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Nothing exists in a vacuum—not even abstract art. This is the premise behind Artists of Color, a group exhibition at The Underground Museum featuring 17 modern and contemporary artists who explore color-based abstraction. This show follows The Underground’s year-long exhibition, Non-Fiction, which highlighted various
representations of the black body. At first glance, Artists of Color would seem to have little in common with the more overtly socially-oriented work of its predecessor—but as the title’s cheeky pun suggests, there is more going on beneath the surface.
Organized by Underground Museum founder Noah Davis before his passing in 2015, the exhibition is part of a continuing partnership with MOCA, which again has lent some impressive works from their collection. Instead of dense curatorial wall text, short quotes by each artist are placed next to each work, elucidating their individual perspectives on color, both in art and within a larger socio-political context.
On the left of one wall hangs Josef Albers’ Homage to the Square (1954), a small canvas on which nesting squares of green and blue convey a captivating rhythm. Albers did hundreds of variations of this painting, celebrating the formal properties of geometry, color, and scale. Centered on the wall is one of Donald Judd’s signature steel and Plexiglas wall works that juts out parallel to the floor, straining to assert its sculptural identity. Hung at eye level, the Plexiglas is barely visible, but casts a bright blue shadow below it. To the right of this is a work by Davis himself, 2004 (1) (2008), an off-kilter deep, purple rectangle placed on a warm, linen canvas. It is an uncharacteristic work for an artist better known for expressionistic, figurative paintings.
Davis’ canvas could be interpreted simply as a study in form and color, similar to the nearby Albers, were it not for his own words on the wall: “Purple is to black people what Yves Klein’s Blue is to white people.” Indeed, Davis and his wife Karon planted a lush, purple garden in the museum’s back yard, a verdant oasis for the predominantly black and Latino neighborhood of Arlington Heights. Purple connotes royalty, conveying a sense of power, dignity, and jubilation so often denied people of color in this country. Davis’ work shows that even within the rarified world of abstract art, there is the possibility of a broader message, of a connection to communities that have also been excluded from the institutional art world.
Nearby hangs a yellow-and-blue shaped diptych by Carmen Herrera, of which she notes: “Maybe through color there is an expression of nationality.” This takes on a certain poignancy considering the Cuban-born artist has lived in New York for 60 years. Color-based abstractions like hers are often discussed in terms of universality, while Herrera’s comment alludes to an identity-derived subjectivity.
Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ Forbidden Colors (1988) is composed of four squares painted green, red, white, and black—the colors of the Palestinian flag. At the time of the work’s creation, it was forbidden by the State of Israel to display this color combination in the Occupied Territories, making these four small, unassuming panels an ille-
gal artwork. As Gonzales-Torres’ notes in his text, not only do these colors mean different things based on where they are seen, but also based on who is seeing them. Some will see nothing more than a color study, while others will understand them as an act of solidarity; still others may view them as subversive. It is also worth noting that this color combination was no longer forbidden after the 1993 Oslo Peace Accords, the result of arbitrary legal opinions as opposed to aesthetic concerns.
In a narrow alcove near the exhibition’s entrance sits a humming 1963 neon sculpture by Dan Flavin, a striking blue-and-white minimalist icon. Directly opposite, above the front door hangs a text piece by EJ Hill, which reads “We Deserve to See Ourselves Elevated.” This neon work uses a similar cool, blue tone. Flavin’s work, like much abstraction produced by white male artists of a certain time, has been accepted as having a universal appeal, while the work of artists of color is overwhelmingly seen through the lens of race. Though, in reality, race, class, and other social factors have as much to do with Albers’ squares as they do with Hill’s motivational aphorism—in contrast to the narrative of a universal language, the vein of abstraction practiced by Albers has roots with a small group of European artists, mostly men, working in a very specific milieu, and their background brings as much to bear on their work as those of artists of color. Through adopting Flavin’s medium for his own message, Hill’s work is a fitting coda for a show that puts forth an expansive conception of color and its possibilities. This is not just for you, it seems to say, this is for us.
These are certainly not the first artists to see the potential in color to address issues beyond the white cube. A century ago, Malevich envisioned both social and artistic revolution in his black square. However, considering current debates about the insularity of the art world, and questions about art’s role in a tumultuous and fragmented world, this is an especially timely show. Eschewing facile distinctions between abstract “art for art’s sake” and art that focuses on broader issues, Artists of Color argues that even within formal
exploration of color, there is the potential to address social, cultural, and political concerns. If the utopian aspirations that gave birth to modern art are to be fulfilled, then we all do deserve to see ourselves elevated by it.
This review was originally published in Carla issue 9.