Specific Objects
Donald Judd
Half or more of the best new work in the last few years has been neither painting nor
sculpture. Usually it has been related, closely or distantly, to one or the other. The work is
diverse, and much in it that is not in painting and sculpture is also diverse. But there are
some things that occur nearly in common.
The new three-dimensional work doesn't constitute a movement, school or style. The
common aspects are too general and too little common to define a movement. The
differences are greater than the similarities. The similarities are selected from the work;
they aren't a movement's first principles or delimiting rules. Three-dimensionality is not as
near being simply a container as painting and sculpture have seemed to be, but it tends
to that. But now painting and sculpture are less neutral, less containers, more defined,
not undeniable and unavoidable. They are particular forms circumscribed after all,
producing fairly definite qualities. Much of the motivation in the new work is to get clear of
these forms. The use of three dimensions is an obvious alternative. It opens to anything.
Many of the reasons for this use are negative, points against painting and sculpture, and
since both are common sources, the negative reasons are those nearest commonage.
"The motive to change is always some uneasiness: nothing setting us upon the change
of state, or upon any new action, but some uneasiness." The positive reasons are more
particular. Another reason for listing the insufficiencies of painting and sculpture first is
that both are familiar and their elements and qualities more easily located.
The objections to painting and sculpture are going to sound more intolerant than they are.
There are qualifications. The disinterest in painting and sculpture is a disinterest in doing
it again, not in it as it is being done by those who developed the last advanced versions.
New work always involves objections to the old, but these objections are really relevant
only to the new. They are part of it. If the earlier work is first-rate it is complete. New
inconsistencies and limitations aren't retroactive; they concern only work that is being
developed. Obviously, three-dimensional work will not cleanly succeed painting and
sculpture. It's not like a movement; anyway, movements no longer work; also, linear
history has unraveled somewhat. The new work exceeds painting in plain power, but
power isn't the only consideration, though the difference between it and expression can't
be too great either. There are other ways than power and form in which one kind of art
can be more or less than another. Finally, a flat and rectangular surface is too handy to
give up. Some things can be done only on a flat surface. Lichtenstein's representation of
a representation is a good instance. But this work which is neither painting nor sculpture
challenges both. It will have to be taken into account by new artists. It will probably
change painting and sculpture.
The main thing wrong with painting is that it is a rectangular plane placed flat against the
wall. A
rectangle is a shape itself; it is obviously the whole shape; it determines and limits
the arrangement of whatever is on or inside of it. In work before 1946 the edges of the
rectangle are a boundary, the end of the picture. The composition must react to the
edges and the rectangle must be unified, but the shape of the rectangle is not stressed;
the parts are more important, and the relationships of color and form occur among them.
In the paintings of Pollock, Rothko, Still and Newman, and more recently of Reinhardt
and Noland, the
rectangle is emphasized. The elements inside the rectangle are broad
and simple and correspond closely to the
rectangle. The shapes and surface are only
those which can occur plausibly within and on a rectangular plane. The parts are few and
so subordinate to the unity as not to be parts in an ordinary sense. A painting is nearly an
entity, one thing, and not the indefinable sum of a group of entities and references. The
one thing overpowers the earlier painting. It also establishes the
rectangle as a definite
form; it is no longer a fairly neutral limit. A form can be used only in so many ways. The
rectangular plane is given a life span. The simplicity required to emphasize the rectangle
limits the arrangements possible within it. The sense of singleness also has a duration,
but it is only beginning and has a better future outside of painting. Its occurrence in
painting now looks like a beginning, in which new forms are often made from earlier
schemes and materials.
The plane is also emphasized and nearly single. It is clearly a plane one or two inches in
front of another plane, the wall, and parallel to it. The relationship of the
two planes is
specific; it is a form. Everything on or slightly in the plane of the painting must be
arranged laterally.
Almost all paintings are spatial in one way or another.
Yves Klein's blue paintings are the
only ones that are unspatial, and there is little that is nearly unspatial, mainly Stella's
work. It's possible that not much can be done with both an upright rectangular plane and
an absence of space. Anything on a surface has space behind it.
Two colors on the same
surface almost always lie on different depths. An even color, especially in oil paint,
covering all or much of a painting is almost always both flat and infinitely spatial. The
space is shallow in all of the work in which the rectangular plane is stressed. Rothko's
space is shallow and the soft rectangles are parallel to the plane, but the space is almost
traditionally illusionistic. In Reinhardt's paintings, just back from the plane of the canvas,
there is a flat plane and this seems in turn indefinitely deep. Pollock's paint is obviously
on the canvas, and the space is mainly that made by any marks on a surface, so that it is
not very descriptive and illusionistic. Noland's concentric bands are not as specifically
paint-on-a-surface as Pollock's paint, but the bands flatten the literal space more. As flat
and unillusionistic as Noland's paintings are, the bands do advance and recede. Even a
single circle will warp the surface to it, will have a little space behind it.
Except for a complete and unvaried field of color or
marks, anything spaced in a
rectangle and on a plane suggests something in and on something else, something in its
surround, which suggests an object or figure in its space, in which these are clearer
instances of a similar world - that's the main purpose of painting. The recent paintings
aren't completely single. There are a few dominant areas,
Rothko's
rectangles or
Noland's circles, and there is the area around them. There is a gap between the main
forms, the most expressive parts, and the rest of the canvas, the plane and the rectangle.
The central forms still occur in a wider and indefinite context, although the singleness of
the paintings abridges the general and solipsistic quality of earlier work. Fields are also
usually not limited, and they give the appearance of sections cut from something
indefinitely larger.
Oil paint and canvas aren't as strong as commercial paints and as the colors and
surfaces of materials, especially if the materials are used in three dimensions. Oil and
canvas are familiar and, like the rectangular plane, have a certain quality and have limits.
The quality is especially identified with art.
The new work obviously resembles sculpture more than it does painting, but it is nearer
to painting. Most sculpture is like the painting which preceded
Pollock, Rothko, Still and
Newman. The newest thing about it is its broad scale. Its materials are somewhat more
emphasized than before. The imagery involves a couple of salient resemblances to other
visible things and a number of more oblique references, everything generalized to
compatibility. The parts and the space are allusive, descriptive and somewhat
naturalistic. Higgins' sculpture is an example, and, dissimilary, Di Suvero's. Higgins'
sculpture mainly suggests machines and truncated bodies. Its combination of plaster and
metal is more specific.
Di Suvero uses beams as if they were brush strokes, imitating
movement, as Kline did. The material never has its own movement. A beam thrusts, a
piece of iron follows a gesture; together they form a naturalistic and anthropomorphic
image. The space corresponds.
Most sculpture is made part by part, by
addition, composed. The main parts remain fairly
discrete. They and the small parts are a collection of variations, slight through great.
There are hierarchies of clarity and strength and of proximity to one or two main ideas.
Wood and metal are the usual materials, either alone or together, and if together it is
without much of a contrast. There is seldom any color. The middling contrast and the
natural monochrome are general and help to unify the parts.
There is little of any of this in the new three-dimensional work. So far the most obvious
difference within this diverse work is between that which is something of an object, a
single thing, and that which is open and extended, more or less environmental. There
isn't as great a difference in their nature as in their appearance, though. Oldenburg and
others have done both. There are precedents for some of the characteristics of the new
work. The parts are usually subordinate and not separate as in Arp's sculpture and often
in Brancusi's. Duchamp's ready-mades and other Dada objects are also seen at once
and not part by part. Cornell's boxes have too many parts to seem at first to be
structured.
Part-by-part structure can't be too simple or too complicated. It has to seem orderly. The
degree of Arp's abstraction, the moderate extent of his reference to the human body,
neither imitative nor very oblique, is unlike the imagery of most of the new threedimensional
work. Duchamp's bottle-drying rack is close to some of it. The work of Johns
and Rauschenberg and assemblage and low-relief generally, Ortman's reliefs for
example, are preliminaries. Johns's few cast objects and a few of Rauschenberg's works,
such as the goat with the tire, are beginnings.
Some European paintings are related to objects, Klein's for instance, and Castellani's,
which have unvaried fields of low-relief elements. Arman and a few others work in three
dimensions. Dick Smith did some large pieces in London with canvas stretched over
cockeyed parallelepiped frames and with the surfaces painted as if the pieces were
paintings.
Philip King, also in London, seems to be making objects. Some of the work on
the West Coast seems to be along this line, that of Larry Bell, Kenneth Price, Tony Delap,
York having some or most of the characteristics is that by
George Brecht, Ronald Bladen,
John Willenbecher, Ralph Ortiz, Anne Truitt, Paul Harris, Barry McDowell, John
Chamberlain, Robert Tanner, Aaron Kuriloff, Robert Morris, Nathan Raisen, Tony Smith,
Richard Navin,
Claes Oldenburg,
Robert Watts, Yoshimura, John Anderson, Harry
Soviak, Yayoi Kusama, Frank Stella, Salvatore Scarpitta, Neil Williams, George Segal,
Michael Snow, Richard Artschwager, Arakawa, Lucas Samaras, Lee Bontecou, Dan
artists do both three-dimensional work and paintings. A small amount of the work of
others, Warhol and Rosenquist for instance, is three-dimensional.
The composition and imagery of
Chamberlain's work is primarily the same as that of
earlier painting, but these are secondary to an appearance of disorder and are at first
concealed by the material. The crumpled tin tends to stay that way. It is neutral at first,
not artistic, and later seems objective. When the structure and imagery become apparent,
there seems to be too much tin and space, more chance and casualness than order. The
aspects of neutrality, redundancy and form and imagery could not be coextensive without
three dimensions and without the particular material. The color is also both natural and
sensitive and, unlike oil colors, has a wide range. Most color that is integral, other than in
painting, has been used in three-dimensional work. Color is never unimportant, as it
usually is in sculpture.
Stella's shaped paintings involve several important characteristics of three-dimensional
work. The periphery of a piece and the lines inside correspond. The stripes are nowhere
near being discrete parts. The surface is farther from the wall than usual, though it
remains parallel to it. Since the surface is exceptionally unified and involves little or no
space, the parallel plane is unusually distinct. The order is not rationalistic and underlying
but is simply order, like that of continuity, one thing after another. A painting isn't an
image. The shapes, the unity, projection, order and color are specific, aggressive and
powerful.
Painting and sculpture have become set forms. A fair amount of their meaning isn't
credible. The use of three dimensions isn't the use of a given form. There hasn't been
enough time and work to see limits. So far, considered most widely, three dimensions are
mostly a space to move into. The characteristics of three dimensions are those of only a
small amount of work, little compared to painting and sculpture. A few of the more
general aspects may persist, such as the work's being like an object or being specific, but
other characteristics are bound to develop. Since its range is so wide,
three-dimensional
work will probably divide into a number of forms. At any rate, it will be larger than painting
and much larger than sculpture, which, compared to painting, is fairly particular, much
nearer to what is usually called a form, having a certain kind of form. Because the nature
of three dimensions isn't set, given beforehand, something credible can be made, almost
anything. Of course something can be done within a given form, such as painting, but
with some narrowness and less strength and variation. Since sculpture isn't so general a
form, it can probably be only what it is now-which means that if it changes a great deal it
will be something else; so it is finished.
Three dimensions are real space. That gets rid of the problem of illusionism and of literal
space, space in and around marks and colors - which is riddance of one of the salient
and most objectionable relics of European art. The several limits of painting are no longer
present. A work can be as powerful as it can be thought to be. Actual space is intrinsically
more powerful and specific than paint on a flat surface. Obviously, anything in three
dimensions can be any shape, regular or irregular, and can have any relation to the wall,
floor, ceiling, room, rooms or exterior or none at all. Any material can be used, as is or
painted.
A work needs only to be interesting. Most works finally have one quality. In earlier art the
complexity was displayed and built the quality. In recent painting the complexity was in
the format and the few main shapes, which had been made according to various interests
and problems. A painting by
Newman is finally no simpler than one by
Cezanne. In the
three-dimensional work the whole thing is made according to complex purposes, and
these are not scattered but asserted by one form. It isn't necessary for a work to have a
lot of things to look at, to compare, to analyze one by one, to contemplate. The thing as a
whole, its quality as a whole, is what is interesting. The main things are alone and are
more intense, clear and powerful. They are not diluted by an inherited format, variations
of a form, mild contrasts and connecting parts and areas. European art had to represent
a space and its contents as well as have sufficient unity and aesthetic interest. Abstract
painting before 1946 and most subsequent painting kept the representational
subordination of the whole to its parts. Sculpture still does. In the new work the shape,
image, color and surface are single and not partial and scattered. There aren't any
neutral or moderate areas or parts, any connections or transitional areas. The difference
between the new work and earlier painting and present sculpture is like that between one
which is only an undeveloped rectangle as a whole and is mainly a collection of highly
ordered parts.
The use of three dimensions makes it possible to use all sorts of materials and colors.
Most of the work involves new materials, either recent inventions or things not used
before in art. Little was done until lately with the wide range of industrial products. Almost
nothing has been done with industrial techniques and, because of the cost, probably
won't be for some time. Art could be mass-produced, and possibilities otherwise
unavailable, such as stamping, could be used.
Dan Flavin, who uses fluorescent lights,
has appropriated the results of industrial production. Materials vary greatly and are simply
materials—formica, aluminum, cold-rolled steel, plexiglas, red and common brass, and so
forth. They are specific. If they are used directly, they are more specific. Also, they are
usually aggressive. There is an objectivity to the obdurate identity of a material. Also, of
course, the qualities of materials—hard mass, soft mass, thickness of 1/32,1/16,1/8 inch,
pliability, slickness, translucency, dullness—have unobjective uses. The vinyl of
Oldenburg's soft objects looks the same as ever, slick, flaccid and a little disagreeable,
and is objective, but it is pliable and can be sewn and stuffed with air and kapok and
hung or set down, sagging or collapsing. Most of the new materials are not as accessible
as oil on canvas and are hard to relate to one another. They aren't obviously art. The
form of a work and its materials are closely related. In earlier work the structure and the
imagery were executed in some neutral and homogeneous material. Since not many
things are lumps, there are problems in combining the different surfaces and colors and
in relating the parts so as not to weaken the
Three-dimensional work usually doesn't involve ordinary anthropomorphic imagery. If
there is a reference it is single and explicit. In any case the chief interests are obvious.
Each of Bontecou's reliefs is an image. The image, all of the parts and the whole shape
are coextensive. The parts are either part of the hole or part of the mound which forms
the hole. The hole and the mound are only two things, which, after all, are the same
thing. The parts and divisions are either radial or concentric in regard to the hole, leading
in and out and enclosing. The radial and concentric parts meet more or less at right
angles and in detail are structure in the old sense, but collectively are subordinate to the
single form.
Most of the new work has no structure in the usual sense, especially the work of
Oldenburg and
Stella. Chamberlain's work does involve composition. The nature of
Bontecou's single image is not so different from that of images which occurred in a small
way in semiabstract painting. The image is primarily a single emotive one, which alone
wouldn't resemble the old imagery so much, but to which internal and external
references, such as violence and war, have been added. The additions are somewhat
pictorial, but the image is essentially new and surprising; an image has never before
been the whole work, been so large, been so explicit and aggressive. The abatised orifice
is like a strange and dangerous object. The quality is intense and narrow and obsessive.
The boat and the furniture that Kusama covered with white protuberances have a related
intensity and obsessiveness and are also strange objects.
Kusama is interested in
obsessive repetition, which is a single interest. Yves Klein's blue paintings are also
narrow and intense.
The trees, figures, food or furniture in a painting have a shape or contain shapes that are
emotive. Oldenburg has taken this anthropomorphism to an extreme and made the
emotive form, with him basic and biopsychological, the same as the shape of an object,
and by blatancy subverted the idea of the natural presence of human qualities in all
things. And further, Oldenburg avoids trees and people. All of Oldenburg's grossly
anthropomorphized objects are manmade - which right away is an empirical matter.
Someone or many made these things and incorporated their preferences. As practical as
an ice-cream cone is, a lot of people made a choice, and more agreed, as to its
appearance and existence. This interest shows more in the recent appliances and
fixtures from the home and especially in the bedroom suite, where the choice is flagrant.
Oldenburg exaggerates the accepted or chosen form and turns it into one of his own.
Nothing made is completely objective, purely practical or merely present. Oldenburg gets
along very well without anything that would ordinarily be called structure. The ball and
cone of the large ice-cream cone are enough. The whole thing is a profound form, such
as sometimes occurs in primitive art. Three fat layers with a small one on top are enough.
So is a flaccid, flamingo switch draped from two points. Simple form and one or two
colors are considered less by old standards. If changes in art are compared backwards,
there always seems to be a reduction, since only old attributes
are counted and these are always fewer. But obviously new things are more, such as
Oldenburg's techniques and materials. Oldenburg needs three dimensions in order to
simulate and enlarge a real object and to equate it and an emotive form. If a hamburger
were painted it would retain something of the traditional anthropomorphism. George
Brecht and
Robert Morris use real objects and depend on the viewer's knowledge of
these objects.
Source:
Thomas Kellein,
Donald Judd: Early Work, 1955-1968, New York: D.A.P., 2002.
Originally published in
Arts Yearbook 8, 1965.
