1. dappledwithshadow:

    Pierre Bonnard in his studio, and a detail of his palette.

    Le Cannet, France 1945

     
  2. aqqindex:

Agnes Martin

    aqqindex:

    Agnes Martin

     
  3. Bonnard - original lithograph cover for Verve, 1938 via

    Bonnard - original lithograph cover for Verve, 1938 via

     
  4. Atelier Pica Pica
     
  5. exasperated-viewer-on-air:

Tal R - Framer at Night, 2012
rabbit glue and pigment on canvas
96 × 78 3/4 in / 243.8 × 200 cm

    exasperated-viewer-on-air:

    Tal R - Framer at Night, 2012

    rabbit glue and pigment on canvas

    96 × 78 3/4 in / 243.8 × 200 cm

     
  6. bofransson:

Palazzo Dario Claude Oscar Monet - 1908

    bofransson:

    Palazzo Dario Claude Oscar Monet - 1908

     
  7. "Smith’s art becomes hermetic, but no less interesting, in Julie’s Figinal Fitness (1964), a mottled teal colored canvas with a small red and white sticker applied to it. The sticker resembles a domino and, judging by the materials, it may be painted. I looked up ‘figinal’ and found nothing for it, the title suggests physical fitness but this takes me nowhere. Smith’s idiomatic sound play in this title sounds made-up and Joycean and it keeps me repeating in my head “Julie’s Figinal Fitness.” The painting has a kind of resistance to understanding I can like in art, rather than be frustrated by. Smith doesn’t handle her materials and her subject coyly, so I don’t get the feeling that she is hiding meaning from me, or is venturing into coded irony; rather I get the sense that whatever this thing is, it is just that and exists precisely as Smith made it – representation or primary object.” (via)

    "Smith’s art becomes hermetic, but no less interesting, in Julie’s Figinal Fitness (1964), a mottled teal colored canvas with a small red and white sticker applied to it. The sticker resembles a domino and, judging by the materials, it may be painted. I looked up ‘figinal’ and found nothing for it, the title suggests physical fitness but this takes me nowhere. Smith’s idiomatic sound play in this title sounds made-up and Joycean and it keeps me repeating in my head “Julie’s Figinal Fitness.” The painting has a kind of resistance to understanding I can like in art, rather than be frustrated by. Smith doesn’t handle her materials and her subject coyly, so I don’t get the feeling that she is hiding meaning from me, or is venturing into coded irony; rather I get the sense that whatever this thing is, it is just that and exists precisely as Smith made it – representation or primary object.” (via)

     
  8. And what is a gesture? Something on the order of the supplement to an act. An act is transitive; its sole purpose is to have an effect upon an object or to achieve a result. A gesture is the indetermined and inexhaustible sum of motives, pulsations, and lassitudes that surround the act with an atmosphere (in the astronomical sense of the term). We can distinguish between the message, which wants to produce information, the sign, which wants to produce intellection, and the gesture, which produces all the rest (the “supplement”) without perhaps really wanting to produce anything at all. The artist (and let’s keep this somewhat kitschy word a little while longer) is a performer of gestures by definition. He wants to produce an effect, but at the same time he couldn’t care less. And the effects he produces are not necessarily effects that he wanted to produce; they are effects that have rebounded, spilled over, and escaped, effects that come back to him full circle and provoke modifications, deviations, and diminishments of their own traces. Gesture, in fact, abolishes the distinction between cause and effect, motivation and target, expression and persuasion.”

    Starting out from writing (a field of causalities par excellence since one writes, one presumes, to communicate), a series of useless explosions that are not even the interpretations of letters manage to suspend the active nature of writing along with the tissue of its motivations, its aesthetic motivations as well: writing is nowhere and no longer to be found, it is absolutely de trop. And one wonders if it isn’t at this extreme limit that one finds the true beginning of man’s “art,” “texts,” and everything else that is “useless” - his perversions, his excesses.”

    -from Roland Barthes’ essay in ‘Cy Twombly: Fifty Years of Work on Paper’.

     
  9. via
     
  10. emilyauchincloss:

    Richard Diebenkorn