Martin Puryear (b. 1941) is my new favorite living artist. In late September, Bob and I were invited to the MFA Boston's special opening of his retrospective, "Nexus," thanks to sculptor Elizabeth King, a good friend, who lent a small piece to the show. It had been given to her in an exchange by Puryear. We'd watched a preview on a Zoom presentation for MFA members, but seeing it all for real was a reminder of how inadequate online viewing is, especially when trying to experience three-dimensional objects. Over his fifty-year career, Puryear has worked in wood, marble, cast iron, aluminum, brick, rawhide, and with found objects. He has also been commissioned to make big public artworks. Some of the forty-five pieces in this show are about his love of nature (Elizabeth's falcon, for instance, seen on the wall on the right). Others are about the history of African Americans -- like the Sally Hemings piece (that Bob is looking at). Shown at the Venice Biennale in 2019, it consists of the form of a long, pleated skirt in white marble literally penetrated by a rusty pole topped by an oversized wrist shackle. More eloquent than any number of books on the subject, it does not have a "face," only a kind of exploitable "body."
In 1977, Puryear's Brooklyn studio caught fire and he lost a body of work. He moved on. Like being ill or downed by an injury for a period of time (see my essay "The Bedridden Artist"), an experience like that can be devastating for anyone, or it can be seized as an opportunity, in which old ways of being are jettisoned, and new ways are imagined and embraced. That was Puryear's response, as noted in a wall label.
The red piece in the background is titled "Big Phrygian," after the curved cap worn by freed slaves in ancient Rome and later adopted by American revolutionaries and then French ones as a symbol of defiance and liberty. It was at first off-putting to me. It seemed almost alive, like a living, breathing animal, and perhaps not serious enough for its weighty theme, since, being oversize, its tone is almost comical. Elizabeth's dignified falcon, by contrast, immediately drew me, as I tried to imagine how wonderful it must be to live with it as she does, when it's back home in Richmond. But once "Big Phrygian" grabbed me, I found it hard to look away. I find it pure Puryear: a quietly profound signature piece, eminently hopeful and, yes, humorous in an impish way. Try stifling that, it seems to say.
In 1977, Puryear's Brooklyn studio caught fire and he lost a body of work. He moved on. Like being ill or downed by an injury for a period of time (see my essay "The Bedridden Artist"), an experience like that can be devastating for anyone, or it can be seized as an opportunity, in which old ways of being are jettisoned, and new ways are imagined and embraced. That was Puryear's response, as noted in a wall label.
The red piece in the background is titled "Big Phrygian," after the curved cap worn by freed slaves in ancient Rome and later adopted by American revolutionaries and then French ones as a symbol of defiance and liberty. It was at first off-putting to me. It seemed almost alive, like a living, breathing animal, and perhaps not serious enough for its weighty theme, since, being oversize, its tone is almost comical. Elizabeth's dignified falcon, by contrast, immediately drew me, as I tried to imagine how wonderful it must be to live with it as she does, when it's back home in Richmond. But once "Big Phrygian" grabbed me, I found it hard to look away. I find it pure Puryear: a quietly profound signature piece, eminently hopeful and, yes, humorous in an impish way. Try stifling that, it seems to say.
RSS Feed
