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‘Agnes of the Desert’ Joins Modernism’s Pantheon ‘Agnes of the Desert’ Joins Modernism’s Pantheon
(about 5 hours later)
A few years ago, I interrupted a panel discussion at the Guggenheim as it moved toward the dead-horse question of whether painting was still viable. How, I asked, uninvited, from the audience, could people talk of the end of painting when so many women were just beginning to paint? With hindsight I should have added that we were also still learning about the female painters of the past whose newly recovered works could very well influence the medium. History had in a sense not yet happened to their achievements.A few years ago, I interrupted a panel discussion at the Guggenheim as it moved toward the dead-horse question of whether painting was still viable. How, I asked, uninvited, from the audience, could people talk of the end of painting when so many women were just beginning to paint? With hindsight I should have added that we were also still learning about the female painters of the past whose newly recovered works could very well influence the medium. History had in a sense not yet happened to their achievements.
Hindsight arrived one or two years later, when a largely unknown sector of that past was emphatically, unforgettably heard from — at the Guggenheim. This divine noise was the full-rotunda exhibition of the paintings of Hilma af Klint, which drew thousands of visitors and irrevocably altered the understanding of the genesis of abstract painting in the West. It was one of the most revelatory shows of many people’s lifetimes, my own included.Hindsight arrived one or two years later, when a largely unknown sector of that past was emphatically, unforgettably heard from — at the Guggenheim. This divine noise was the full-rotunda exhibition of the paintings of Hilma af Klint, which drew thousands of visitors and irrevocably altered the understanding of the genesis of abstract painting in the West. It was one of the most revelatory shows of many people’s lifetimes, my own included.
A similar jolt — if not of that magnitude — can now be felt in “Agnes Pelton: Desert Transcendentalist,” an exhibition at the Whitney Museum that is still plenty inspiring and thought-provoking. (The museum announced late Thursday that it was temporarily closing over concerns about the coronavirus.) This career-spanning survey of 45 paintings presents the underappreciated but inimitable art of the American painter Agnes Pelton (1881-1961) and offers a reminder that the history of modernist abstraction and women’s contribution to it is still being written.A similar jolt — if not of that magnitude — can now be felt in “Agnes Pelton: Desert Transcendentalist,” an exhibition at the Whitney Museum that is still plenty inspiring and thought-provoking. (The museum announced late Thursday that it was temporarily closing over concerns about the coronavirus.) This career-spanning survey of 45 paintings presents the underappreciated but inimitable art of the American painter Agnes Pelton (1881-1961) and offers a reminder that the history of modernist abstraction and women’s contribution to it is still being written.
Her work spent decades as a well-kept secret of the cognoscenti of the art of the American Southwest, and the Transcendental Painting Group, whose members had lived around Santa Fe, N.M. Pelton joined that group in 1938 (it disbanded in 1945), though she lived near Palm Springs, in Cathedral City, Calif., for the last three decades of her life.Her work spent decades as a well-kept secret of the cognoscenti of the art of the American Southwest, and the Transcendental Painting Group, whose members had lived around Santa Fe, N.M. Pelton joined that group in 1938 (it disbanded in 1945), though she lived near Palm Springs, in Cathedral City, Calif., for the last three decades of her life.
Pelton’s exquisitely finished, otherworldly abstractions are full of mysterious shapes and distant horizons, glowing vessels, flowers, several kinds of stars and other celestial events. They are the stuff of dreams, visions and mirages; they often came to the artist while she slept or meditated and they arrived remarkably whole, as indicated by the sketches from her journal reproduced in the catalog, which originated, with the show, at the Phoenix Art Museum. (It was organized by Gilbert Vicario, chief curator there, and overseen at the Whitney by Barbara Haskell, with Sarah Humphreville.)Pelton’s exquisitely finished, otherworldly abstractions are full of mysterious shapes and distant horizons, glowing vessels, flowers, several kinds of stars and other celestial events. They are the stuff of dreams, visions and mirages; they often came to the artist while she slept or meditated and they arrived remarkably whole, as indicated by the sketches from her journal reproduced in the catalog, which originated, with the show, at the Phoenix Art Museum. (It was organized by Gilbert Vicario, chief curator there, and overseen at the Whitney by Barbara Haskell, with Sarah Humphreville.)
There is nothing quite like Pelton’s paintings in 20th-century American art. It is not just their much-admired spirituality that distinguishes them — their blend of theosophy, Buddhism, astrology and the occult was not unusual among artists of the moment. It is rather the insouciant ease with which her images navigate between high and low, making that spirituality widely available, if not irresistible.There is nothing quite like Pelton’s paintings in 20th-century American art. It is not just their much-admired spirituality that distinguishes them — their blend of theosophy, Buddhism, astrology and the occult was not unusual among artists of the moment. It is rather the insouciant ease with which her images navigate between high and low, making that spirituality widely available, if not irresistible.
Precedents don’t easily come to mind in front of Pelton’s levitating motifs, subtle colors, effusions of light and the clear transparent space within which everything unfolds. Occasionally a stripped-down, pristine landscape evokes Dalí, as in the 1940 work, “Return,” a desert oasis with its single palm tree (although look up in the sky and you’ll see a scattering of faint stars, one being delivered by a large, nearly invisible dove). The California desert harbored the “abstract beauty of the inner vision, which would be kindled by the inspiration of these rare and solitary places,” Pelton wrote in 1932, while applying for a Guggenheim grant.Precedents don’t easily come to mind in front of Pelton’s levitating motifs, subtle colors, effusions of light and the clear transparent space within which everything unfolds. Occasionally a stripped-down, pristine landscape evokes Dalí, as in the 1940 work, “Return,” a desert oasis with its single palm tree (although look up in the sky and you’ll see a scattering of faint stars, one being delivered by a large, nearly invisible dove). The California desert harbored the “abstract beauty of the inner vision, which would be kindled by the inspiration of these rare and solitary places,” Pelton wrote in 1932, while applying for a Guggenheim grant.
The artist my mind defaults to is Walt Disney, in particular the Disney of “Fantasia,” which was in the works by the late 1930s. By then Pelton had been firmly in control of her arsenal of stars, vessels and horizons for several years. Implicit in many of Pelton’s best works is a Disneyesque sense of magical, inherently musical animation, subtly comedic wit and even jubilation. Consider the motion — and speeds — visible in “Orbits” (1934) where seven stars zip about, each on its own pastel lariat, while a black vessel-like shape swells majestically behind them, rising over a low triangle of mountain, on what can only be described as a rippling magic carpet. The vessel culminates in curved lavender shapes that create a turban effect and a scalloped cloud that conjures a doily. This is a lot of activity for a not-very-large painting, yet we experience the details individually as they coalesce in the dawning sky. The tension of unity in formation is the template of Pelton’s best work.The artist my mind defaults to is Walt Disney, in particular the Disney of “Fantasia,” which was in the works by the late 1930s. By then Pelton had been firmly in control of her arsenal of stars, vessels and horizons for several years. Implicit in many of Pelton’s best works is a Disneyesque sense of magical, inherently musical animation, subtly comedic wit and even jubilation. Consider the motion — and speeds — visible in “Orbits” (1934) where seven stars zip about, each on its own pastel lariat, while a black vessel-like shape swells majestically behind them, rising over a low triangle of mountain, on what can only be described as a rippling magic carpet. The vessel culminates in curved lavender shapes that create a turban effect and a scalloped cloud that conjures a doily. This is a lot of activity for a not-very-large painting, yet we experience the details individually as they coalesce in the dawning sky. The tension of unity in formation is the template of Pelton’s best work.
Born in Stuttgart, Germany, to American parents, Pelton had a bohemian upbringing. Her mother was a musician, her father a well-off, seemingly hedonistic expat, who died, possibly of a morphine overdose, when Pelton was 9. By then, her mother had returned to the States with her daughter and settled in Brooklyn; she opened a music school that helped support them. Pelton would live with her mother until the older woman died in 1920.Born in Stuttgart, Germany, to American parents, Pelton had a bohemian upbringing. Her mother was a musician, her father a well-off, seemingly hedonistic expat, who died, possibly of a morphine overdose, when Pelton was 9. By then, her mother had returned to the States with her daughter and settled in Brooklyn; she opened a music school that helped support them. Pelton would live with her mother until the older woman died in 1920.
Pelton belonged to the first generation of American Modernists, which included Georgia O’Keeffe, Marsden Hartley and Arthur Dove — but not to their circle, which revolved around the advocacy and galleries of the impresario Alfred Stieglitz.Pelton belonged to the first generation of American Modernists, which included Georgia O’Keeffe, Marsden Hartley and Arthur Dove — but not to their circle, which revolved around the advocacy and galleries of the impresario Alfred Stieglitz.
Pelton and O’Keeffe, who was six years younger, had a surprising amount in common: Both studied with Arthur Wesley Dow (Pelton at the Pratt Institute; O’Keeffe at Columbia), who encouraged their interest in landscape non-Western art and thought. Both were affected by Kandinsky’s treatise “On the Spiritual in Art” and both were invited to visit Taos and Santa Fe by the saloniste and patron Mabel Dodge Luhan. (Pelton went first in 1919, for four months.) Each was profoundly changed by the desert, finding it to be her natural habitat. But the two had emerged from unsteady childhoods with markedly different temperaments. While O’Keeffe triumphed over hers by force of personality, Pelton was rendered forever fragile and introverted.Pelton and O’Keeffe, who was six years younger, had a surprising amount in common: Both studied with Arthur Wesley Dow (Pelton at the Pratt Institute; O’Keeffe at Columbia), who encouraged their interest in landscape non-Western art and thought. Both were affected by Kandinsky’s treatise “On the Spiritual in Art” and both were invited to visit Taos and Santa Fe by the saloniste and patron Mabel Dodge Luhan. (Pelton went first in 1919, for four months.) Each was profoundly changed by the desert, finding it to be her natural habitat. But the two had emerged from unsteady childhoods with markedly different temperaments. While O’Keeffe triumphed over hers by force of personality, Pelton was rendered forever fragile and introverted.
In the 1910s, Pelton made her way to New York and into the 1913 Armory Show. She, exhibited two works from the sometimes treacly series “Imaginative Portraits,” similar to the one that opens the Whitney show. With the Whistlerian title “Room Decoration in Purple and Gray,” it offers an Annunciation-like scene of a solitary virginal maid communing with a golden bird surrounded by irises on vines. It is not promising, except for the background, a luminous void framed by soft shifting layers that became essential to her distinctive personal style.In the 1910s, Pelton made her way to New York and into the 1913 Armory Show. She, exhibited two works from the sometimes treacly series “Imaginative Portraits,” similar to the one that opens the Whitney show. With the Whistlerian title “Room Decoration in Purple and Gray,” it offers an Annunciation-like scene of a solitary virginal maid communing with a golden bird surrounded by irises on vines. It is not promising, except for the background, a luminous void framed by soft shifting layers that became essential to her distinctive personal style.
In 1921, after her mother’s death, Pelton moved to Long Island, renting the Haywood Windmill near Southampton, a landmark that still stands, heading to Cathedral City in 1932.In 1921, after her mother’s death, Pelton moved to Long Island, renting the Haywood Windmill near Southampton, a landmark that still stands, heading to Cathedral City in 1932.
Pelton’s mature style arrived after a series of efforts from the mid-1920s that read as mildly visionary Cubo-Futurist motifs — frazzled flowers and an incandescent fountain.Pelton’s mature style arrived after a series of efforts from the mid-1920s that read as mildly visionary Cubo-Futurist motifs — frazzled flowers and an incandescent fountain.
At the Whitney, she nails it for the first time in the 1929 “Star Gazer,” where a multicolored bud stands like a pilgrim, offering itself to an azure vase, behind which brilliant red hills soften into the distance. A single star reinforces the symmetry of the scene. And then she does it again and again in deliriously perfect paintings like “Sand Storm” and “Messengers” (both from 1932) and “Even Song,” from 1934, in which an immense vase aglow with inner fire, releases tendrils of smoke, flanked by two white shapes reminiscent of O’Keeffe cattle skulls.At the Whitney, she nails it for the first time in the 1929 “Star Gazer,” where a multicolored bud stands like a pilgrim, offering itself to an azure vase, behind which brilliant red hills soften into the distance. A single star reinforces the symmetry of the scene. And then she does it again and again in deliriously perfect paintings like “Sand Storm” and “Messengers” (both from 1932) and “Even Song,” from 1934, in which an immense vase aglow with inner fire, releases tendrils of smoke, flanked by two white shapes reminiscent of O’Keeffe cattle skulls.
The relatively severe “Day” opens a door to the beyond with a flourish of dancing lines that conjure a chandelier. And “Ahmi in Egypt” has a lushly hued profusion of forms despite its rather too Disneyesque gold-collared swan. In the eccentric “Mother of Silence” of 1933, a rotund Buddha-like shape evokes an ethereal version of Picasso’s 1905-6 portrait of Gertrude Stein. (Pelton said she was channeling her own mother through this being, seeking advice about her paintings.)The relatively severe “Day” opens a door to the beyond with a flourish of dancing lines that conjure a chandelier. And “Ahmi in Egypt” has a lushly hued profusion of forms despite its rather too Disneyesque gold-collared swan. In the eccentric “Mother of Silence” of 1933, a rotund Buddha-like shape evokes an ethereal version of Picasso’s 1905-6 portrait of Gertrude Stein. (Pelton said she was channeling her own mother through this being, seeking advice about her paintings.)
After the last Pelton retrospective, 25 years ago, her achievement receded from view. That seems unlikely this time. The Whitney show underscores too tellingly the lesson of the Guggenheim’s Hilma af Klint exhibition, that the largely all-male narrative of modernist abstraction needs reworking, with much more credit to female artists and their implicitly feminist embrace of spirituality, a field of study broached by the art historian Susan L. Aberth in her essay in the Phoenix catalog. Let’s put it this way: Hilma af Klint and Agnes Pelton did not act alone.After the last Pelton retrospective, 25 years ago, her achievement receded from view. That seems unlikely this time. The Whitney show underscores too tellingly the lesson of the Guggenheim’s Hilma af Klint exhibition, that the largely all-male narrative of modernist abstraction needs reworking, with much more credit to female artists and their implicitly feminist embrace of spirituality, a field of study broached by the art historian Susan L. Aberth in her essay in the Phoenix catalog. Let’s put it this way: Hilma af Klint and Agnes Pelton did not act alone.
Agnes Pelton: Desert TranscendentalistAgnes Pelton: Desert Transcendentalist
Through June 28 at the Whitney Museum of American Art, 99 Gansevoort Street, Manhattan; 212-570-3600, whitney.org.Through June 28 at the Whitney Museum of American Art, 99 Gansevoort Street, Manhattan; 212-570-3600, whitney.org.
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