovanni di paolo, this is at the metropolitan museum now
Giovanni di Paolo, Creation of the World and Expulsion from Paradise, 1445, tempera on panel, 18 1/4 x 20 1/2 in., locked in the Lehman collection at the Met

I saw some color theory on tumblr last night that reminded me of this painting, and I could not remember who made it or where it was. I felt like it was not at the Met, probably the National Gallery. And I started to wonder if there was an executive order banning searches for rainbow apocalypse. Was it in a gallery that’s closed for renovation?

Anyway, this morning Peter Huestis generously suggested he thought he knew which painting I was talking about, and that was indeed at the Met. And eventually yet, there it was. And the reason I couldn’t picture it at the Met was because it’s in the Lehman Gallery section, segregated off from the rest of the 15th century Italian paintings, including the other piece the Met has from the same Sienese altarpiece.

Anyway, I’m putting it here so I don’t lose it again. It’s Giovanni di Paolo’s Creation of the World and Expulsion from Paradise, 1445, from the Guelfi Altarpiece in the Church of San Domenico, which is in the Uffizi.

And it turns out that’s not a rainbow encircling a vision of another plane; it’s the nested spheres of the heavens with the paradisiacal earth at the center. I readily recognize that this is perhaps a suboptimal practice, and that my memory palace needs some refurbishing and a rehang. So be it.

A List of Sargent Subjects I Had Not Known

a sketch of a motorcycle head-on, by john singer sargent in 1918, at the national gallery of art
John Singer Sargent, Motorcycle, inscribed as Peronne, Oct. 1918, charcoal on paper, 7 x 5.1/8 in., one side of a sheet at the NGA
a looser, more incomplete sketch of a motorcycle head-on on the back of another motorcycle sketch, both by john singer sargent at the national gallery of art
The other side of the sheet at NGA

4. Motorcycles [at least three studies, made in October 1918 in Peronne, at the Somme, and donated by Sargent’s sisters to the Corcoran, so now at the NGA.

3. Octopuses

2. Turkeys

1. A Black person

I Did Not Know Jamie Nares Was British

A really great conversation at Hyperallergic between Valentina Di Liscia and artist Jamie Nares. Come for the essence of the brushstroke—one of Nares’s most intensive interests—stay for the incredible visuals like the wall of handmade brushes in her studio in Chatham, or the still from an early experimental film where Roman togas were doing a lot of long-unacknowledged gender work.

Besides Nares’s own work and story, there are a couple of moments where the difference between generations really comes through: Nares’s story of complimenting Frank Stella at an opening, and Di Liscia’s gentle deadpan, “It’s what we call a soft launch.”

Jamie Nares’s Enduring Romance With The Brushstroke [hyperallergic]

Krassesfit: Gustav Klimt’s Painting Smock

Speaking of sick artist fits from upper Fifth Avenue museums:

an indigo linen smock with deep pleats around the round collar, and white embroidery on each shoulder, here with the sleeves outstretched to present its magnificence, a replica of gustav klimt's painting smock sold by the neue galerie

The Neue Galerie offers a replica of Gustav Klimt’s artist smock in indigo linen with hand-embroidered epaulets, based on Moriz Nähr’s iconic 1911 photo of the artist and his cat, Katze:

moriz nähr's black and white photo of gustav klimt with his messy combover, slightly disheveled beard, and an absolutely sick full length smock that makes him look like the statue of liberty, except he's holding a black and white cat as he stands in a vienna courtyard

Klimt pic via @neilmatheson66; Neue Galerie pic via @chrissantamaria

[few days later update] Holy moley, Klimt really was That Guy In The Blue Smock, and in 1913 Egon Schiele was there:

a black sharp pencil and two-blue gouache drawing by egon schiele of the barest outline of gustav klimt in his blue painting smock. in two shades of blue, gesturing with long spindly fingers like he's levitating two sardines i don't know what this is about, but klimt's face is uncanny in its resemblance his thinning curly hair is like stretched out steel wool, an incredible work from 1913
Egon Schiele, Klimt im blauen Malerkittle, 1913, pencil & gouache, 48 x 32 cm, via @topcatt77 via @thelegendaryhitchhiker

Looking for the story on this Schiele portrait, it turns out Klimt’s friend/partner/muse Emilie Flöge operated a couture shop in Vienna that promoted the Reformkleidung, Reform Dress, a loose, flowing, and liberating fashion refutation of Edwardian-era corset-based dresses.

Gustav Klimt in his painting smock & Emilie Flöge in her Reform Dress, c. 1909, photo: Heinrich Böhler, via Klimt: Sonderausgabe

Agnes Martin COS Play

October 2016 feels like so many worlds away at this point. When I think of all the paths we diverged from, I mean just

a young fair wispy swedish looking model actually she looks surprisingly like a facetuned young agnes martin, stands with her hand on a concrete railing of the guggenheim museum. she wears a light blue tunic with a tie waist, which has a faint grid taken from an agnes martin painting, and an indigo tie skirt, part of the capsule collection the swedish brand cos did for the guggenheim in 2016
checked v-neck shirt

Of all the paths we didn’t take, one world I don’t miss is the one where Swedish mid-tier minimalist brand COS got any organic attention at all for the Agnes Martin Capsule Collection they designed for the artist’s Guggenheim retrospective.

a young polished and pink swedish boy with bieber bangs across his forehead leans against a white wall in the guggenheim museum while modeling a grey linen collarless and lapel-less mid-thigh jacket with a thin grey grid on it, taken from an agnes martin painting. he also wears a white waffle weave cashmere crewneck sweater and loose indigo pants with a tie waist, all from a capsule collection by cos in 2016
patterned linen coat

The twelve pieces made of “hand-drawn and hand-stitched” “grids and stripes” on “natural fabrics such as linen and canvas” were adapted from specific Martin artworks. They all seem to be from the 60s, none of the works that ended up in the Guggenheim’s Agnes Martin animated gif campaign. I thought I’d hunt them down, but I don’t have my Martin books handy.

COS says the collection was also inspired by the artist’s own wardrobe. And yet, they ignore her most iconic looks:

a serene older white woman with short hair parted to the side sits stiffly in a rocking chair against a dark wall, next to her white painting hanging on a white wall. she has a peter pan collar over the top of her dark blue cardigan, buttoned all the way up; dark cotton trousers, and white mallwalker sneakers. charles rushton took this portrait of agnes martin at her studio in new mexico in 1999
Charles Rushton portrait of Agnes Martin in New Mexico, 1991. Collared shirt, cardigan, sensible trousers, sneakers: the artist’s own.
a lush grey tone photo of a thin woman with her hair braided down her back, as she wears a white quilted jacket and pants, her back to the camera, she paints a white square canvas hanging on a raggedy white brick or plaster wall. agnes martin photographed in 1960 by alexander liberman
Agnes Martin photographed in 1960 in her unheated loft in Coentie’s Slip by Vogue creative director Alexander Liberman. Thermal quilted liner ensemble: artist’s own.

And of course:

a grainy scan of a photocopy of a black and white photo of a white woman with her dark hair pulled back, wearing white, and a black painting with a white line bisecting it in the background, an undated portrait of agnes martin by mildred tolbert
An undated photo of Agnes Martin by Mildred Tolbert, with the painting Night and Day in the background, from an exhibit in the lawsuit filed in October 2016 by Mayor Gallery against the Agnes Martin Catalogue Raisonné LLC

COS x Agnes Martin at the Guggenheim [trendland via @octavio-world]
Previously, related, from October 2016:
Agnes Martin Mini-Storage
The Complete Agnes Martin GIFs: A Retrospective