I couple of weeks ago I got a report of a Wade Guyton in a sick crate at Matthew Marks. Seemingly cast metal, heavy-looking as hell, they seemed too sculptural—and, again, heavy—to be just actual crates.
Anyway, about 42:00 in, after an extensive conversation about these bronze and aluminum cast tube sculptures Guyton is showing at Francesca Pia in Zurich—yikes, showed, in what turns out to be Pia’s final show—HUO suggested Wade might be open to even more sculpture, which led to the crates, which are, in fact, frames.
Guyton always hated giving suggestions for framing his canvas works, while acceding to the necessity to protect them. And because they always looked great in the crate, he made frames by having travel crates disassembled, cast, and then welded back together.
“Because” is doing a lot in that sentence, mostly misleading. Because there is absolutely no logical, causal flow from “looks great in the crate” to “cast meticulous, bespoke crates from aluminum.” That is entirely artist logic. And it’s absolutely perfect.
For two whole years, it really seemed like the only way to show a Guyton was on a sweat shop clothing rack. Suddenly it feels weird if you don’t have it in one of these hulking crate frames. Wade first showed the crate/frames last winter in Gisela Capitan’s little storefront space in Cologne, but maybe Marks will be supplying them, now, too, just in time for Christmas.
Wade Guytons, Untitled, 2018 (32 x 26 in.) and 2020 (40 x 30 in.), for sale at Christie’s 30 Sept 2025
If you’re keeping track at home, 5-7 years seems to be the auction house’s recommended amount of time to wait before selling the artworks the very prominent and generous artist whose studio you worked in gave to you—and which, let’s be real, you might have actually made in the first place.
nailed it
Besides their adorably giftable scale, though, what strikes me about these two Wade Guyton paintings is that they both have nail holes in the top and bottom edges, as if they were nailed to the wall at some point before they were stretched. And now I want to see a show of unstretched Guytons nailed to the wall, curling just a little bit, and flapping in the breeze, as they are wont to do.
X Poster (Untitled, 2007, Epson UltraChrome inkjet on linen, 84 x 69 inches, WG1211), 2019, UV-resistant ink on paper on the right and, presumably, actual Untitled, 2007, Epson UltraChrome inkjet on linen, 84 x 69 inches, WG1211 on the left. image via PrintedMatter
For six years, from 2014-19, Guyton made full-scale print facsimiles of his paintings as fundraising editions for Printed Matter. They were all posters of earlier black X-on-white paintings, and folding them by hand felt like part of the concept. From the proofs installed at the Beyeler, that does not seem to be the case anymore. These look as flat as the day they rolled off the Epson.
TFW I thought I’d seen these before, not just at the Beyeler, and I was like, “Duh, that’s his MO.” But no, I don’t mean in the “all Guytons look alike” mode. I mean in the sense that I felt like I’d seen these paintings before, at Guyton’s 2023 show at Matthew Marks. The X painting, WG5707, depicts a different scan of a different, earlier X painting than the one at Marks. And in fact, the 2024 Beyeler painting in the 2025 Beyeler print has striations that look like a photo of a monitor of a scan of a transparency of a painting, rather than just a scan of a transparency of a painting.
the jpg rendering of the 2025 print of the 2024 Beyeler painting, WG5703
But the other one, WG5703, the photo of Guyton’s studio floor, is, in fact, the same photo, though not the same painting.
Guyton likes to paint, photograph, and repaint the floor of his studio, and these Clyfford Still-like layered abstractions are the glorious result. But what these two paintings show is not found wear & tear. The tape, the shoe[?] in the lower left corner, the separations [not just layering, it turns out] of color. This is the same photo, in different states, printed on canvas, twice. Three times, actually; the Beyeler already has another variation from 2021.
But from observing these little differences in the same content, Guyton has expanded his source image folder to include screenshots of the Times, and photos of his studio, his work, and his life. His 2021 show at Marks in LA included images of Guyton recording his temperature. In 2023 there were paintings made of photos of protests, and a Manet ham.
As the vagaries of printing become absorbed into the language of his work, Guyton has expanded what he says by making work of what he sees. His work, his shows, images, and the world around him, have all become animating subjects of his mature process. Mature, but not static; processes are revealed in between the finding and the printing. As these two floor paintings show, the images flowing around him may also be manipulated, altered, and created.
At first I thought the recursiveness was new, too, but I think it was always there; the works, their shifting formats, their nested titles, their numbering system, all make us aware of the artist’s awareness. The beauty of that churn, that cycle, of making and showing and remaking, is a compelling subject for at least a hundred people going to Basel for the 20th or 30th time for buying and selling. One hundred plus ten artist proofs.
Roni Horn, Untitled (“The yes without the no.”), 2009-10, supposedly 18 x 36 x 36 in. glass and not a cgi rendering of glass, via Christie’s
Our collective understandings of shared reality are fraying. Archives are being erased. AI is flooding our digital commons to increasingly dire effect.
But only yesterday, I saw some Roni Horn glass sculptures. And I stood in their presence in an austere, if not quite nondescript, concrete space. I am saying I’m feeling very attuned right now. And I am almost 100% convinced that the pictures Christie’s is using here are computer-generated renderings.
And if I offered up my third party guarantee, I would still calculate a non-zero probability of taking delivery of a crate filled with 800 lbs of wet newspapers and a giclée print on top that said, “NO REFUNDS.”
One of my favorite things to discover about Maria Lind’s 2012 Abstract Possible: The Stockholm Synergies show was the Wade Guyton narrative arc. And how Guyton’s massive, black painted plywood floor in the Konsthall raised the profile of the his black printed plywood edition in Lind’s controversial selling show at Bukowskis auction house. And how that very example did not sell then. And it did not sell in 2019. And it did not sell again in 2022.
And so the “Distinguished European Collector” who’s been stuck with it—I like to think it’s the Lundins—has had to keep enjoying what is truly, as far as these things go, an iconic work. How would it be?
Well, for a brief shining moment, now you can find out.
One reason I thought of for why this excellent example of Guyton’s work didn’t sell was the volume. Not just that it is an edition, but that there are actually two editions. When Guyton made this 8×4 ft plywood edition of seven in 2008, he also made a Parkett edition of 60 [38 numbered, XXII proofs].
But as I’ve noted before, what matters about the works of Guyton’s Black Paintings Era, which were all produced using the same monochromatic bigblack.tif file, is that they exist as a series. The editions, even more so. I’m getting shivers just imagining them being made all at once, 22 sheets of ply pumped into the inkjet printer, and admiring the the little differences.
Like being little. Though it elegantly maintains the proportion and scale of the ed. 7, Guyton’s untitled edition for Parkett 83 is a quarter of the size [4 x 2 ft., 15 sheets/4 = 60.]
Think what it’s like to move it around, perhaps in your car, or even in your pickup, or to store it, or to ship it. What the Parkett edition may lack in surface area, it more than makes up for in convenience.
And now, somehow, Parkett has one left, the “last available work from a previously sold-out edition.”
Wade Guyton, Galerie Matthiesen, Ausstellung, Edouard Manet, 1928, 6. Februar bis 18. März, Vol. II, 2023, (detail), lithograph on vintage book page, all images via Crousel
I’d low-key wanted to see this exhibition of Wade Guyton lithographs at Crousel when it was announced, and by the time it closed yesterday, several people who would know were reporting on its awesomeness. So the FOMO built to a high finish.
Untitled, 2020, 84 x 69 in., image via Matthew Marks
My first thought on seeing the image of this Wade Guyton painting was of a burning cop car in Brooklyn surrounded by artists with easels and Epson printers. And by the time the Epson printer’s done, the fire is out.
Sam McKinniss, Cop Car in Brooklyn, 2020, 11×14 in., oil on linen, via JTT
Then Alex Greenberger called Guyton’s painting of Manet’s The Ham“a simulacrum” while noting the Manet is currently on loan to The Met.
Untitled, 2023, 84 x 69 in., image via Matthew Marks
And it occurred to me that while the untitled painting itself is Guyton-size, Guyton’s image of The Ham is basically true to the size of the Manet. With both on view in New York simultaneously, there really is no need for a Facsimile Object of either of them, but a Guyton’s Manet’s Ham Facsimile Object would look a little something like this:
Study for Wade Guyton Facsimile Object (G1), 16.25 x 12.75 in., 2023, jpg
Wade Guyton, Untitled, 2003, installed at Andy’s Gamma Gulch Site in Pipe’s Canyon, Pioneertown, for High Desert Test Sites 2, photo: Regen Projects
Looking back at a desert X I can support. This Wade Guyton sculpture from the second High Desert Test Sites in 2003 came to mind this morning. No reason.
It reminds me of Wade Guyton’s 1999 show at Andrew Kreps, Against the New Passeism. Understanding that this is only the beginning, hope for the end. Build, Destroy, Do Nothing.
Against the New Passeism. Understanding that this is only the beginning, hope for the end. Build, Destroy, Do Nothing. installation shot by Jerry Saltz via artnet
Wade installed a rough, fireplace-size, plexi&ply sculpture in the back room, and put the entire back room on display in the main gallery, including a much bigger Ricci Albenda text piece below:
Wade Guyton installation at/starring Andrew Kreps, with Albenda, Robert Melee, Rob Pruitt, Hiroshi Sunairi, Lawrence Seward?… via jerry saltz’s 1999 artnet review
I’d say stay outta my bidding way, but we’re all gonna do what we’re gonna do. I have thought, though, many times, about [bringing back] these early, destroyed Guytons, but just haven’t found the right space yet.
Gallerist Stephanie Theodore was there for the unveiling of Wade Guyton’s new election aftermath-themed windows at Bergdorf Goodman. Though it clearly feels like a scaled up version of his #monochrome-on-plywood 2008 edition for Parkett, it also references the matte-black-OSB sculptures he made in 1999, which have since been #destroyed [cf. Guyton OS, 13.]
Personally, the thing I remembered about Carol Vogel’s puff piece a couple of weeks ago for Loic Gouzer, organizer of “If I Live I’ll See You Tuesday,” Christie’s Edgy Sale, was that she’d used the word “seminal” twice in one sentence. But if I were an artist whose painting was being used as Exhibit No. 1 to illustrate it, I could see how the headline might catch my eye, too: “For Those Who Can Afford It, Christie’s Is Selling Anxiety”.
The sale was supposed to be a “mould-breaking auction,” a “risky operation” meant to “shake things up” with artworks that “capture the raw angst” that the current “generation of rich embryonic collectors” are all hot for.
image: burningbridges38/s IG
Christie’s own idea of raw shakeup: a promotional video skateboarding video, showing skate pro Chris Martin tooling through the galleries and the back of the house, passing works and staff along the way. It was the most brilliantly ridiculous thing ever. For a day. Then someone pointed out embryonic auction star Parker Ito’s own YT videos of his skateboarding around his studio. And someone else ran the numbers and realized that many lots were presold via third-party guarantees/irrevocable bids, so the actual angst of the evening’s outcome depended entirely on one’s own market ignorance.
image: @burningbridges38’s IG
Until Wade Guyton entered the game. Wade’s 2005 painting Untitled (Fire, Red/Black U) had a starring role in the sale, the video, and the Anxiety article. And last week, as the video racked up views and scorn online, Wade introduced some real anxiety–by making more than a dozen new paintings, identical to the one at Christie’s, using the same digital file. He then posted the images to Instagram. They stream out of his trusty Epson inkjet printer, are strewn across the studio floor, and flutter in the breeze like a fiery curtain on the wall.
When she declared a slightly bent & restored aluminum painting destroyed last year Cady Noland reprogrammed all her remaining work, instilling collectors with the fear that the tiniest nick or bump might render their precious object unsaleable. Similarly, by revealing even the hypothetical existence of infinite digital replication–so far, all he’s done is post pictures of canvases to Intagram–Guyton has stripped away the presumption of uniqueness, and has seized his work back from the outsized speculative frenzies that swirl around it. And the greatest part is that he did all this just days before the big sale [where he doesn’t have anything to win, and much, potentially, to lose].
As Jerry Saltz wrote, “Whatever happens tonight, I admire an artist willing to tank his own market by flooding it with confusing real-fake product.” And except that there doesn’t need to be anything fake at all about the resulting works, I completely agree. This is awesome. [Even though it didn’t slow down the sale one bit: Untitled sold for $3.5 million, a record. So win-win, depending on what actually qualifies as a win here.]
You could argue that Primary Information’s facsimile editions of Avalanche, the awesome artist-run journal published in the mid-1970s by Liza Bear and Willoughby Sharp, are only the 3rd and 4th greatest editions of Avalanche, after Wade Guyton &co’s bootleg photocopied version from a few years ago [#2] and a complete set of the originals [#1, obviously].
But as a haggle-weary collector and scourer of vintage Avalanches over the years, I would argue that the greatest version of Avalanche is the one you can actually get.
So for the moment, that is the 100 limited edition, boxed sets of all 13 issues, which come with certificates signed by both Bear and Sharp [signed, obviously, before Sharp died in 2008]. Did I say 100? It’s only been a couple of days and the first 40 are already gone.
Which means that in a couple of weeks, at the latest, the greatest version will be either the trade edition, set to drop later this year, or the few signed versions which will immediately pop up on the bookflipping market. So plan accordingly. Avalanche Limited Edition, now $450-750 plus shipping [specificobject.com]
The first time I did the Miami collection visit circuit was in 1998, with MoMA’s Junior Associates. A few things stuck out in my mind: Ernesto Neto camped out on Rosa de la Cruz’s floor with a sewing machine; Zhang Huan and his wife hanging out with us at the Rubell’s hotel, making work; Marty Margulies’ dressing room positively overflowing with the entire photographic canon; the Olafur grid installed in his gigantic bathroom; so much rubble shedding from the Bramans’ Kiefers, they had to sweep it up every day; and the oddly standoffish, yet competitive vibe I got from various collectors regarding each other’s collecting. It felt like they didn’t really talk to each other that much, they each did their own intense thing. Except when they didn’t.
By the end of the trip, I’d seen no less than four versions of Claes Oldenburg’s Typewriter Eraser. It was as if Claes had an eraser-themed trunk show at the Fontainebleau, and everybody came.
I was reminded of that during last week’s installment of Art Basel Miami Beach because of Wade Guyton. I’m not talking about the kind of Art World Tour 09 disorientation you get from seeing Guyton/Walker’s sprawling installation from Venice turn up just a couple of weeks later at the de la Cruz’s new space. “It’s great to be here in [insert biennale/art fair city name]!”
I’m just saying, I know he’s shown at least a dozen at once, but did everyone in Miami think they were the only one buying a Guyton Untitled U sculpture? The Scholls threw theirs onto the pile of U’s Scott Rothkopf curated into the Lyon Biennale in 2007.
The Rubells had theirs out for their show, “Beg Borrow & Steal,” which was inspired, they said, by conversations with Wade and Kelley in 2005.
And the de la Cruz’s is on view at the Miami Art Museum:
I’m sure there are a few more lurking around Miami I just haven’t seen yet. You?
