At David Zwirner, 537 W. 20th, through October 21:
Ad Reinhardt: Blue Paintings (ground floor)
Ruth Asawa (upstairs)
The only (NYC) gallery show in recent memory to compare in sublimity to this Reinhardt “blues” display is last winter’s Rothko at Pace. Through the oeuvre of both artists, the primary subject, object, and effect is a palpable, pulsating “aura” uncannily emanating from pigment and turpentine. The proto-Minimalist, monochrome monk, Reinhardt (1913-1967) is best known for his late paintings of barely perceptible black-on-black geometry. And yet, for decades previously, he was nothing if not a colorist in the wake of, well, Matisse–if anyone is uniformed or skeptical on that count, this show will dispel that. Not only does each work present nothing but blues, but each also, simultaneously, may conjure window, sky, sea, air, iconic spirituality—pace Reinhardt’s committed art-secular, non-objective motives and intentions. Yet, especially in terms of “spirit,” once viewers engage his results, some (like me) might surmise he had far more in common with Malevich’s precedent Suprematism than he consciously wished to realize.
The wire basketry abstraction of Asawa (1926-1913) is a tensile and delicate dialectical balance of surrealist-like whimsy and danger, mystery and rationality, magic and labor, soft and sharp, shape and line. Most characteristically, hanging, curving lamp-like objects of macramé-ish woven wire are comprised of a core and an encasement of the same manufacture around it—a bottle-in-a-bottle, double-mesh mirage. The wire also can read as twig like, nature-bound trompe-l’oeil in several symmetrical wall “mandalas.” Asawa‘s back-story, as survivor of a WWII-era Japanese internment camp and rise in the art sphere as a serious abstractionist in an era and sphere thoroughly dominated by men, is more than reason enough to pay homage. But the art itself will make a lasting impression analogous to a gorgeous tattoo that remains haunted by its haptic birthing pain.