The Brooklyn Rail

If you would picture the exhibition Anne Truitt: Pioneer of Minimal Art as a small town, the main square would be marked by a group of nine erect sculptures. Two such works, Toth (1983) and Evensong (2004), are rectangular columns in a minimal style. As a group, they are the most eye-catching works in the show. Similar in volume, most of them are slightly larger than life, and together they make a vivid impression, as though they are figures gathered on a square. Each has its own character, thanks to the way color is applied. The colors, and this is significant, do not just follow the form of the column, but create subdivisions, sometimes crossing over a corner and in other cases marking a horizontal band at the foot of the sculpture. Truitt used color to counterbalance the plastic form, and in her work it seems to have its own agenda.

In a short movie that is projected in the exhibition, Truitt can be seen noting that color can make things heavy, give them gravity, but it can also lift them up, and this was a quality she was particularly interested in—to lift things, to set them free through color. In order for that to happen, you need to take into account aspects such as saturation, value, and hue. The combination of these formal elements, and the amount that is used, will define if a color is going to sing, how it will vibrate, or if it will drop dead. It may sound as if Truitt approached color in a theoretical way, but the opposite is true. She learned through practice and experience, and strove for a certain effect, such as making material turn immaterial. She could achieve this by sanding the surface very smooth after priming it with gesso and applying many layers of colors. Truitt worked with precision, and this is something which can be felt throughout the exhibition, however her use of intuitive color joins this precision in form and scale.

In the early years, Truitt made some works that are quite solid in appearance. Hardcastle (1962) is a piece that simply consists of an upright, dark plane and two red wedges propped up behind it to hold it up. The whole thing rests on a pedestal. This sculpture is nothing but itself: a plank being supported and displaying proudly what is necessary to keep it upright as an object. Then, around the corner, there is again an example of Truitt’s lightness. In the painting Truitt ’69 (1969), a field of light yellow is layered next to pink, but between them is a divide, an open zip of raw canvas underneath. The proximity of these two works creates a dynamic contrast in atmosphere, establishing a matter-of-fact sensibility on the one hand, and her ability to make ethereal, airy works on the other.

Particularly dark is the series “Pith” (2001–2004) which the artist made in the aftermath of September 11, 2001. Truitt chose black canvas, with edges that had been raked out into threads. Yet again, this memorializing work is contrasted with Truitt’s sense of light. Displayed in an adjacent room are the works from her “Arundel” series, that show little variations and the subtle movement of white on white. If these were the only works of Truitt exhibited, I’m not sure if that would be enough to be convinced. However, within this retrospective, they fill something in, and give insight into how far the artist stretched in her research of color. After seeing these series in close proximity, it is rewarding to return to the piazza, and see the group of columns that somehow bind all of these aspects together: balancing both gravity and lightness, both color and black and white.

Another narrative that can be developed around Truitt is her medium-fluidity. While some works establish her as a true sculptor, in other works, like those from her black and white series, the first reference is that of painting. However, being formal or choosing a medium is not the issue here. It is really about what a work causes; how an atmosphere or feeling of weight is being established. As a Minimalist, Truitt is not very strict, as can be seen in a painting like Echo (1973), where the top of a large rectangular color field is horizontal, slightly bending downwards to the left, which shows the artist’s handwork and subtly disrupts the balance of the painting. While for some Minimalists, the credo was “what you see is what you get,” with Truitt’s work it feels more like “what you see is just the start.” You find yourself drawn in, looking twice, and then connecting to the spirit of the work.

Talking about narratives, one should not forget the writings of Truitt. A parallel practice, such as her Daybook (1982), gives insight into her thoughts about making work and being an artist. Adopting a slightly melancholic and reflective style of prose, the artist makes sure that nothing is overstated through her precise ability to observe and look at things with some distance. But in her writing, she is also keen to account for the moments of happiness that come with living the life of an artist. It might come with hardships (it certainly did for her) but it is a blessing to spend a lifetime working on color, to find the right amount of it, to make it work, and to set it free. “Enough color is like enough mashed potatoes,” she said. “It needs to be enough, to have it whole.”