May 24 to June 30, 2018
530 West 24th Street, between Tenth and Elventh avenues
New York City, berrycampbell.com

Talk of “purity” is usually best resisted in relation to works of visual art. What sort of uninflected content or form can really ever be referred to by it, after all? Jill Nathanson’s structured pourings of clear and vivid color, however, suggest the creator’s affinity with the powers of her painted medium in their most abstract sense. Beyond the transparency of the paint itself, which leads the viewer into impressions of these paintings as something aquatically pristine, there is an overall attitude of clarity and resolution in these strong and searching works. In contrast to much contemporary abstraction, Nathanson’s paintings have more to do with elucidation than complication, and seem distilled from deeply thought-through relationships of light, space, color and gravity.

Like music – which is alluded to in the titles of this show and many works in it — the effect of Nathanson’s abstraction is built through processes of nuance and variation. In her case, the paintings expand thematically from a dominant motif of large translucent shapes that gather, overlap and appear suspended within the canvas. The edges of the forms echo both the blooming motion of a horizontal pour-and-tilt of paint, and the constraint of a taped limitation. These shape-edges generate a quiet dynamism, wandering whip-like through the radial forms of Evening Pinwheel (2017) or gracefully falling in parabolic arcs in larger works like Chant (2018) and Holding Summer (2017). Depending on the configuration, Nathanson’s forms may slowly lead the eye into what may feel like a vast space, or appear to veil some kind of more intimate enclosure. This conjuring of scale seems deliberate and controlled – and the effect, in each painting, is of a world contained and complete.

Color has been the central subject and shaping force in Nathanson ’s works for several years. While the odd moments of chromatic dissonance make it clear that her paintings are not trying too hard to please, they are often their best when channeling the most vivid brilliance and the softest, most inviting tints. Bold petal-pinks and out-and-out corals come as a genuine surprise, as do purples and crimsons that slip in a single gaze between warm and cool effect. The real uniqueness of Nathanson’s use of color comes, however, from the hard-won translucency of her medium that allows for the development of richly complex transitions and passages. The play of color in Leitmotif (2018), for example, from burnished orange to cool violet and unplaceable shades of sienna, sets up a wildly active picture plane. Individual areas of color advance and recede in varying degrees as the eye ascends and descends the ladder-like composition, here perhaps most directly recalling a melody assembled from disparate pitches and intensities.

In other works, such as Morning’s Address (2017), indirect associations with color transitions in the natural world might be permitted: the delicate difference in the shade of a rock above and below the water’s surface; the landscape beneath the shadow of a quickly scudding cloud; two overlapping leaves. This particular composition culminates in a kind of crescendo of bright white at the bottom of the canvas, as if marking the exact moment that the morning’s first rays appear. Despite their overtly non-referential aspect, Nathanson’s colors feel harvested from sensations of all that is sunlit.

Nathanson originally came to making these works through experimental small collages made from colored gel lenses used for theatrical lighting. The gels, which allow for color to be mixed as light, are an important reminder of the life of color in its fullest sense, for the paint pigment is only a conduit for a spectrum of energy. The “purity” initially intuited in Nathanson’s paintings might in fact be more akin to “immateriality,” as the works seem to suggest a departure from color as a physically grounded phenomenon towards a powerful, though weightless, force acting upon us.

The most exciting works in Cadence are also the most ambitious. Key of Be (2016) hints at risks taken in its mirror-and–tunnel like composition, resulting in refracted pairings of turquoises and oranges. In Thoroughfare (2017), an improbably assertive lavender sail shape brings angular energy into the more regular undulations of Nathanson’s forms. Both works point towards further possibilities for the striking approach so clearly established in these paintings, and suggest that Nathanson’s abstraction will avoid the danger of becoming set or static, and instead remain fluid, vital and entirely compelling.

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Fellow artists often speak of collectors in hushed tones as if referring to some exotic species, one that is difficult to understand let alone  attract. The press might in part be responsible for spreading myths about collectors delighting in stories describing herd behavior at art fairs and, as described in an article in The New York Observer, “The Rise of the Insta-collector.”

But some collectors I know are of another breed.  Or more to the point, they are actually individuals: thoughtful people, confident in their ability to learn and make up their own minds about anything, including art.   These are people who want to live with art they love, and are committed to learning by looking as widely and deeply as necessary to allow them to live with serious art made in their moment.  They’re curating — often for their kids — a space of honest cultural values, rather than investing in commodities.

I want to argue that one way this can happen is when collectors develop their “eye” often with the help of someone in the art world who will take time to show them lots of art intelligently, respectfully and without undue self-interest.   More people would buy art in this way, I would like to suggest, if they could learn about art in non-manipulative settings: the opposite of the “art as investment” teaching model.

Collectors who buy work that is critically esteemed but not necessarily a good investment are essential to the real life of art, yet they are generally “under the radar.”  These are not people who want something for “over the couch.”  They often use an advisor or consultant to start out, but their goal is to learn to trust their own responses.

This may seem so natural that it doesn’t bear saying, but while the art fairs are multiplying, this “normal” collecting, though less prevalent, might be on the rise.  There are many intelligent adults of middle age who loved and even bought art when they were young.  They left off in the 1980s when it all got complicated: trend followed trend while gallerists learned “attitude’ and price manipulation at auction.  When these art lovers return to the gallery scene now, usually with a friend or some kinds of guide, they’re amazed by how much work speaks to them.  And they are equally amazed that there is good work that is affordable, having read in the newspapers the astronomical prices art goes for at auction.  I’d like to describe two of the collectors I know who buy for love.

Joel and Ulrika bought a painting of mine in 2002 when I was showing at Elizabeth Harris Gallery.  At that time, they had a respectable collection that included abstract painters from Sweden where they were born and three great modernist drawings.  Early on, Joel was shown around by David Neuman, who went on to found Magasin 3 Konsthall in Stokholm.   Once together, Ulrika and Joel bought a number of abstract expressionist works: a Robert de Niro, Sr., an Esteban Vicente, some beautiful Hans Hofmann drawings, a small Louise Nevelson, a Louise Fishman, a Robert Therrien sculpture, set next to work by total unknowns.  The question of current prices came up, to which Joel said, ”I don’t know and I don’t care”.  The collection, which is a sort of family, goes off in various directions, and they now have a Michal Rovner video piece that lives very well with the rest.   Joel speaks disparagingly of collectors who match their art with the period of their décor or who ”buy the brand names, the Warhol or whatever”.

A few years ago, Mayann Butler, a long-time dealer and friend, introduced them to Lori Bookstein and the paintings of John Dubrow, specifically his portraits.  They had never been interested in the idea of portraits before (Ulrika said she found them “weird” when she sees them in homes) but they loved Dubrow’s work and began to think: first one, then a second teenager would soon fly the coop for college.  So they commissioned Dubrow to paint their family of five.  Dubrow doesn’t use photographs so the family sat for three months, once a week.  The teenagers had to be out of their rooms with their family, the apples had to be the same in the bowl and clothing and light had to be consistent.  The result is a masterwork. The painting’s structure, so formal yet utterly relaxed, realizes the uniqueness of the moment for the family and for each sitter.

I can’t think of another family who would have commissioned such a painting or gone through the demanding process of being painted. Process and product both reflect the couple’s total confidence in their judgment and in the painter’s work, as well as their experience of living with works of art  that have held up over decades.

Marcy and Bennett  were busy with life and three kids too.  They didn’t buy any art until the kid were teens. They first bought a painting from me because we knew one another and they liked it.  They asked me to show them around and I did.  We went to many shows; ones I would have wanted to see anyway and ones I might have skipped. I just exposed them to work.  It wasn’t long before they were able to compare the works they saw to one another and make distinctions.  Looking at reviews, they saw that their own responses were often corroborated. They found they were learning about themselves through the process; there was a lot they liked but what they chose to live with reflected what they each cared about.  They began to trust themselves, but they thought hard about each painting and continued looking broadly.  They responded to a Leon Berkowitz at Gary Snyder, an Atta Kwami at Howard Scott, a Melissa Meyer in a show at the New York Studio School.  They bought works on paper by Ellsworth Kelly, Serra and Marden  through a consultant; but also a David Poppy from Pavel Zoubek, another small Nathanson from Messineo/Wyman and an Elizabeth Huey from Thorpe.  Over about eight years, they have put together a unique contemporary collection of works that touched them personally; this has a value quite distinct from buying “brand names” for investment.  The collection has a distinct personality; a group of works full of surprising decisions that seem to be built of both paradox and light.

Some collectors, while not buying as an investment, would nonetheless like their art to retain its value at auction, should they ever need to recoup the expense.  But others  realize that since many contemporary artists don’t have a record of sales at auction, this concern will radically narrow the field.

When people begin to collect they have a lot to learn and there are seemingly endless options.  There’s risk involved:  you might buy something you later dislike. It’s easy to confuse this concern with fear of financial risk.  The art world moves fast, making judgment a challenge.  Artists, curators, writers and patient gallerists can communicate what we know to collectors who are excited about looking at and discussing art, balancing the influence of the art-as-speculation environment

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You can get lost in the mind of Jill Nathanson. In her captivating seven-piece series, the air we swim in, overlapping planes of translucent color generate expansive surfaces rich with free-form shapes.  These ethereal paintings seem weightless in the way they evoke slow, sliding movement.  She paints “the world of things,” in her own words, but her abstraction is assuredly non-objective.  Bowtie (2012) has the closest visual connection between an object’s tangibility and Nathanson’s depiction of it.  Two triangular orange planes converge at a minute point.  She is fond of such compositional devices, allowing a mixture of soft and energetic colors to develop into a heightened moment of alluring tension.  Just when we’re immersed in the deep layers of polymer resin, patches of acrylic bring us back to reality.

Jill Nathanson, Bowtie, 2012. Synthetic Polymer and Acrylic on Panel, 18 x 18 inches. Courtesy of the Artist and Messineo Art Projects/Wyman Contemporary

Remains on view through December 20 at  511 West 25th Street, Suite 504, between 10th and 11th avenues, New York City, 212-414-0827

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