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A critical celebration
"Watercolor," Oct. 15-Nov. 16, 2003, at the New York Studio School of Drawing, Painting and Sculpture, 8 West 8th Street, New York, N.Y. 10011

Artnet is the proud media sponsor of "Watercolor," a major exhibition of recent works by 40 contemporary artists that will redefine our sense of the nature and practice of this medium. Artnet's support takes the form of a specially commissioned series of articles on individual works in the show. Each appreciation is written by a different critic and is the personal pick of that writer.


Marlene Dumas
How Low Can You Go?
How Low Can You Go? by Marlene Dumas
by Barry Schwabsky

It's not often that I find my breath taken away by an artwork in reproduction. It happened this time. Why? Maybe because of the unusual way Marlene Dumas has used the medium of watercolor, her emphasis being not so much on the second part of the compound word, exploiting its potential for brilliant color -- using it, that is, as a particularly transparent form of painting -- so much as on the first part: as a particularly fluid, mercurial kind of drawing. And then the fluency, the lightness of touch, and above all the theatricality that give this piece its rococo energy. Also the difficulty and strangeness of the model's pose: the way her feet seem to be lifted up so that she's standing on the balls of her toes, and at the same time bowing as far forward and down as she possibly can -- an off-balance position that does not prevent her from seeming in complete control. Not to mention how those amazingly powerful hands set off the dancer's discipline and gracefulness of the model's body. I've often said that in contemporary figurative art, the painting (or in this case the drawing) is not there to put across the image; rather, the image is there to put across the drawing. Why does this ravishingly awkward/agile drawing incline itself so profoundly to my gaze, thereby (paradoxically) shielding itself and offering, after all, only the chastest of scopophilic pleasures? Who am I, according to this drawing?

BARRY SCHWABSKY is author of The Widening Circle: The Consequences of Modernism in Contemporary Art (Cambridge University Press).


Ray Kass

Susan Shatter
Atlantic by Ray Kass, and Wave by Susan Shatter
by Jennifer Coates

An image of water painted in watercolor reveals an amusing cycle of wet to dry to wet. Dry pigment was made wet. Wet color was swirled in puddles or rubbed in patches on white. Wet dried on white to make an image of wet.

In Atlantic, Ray Kass controlled wet, slowed it down and minimized its usual propensity towards dripping, spilling or drenching. To create the impression of water, he imprinted white with ochres and murky grey greens. The color was added in layers, indirectly: liquid turned static through careful staining. The white of the page and the scrubby patches of color loosely cohered into waves and refracting light. Wet was not wet but dry, and dry faked wet.

Susan Shatter's Wave was more turbulent, convulsive and agitated. Dark blues, yellowy browns and greens bled into each other. Resembling a detail from a Frederick Church painting of Niagara Falls, this specimen of foamy, inky violence accentuated the wetness of the medium. Yet Shatter trained the watercolor to adhere to its inner compulsions in designated zones: pools of pigmented water were punctuated by opaque, linear accents. Wet could be wet, but only sometimes.

Kass and Shatter have exercised material control over unruly water to create comprehensible, romantic microcosms of its unknowable vastness and depth.

JENNIFER COATES is a painter and writer living in New York.


Sylvia Plimack Mangold
The Pin Oak 6/01 (Looking West 5 pm)
The Pin Oak 6/01 (Looking West 5 pm) by Sylvia Plimack Mangold
by Alexandra Anderson-Spivy

In Arts Magazine (Feb., 1974), Linda Nochlin identified Sylvia Mangold as a "pictorial phenomenologist," and described her as "one of the artists (who) tend to affirm the art work as a literal fact, which, while it may have its referent in the actual world, achieves its true effectiveness in direct visual experience, not evocation." Three decades later, Mangold's work remains anchored in exact visual quantifying and a sophisticated understanding of the values of formalist abstraction. From her 1960s paintings of wooden floors to her most recent, extremely beautiful and deceptively straightforward landscapes, her work consistently contains carefully thought-out "information disguised as illusion."

When Mangold moved to Orange County, New York, in the 1970s, the landscape and the changing light became dominant themes in her work. Paintings like this watercolor, The Pin Oak 6/01 (Looking West 5 pm), study the precise effects of light on landscape, especially the light at the transitional times of dawn and dusk. Here, an apparent simplicity of image camouflages the documentary care with which the artist has rendered each leaf and branch in tiny strokes of color that echo Cézanne's "petit sensations." Behind Mangold's cerebral coolness and humility there always lies a passionate attachment to painting and to nature.

ALEXANDRA ANDERSON-SPIVY is former editor in chief of Art & Antiques and author of Foliage: Photographs of Harold Feinstein (Bulfinch Press).


Ena Swansea
Fall by Ena Swansea
by Karen Lehrman

Of the 40 works in this show, Ena Swansea's Fall is the rebellious black sheep. Literally. While the other works rest comfortably on translucent white paper, earnestly allowing light to reflect through the layers of color, Fall perches tensely on untextured, non-reflecting black matboard. While the other works offer an array of vivacious colors, Fall submits only a deadening white and silver.

Then there's the matter of subject. The other works either have no subject or allude to an ambiguous one. The subject of Fall is not only fairly identifiable, but she too was a black sheep: Louise Brooks, the 1930s star who played the Hollywood studio system with proto-feminist cunning.

Fall is an anti-watercolor as much as Brooks was an anti-star. Rather than obscuring Brooks with a myriad of transparent veils, Swansea unsentimentally exposes her. We see a contemplative, rather lonely young woman. Her chalk-white face is free of both make up and deception; her head and upper torso float in a silvery celluloid hell.

KAREN LEHRMAN, executive director of the View Foundation, is writing a book on the substance of style.


Garth Evans
Warren Street No. 27
Warren Street #27 by Garth Evans
by Peter Plagens

Watercolor, obviously, is usually not a sculptor's prime medium. There's Rodin, of course, but the delicate lines around the women he depicts and the powderpuff light orange of their skin has little to do -- other than being by the same hand -- with the twisting weight and baroque melodrama of Rodin's best-known bronzes. And there are contemporary "sculptors" who paint watercolors on the side, but these are mostly hot-glue-gun artists -- or looser -- whose ultra-relaxed idea of what constitutes sculpture facilitates an easy, and superficial, two way conduit between it and watercolor.

Garth Evans is, however, a real sculptor: he makes coherent -- and esthetically coherent -- objects the hard way. You'd think that drawing -- no-nonsense, planning-it-out, practical drawing -- would be his only ancillary medium, with no room for that most pointedly two-dimensional medium (the paper is never hidden), watercolor. Evans's Warren Street #27 (1998) is, however, a beautifully spare, lyrically precise watercolor whose uncanny -- almost miraculous -- sense of sculptural mass is really something to behold.

In Warren Street, a central golden form sits solidly in a uniform blue background while a brighter limp duckbill-like shape within it, folds over. (That's one way of reading it, spatially; Evans's expertise with transparency gives you others, too.) The watercolor's spare luminosity strangely enhances, rather than mitigates, the gold form's sculptural heft. At the same time, the gentle precision of Evans's drawing -- most poignantly (yes, poignantly) in his deft use of a slightly bleeding red pencil line -- turns the form back toward unity with the nocturnal elegance of the whole picture. Warren Street, one of the best little paintings I've seen in a long time, glows.

PETER PLAGENS is a painter and the art critic at Newsweek.


Andrew Forge
Untitled by Andrew Forge
by Karen Wilkin

Andrew Forge's paintings test the limits of both abstractness and perception. His accretions of slow, deliberate marks in unstable, unnamable colors seem to elude being seen at the same time that they become potent evocations of experience. From a close viewpoint, his gatherings of dots and bars can appear to be autonomous, their disjunctive paths and interlaces the result of nothing but Forge's having given free rein to his intuition. Yet from another vantage point, the powerful sense of order that underlies these seemingly random shoals and eddies becomes apparent; hints of geometric structures, perhaps man-made, perhaps fragments of the natural world, begin to assert themselves and then subside once again. It's rather like becoming aware of something through peripheral vision only to have it disappear when you try to focus on it.

This is not to suggest that Forge's pictures are optical puzzles or demonstrations of perceptual phenomena (nor do they have anything to do with Pointillism or Impressionism's divided stroke). Rather, they are intensely present meditations on the nature of painting itself. Forge's pulsing fields can suggest specific times of day or season or weather or place, yet they remain unequivocally about particular amounts of paint willfully placed on a surface of a particular dimension by a particular individual.

In Forge's oils, the proliferation of touches and the density of paint can make the history of the picture's making seem secondary to the impact of the shifting expanse. In his limpid watercolors, process and effect are equal partners. Each thoughtfully placed mark remains distinct, at the same time that the entire fabric of strokes plays with your senses and your sensory memories, triggering wordless associations and then returning you, once again, to the fact of his repetitive, dispassionate, but intensely personal touch. This watercolor is vivid testimony to why Forge recalled thinking that his first "dot" painting was "the realest thing I had ever done."

KAREN WILKIN is an independent curator and critic who writes regularly for The New Criterion, Partisan Review, Hudson Review and Art in America.


Shazia Sikander
Untitled by Shazia Sikander
by Chris Moylan

It is a safe guess that most followers of contemporary visual art have only passing acquaintance with Kangra painting or the iconography of the Rajput and Mughal traditions. The work of Shazia Sikander is a reminder of what they have been missing, and a witty indication of what may yet develop from the emergence and convergence -- of these traditions within the West. A native of Pakistan, where she studied miniature painting, she has lived for most of her professional life a long way from Lahore, in New York and Texas. Something of Lonestar defiance and New York sophistication appears at play in her juxtaposing of Hindu and Islamic reference in her miniatures, and in the sensuality and whimsical lightness of touch she applies within the technical discipline of this form. Placing a veil on a many-armed Hindu goddess, for instance, Sikander drapes the figure in see-through cloth, teasingly invoking stereotypes while paying homage to the genuine bases of their iconographic power through the lengthy and rigorous application of traditional art-making practices. Her miniatures can take months or years to complete. The willingness to traverse cultural and political borders at a time of nuclear threats and counter-threats between Pakistan and India suggests a high degree of artistic bravado and personal courage, not to mention imaginative nimbleness.

In many ways, her untitled piece chosen for inclusion in "Watercolor" would appear to represent a departure from her other projects. The composition, in watercolor and ink, is abstract and simple, a surprise in both respects from an artist so closely associated with figurative, and at times, finely detailed painting. The rich color of her miniatures gives way here to delicate washes and gradations of tone. Neither the biomorphic shapes nor the solid black circular form placed off center among them yield an apparent political or cultural reading. The Kangra dreamscape has evaporated in clouds of color. Yet, there are continuities with Sikander's previous work. In its assured handling of color and calligraphic gesture Sikander expands the reference of her work to Japanese and Chinese traditions of ink drawing and painting, reminding one that her origins, and no doubt to a large degree, her affinities are of the East. The relationships of line and shape, color and blank paper, radiating outer, and warm, amorphous inner of the piece, hint at primary tensions operative within the political and social dynamics of her work. Most important, for this viewer at least, the piece recalls the direct, immediate pleasure of seeing Sikander's work. There is a sense of inevitability about much of her work, a sense that it would be done. Here the pleasures are meditative, nuanced and quiet. It is well worth a visit.

CHRIS MOYLAN is a poet and a professor at the New York Institute of Technology.


Malcolm Morley
George Washington and the Eagle over South Beach
George Washington and the Eagle over South Beach by Malcolm Morley
by David Ebony

Widely regarded as a master watercolorist, Malcolm Morley regularly uses his watercolor studies as the bases for large-scale oil-on-canvas paintings. George Washington and the Eagle over South Beach is Morley at his finest. This vibrant image contains the bravura brushwork, crystalline colors and flamboyant imagery for which the London-born artist, now 72, is best known.

Morley's approach to landscape and seascape painting, especially in watercolor, is peculiarly architectonic. The work on view is an excellent example of the strategy. Here, he organizes the composition in three distinct horizontal bands defined by sand, sea and sky. Two dramatic verticals stabilize the space: a tall palm tree at left center, and on the right, a tall mast topped by an American flag. Once this foundation is established, he builds the image with irregular but solid blocks of pure color. Contrasting hues placed side-by-side result in a shimmering surface, a kind of luminous patchwork not unlike a stained glass window. In the upper portion of the composition, sumptuous washes of pink and blue unify the whole.

The subject matter touches upon one of the artist's favored themes: an ideal pleasure beach at sunset, marking the end of a balmy day in paradise, a temporary and fragile retreat from the violence of the world. Unlike a number of related images that Morley has produced over the years, this one lacks a hint of danger in the form of fighter planes in the sky or any other such signs of armed aggression. Instead, the beach is dotted with comfortable-looking stripped cabanas and beach chairs. Leisure craft dot the water and, on the left, a white luxury liner makes its way out to sea. A row of flagpoles lining the water's edge suggests an international gathering. One can make out the flags of several nations, including Germany, France, Spain, Canada, Brazil and Japan. Above all, Old Glory dominates the scene, a particularly poignant image for today, as the U.S. prepares for yet another war. Morley reminds us of a time of relative calm, not long ago, when America united the world in terms of peace and prosperity, and when the nation's most pressing concerns had to do with the pursuit of happiness.

DAVID EBONY is associate managing editor and news editor at Art in America.


David Salle

Philip Pearlstein
Study for Two Models with Fan in Front
Untitled by David Salle and Study... by Philip Pearlstein
by Dennis Kardon

A big survey exhibition makes for strange bedfellows, although finding themselves in the same metaphorical bed will probably make artists Philip Pearlstein and David Salle squirm. Nevertheless, their dispassionate outlooks and disdain for sentimental humanistic conventions gives a similar deSadean discipline to their work.

Okay, it's true that they are totally different kinds of artists originating from different artistic moments. One seems straightforward and sincere, the other indirect and ironic. However, the watercolor medium makes their similarities more apparent and their differences seem merely generational. Both employ elaborate visual rhymes that confuse the eye and make their work edgy. Both artists also use banality as a form of wit. Perhaps because Salle's sexual politics have always been more self-conscious and hipper, it is easy to miss how the sting of the crop flavors Pearlstein's work as well.

A large menacing fan dominates the composition of Pearlstein's Study for Two Models with Fan in Front (1999). The fan resembles some medieval torture device. The twisted wires of the fan's cage visually dice up the bodies of the two nude women while formally referencing various patterned fabrics as well as the bentwood rocker in which one of the nudes reclines. Because of its strange scale, the fan actually seems to float in front of the composition. The superimposition of iconic object on the bodies of women, the grissaille quality of the shadows, the combination of banality and oppressive control and, ohmigod: David Salle.

Conversely Salle, in Untitled (2002) wryly eschews his familiar women in humiliating poses for that handy symbol of femininity, the flower. Instead of a fan, the superimposition of an anemically rendered angel on three red poppies, before a yellow striped ground, sets the stage for his casual yet elaborate formal puns.

The curve and thickness of the lines that form the angel echo the various stems of the poppies, while the curl in the angel's hair rhymes with the vaginal folds of the adjacent red petals. The angel, with her sad expression, though, is probably the stone sort that adorns a mausoleum, and so we still end up with sex and death, albeit with a bit more subtlety. The sad memorial angel also belies the usual treacly floral watercolor clichés, invoking a funereal display, and making the whole painting into a sly image of mourning.

Both artists benefit enormously from the translucency of watercolor. Salle uses the stereotype of the genteel watercolorist to allow himself a simplicity and directness of hand that harkens back to the insouciant awkwardness of his early work. While the fluidity of the pigment softens Pearlstein's typical puritan painting style, frees his surface, and gives a healthy glow to his usually pasty nudes.

Through ironic contrast, watercolor makes us more aware of the creepy implications in both works. The medium seems to force a square stylistic unity on the desperately hip Salle and makes a usually styleless, nerdy Pearlstein look suddenly, effortlessly fashionable.

DENNIS KARDON is a New York artist.


Philip Pearlstein
Study for Two Models with Fan in Front
Study for Two Models with Fan in Front by Philip Pearstein
by Robert Berlind

A woman poses seated on a cushion on the floor. Behind her another figure, cropped just below the shoulders, reclines on a bentwood rocker. You are looking through a large, old-fashioned fan that faces away from you into the space they occupy. Several unseen studio floodlights set up a contrapuntal play of shadows on the figures, floor and bare wall. It is Pearlstein's distinctive format and close-up view. He renders the women in monochrome, with his customary, studious reserve.

But around them, judiciously, he gives himself over to sensuous delight. A lovely, colorful shawl is draped over the nearer figure's shoulders and arms; you can feel its soft silkiness by the way it takes the light. A handsome, slightly disheveled Middle Eastern runner travels diagonally across the floor toward the baseboard. The prominent metal housing of the fan's motor -- it is at the picture's center and dominates the design -- is handled with an almost offhanded precision. The virtuosity with which it is painted conveys the pleasure of seeing and capturing that moment with watercolor. A subtle scoring of the paper's surface limns with light the edges of the wire shield over the blades. That circular play of wire, once you focus on it, could be the emblem of a restrained delirium.

ROBERT BERLIND is a New York-based artist who also writes on art.


Melissa Meyer
Some Girls #44
Some Girls #44 by Melissa Meyer
by Joe Fyfe

This moody abstract picture at first appears velvety and Whistlerian -- a dandy waiting in a bar at dusk. A large vertical rectangle of cold-pressed paper holds large, soaked blocks of mauve, indigo, faded denim and Cointreau green. Snaky gestural strokes telegraph an intermittent nervousness, gathering close together then tailing out into a flat brush shape. As the eye takes a second pass over the surfaces it picks up on an overall pattern of billowing stains, like steady leaks in an old wall or huge tears on a letter. On the lower right some pale sunset tangerine breaks through heavy washes of burnt toast orange and smoky burgundy.

This watercolor's title, Some Girls #44, refers to both the album Meyer listened to when painting this series and the many paintings that Meyer has named after women. The artist has something in common with the band. They are both classicists, in their fashion, but work with feeling. The Rolling Stones have remained loyal to American Blues and Soul and Meyer to the modernist abstract canon. You can feel the rhythms from the record in the watercolor painting and some of the attitude, too. Meyer uses color like she's working with a paint box full of subtle hurts and joys. She shows sympathy for the cocky braggadocio and latent pleading in the Rolling Stones song and seems to respond across mediums with the slightly bruised bravura of this work.

JOE FYFE is an artist who writes on art.


Wayne Thiebaud
Three Flavors
Three Flavors by Wayne Thiebaud
by Gregory J. Peterson

Wayne Thiebaud is famous primarily for his work in oil, but he adapts his powerful, inimitable style to the medium of watercolor with swagger and dash. His pop-inspired still-lifes of candy, cakes and other sweet delights all lined up in regimented countertop displays exploit the shimmering, creamy thickness of oil paint itself to render the canvas itself lusciously, palpably, as all-but-edible.

But Three Flavors is one of a series of experiments by the artist in various media which demonstrates that Thiebaud's magic can be made without the thickness and gloss of oil. Here we encounter three life-sized sherbet or ice cream cones straight on, upright on a rack and ready for purchase, in a symmetrical, formal composition. Chocolate, strawberry and pistachio, according to Mr. Thiebaud.

But where traditional watercolors can be wan and bloodless affairs, and where symmetry often breeds dull, static compositions, these cones engender excitement and joy. Their colors are vibrant and evocative of rich, sensual pleasures.

The subject matter is excitement itself. This is after all, frozen milk and sugar, seen under the intense light of summer. Its shelf-life, its very existence may be no more than ten minutes. It demands to be eaten now, before it becomes wet and runny like watercolor itself. Therein lies an inherent, if unspoken, drama.

Thiebaud employs traditional watercolor technique, allowing the whiteness of the paper to show through the color rather than thickening the pigment in an imitation of gouache. In a perhaps unintentional affirmation of the medium, a raised seal shows through the lower right corner of the watercolor paper reading "Strathmore-Use either side." In formal compositional terms, the three vertical visual forms suggest three exclamation points, or perhaps three chorus girls delighting the eye with their curvaceous enticements.

GREGORY PETERSON is a New York corporate lawyer who collects and lectures about contemporary realist painting.


Jacqueline Gourevitch
Night: Looking East, 9.16.00
in "Watercolor"
at the New York Studio School
Night: Looking East, 9.16.2000 by Jacqueline Gourevitch
by Michèle Cone

Watercolor is a reluctant mode of art making, at least in my limited experience. The fluidity of the medium, the difficulty of circumscribing objects, it all brings back a childhood memory: I am no more than 10 or 11 years old. I enter the art classroom. I see, lying on a stool, a jumping rope, its ball-tipped handles crossed. The assignment is to render its likeness in watercolor. I open my new box of watercolors, I dip my new brush in a goblet of water, I sweep one of the brightly colored diamonds with the wet tip. The color pales on the paper, everything blurs, I cannot make the handles look three-dimensional. I am ashamed of my awkwardness. I cry.

Night: Looking East 9.16.00 by Jacqueline Gourevitch is anything but awkward. The way the artist controls medium and mood in this plunging view of tall buildings at night near water is dazzling. The dark-brown buildings enlivened by white specks of light have weight and outline, and a pale yellow glare reflected off the water envelops the scene in bountiful quietude. The only note of alarm comes from the distressingly downward perspective.

Even without knowing the tragic connotations of Night: Looking East, 9.16.00 (it was painted a year before the World Trade Center disaster when the artist benefited from a LMCC residency on the 91st floor of the ill-fated building), the image captures emotion. "its emotion is visible even from a distance," Antonin Artaud would say, "it strikes the mind with a kind of visual harmony that is electrifying, a harmony whose effectiveness acts as a whole and is communicated in a single glance." (from "Mise en Scene and Metaphysics")

MICHÈLE CONE is a New York-based critic and historian. Her latest book is French Modernisms: Perspectives on Art before, during and after Vichy (Cambridge 2001).


Francesco Clemente
Tale by Francesco Clemente
by Suzaan Boettger

Like the endless unfolding of fables in A Thousand and One Nights, or the connected stories in Greek and Indian mythology, the receding line of nudes in Francesco Clemente's Tale are linked, each figure both held by her predecessor and supporting a successor. This suggests the great chain of family generations, and being arranged along a diagonal, the successively diminishing figures appear to sweep backward as if to the vanishing point of infinity.

But these women are not mothers and daughters, they are more like sisters. Combining the slenderness of present-day models with the prominent buttocks and tumescent breasts of voluptuous ancient Indian statues, they are virtually identical. Each sits on her heels, head bowed, in a position of meditation.

The array of nested nudes suggests less classical perspective's trajectory of an orthogonal toward a distant point as deep contemplation's path inward. Clemente's composition enacts a progress of consciousness, the act of self-observation. It is as if the self-reflection of the largest figure calls up the rest, that she is observing multiple, younger, and future selves.

Years ago, Clemente remarked in an interview: "I carry inside of me the idea that it's better to be many than one, that many gods are better than just one god, many truths are better than one alone." Here we see again an image of a state of consciousness, a self-awareness of multiplicity so prevalent in his autobiographical oeuvre, and a conjuring of the plural and past identities comprising a "true" self. It is significant that inner plenitude and receptivity to awareness are figured by this male artist as other, as female.

The image is one of many watercolors depicting women included in Clemente's Book of the Sea (Gagosian Gallery, London), a title that recalls the legend that the goddess of love and beauty, Venus, was born off of Cyprus in the Mediterranean Sea. Here, situated in a milieu of ethereal stains, the figures' crisp contours contain their sensual textures of watery mottling. And here, again, Clemente's signature mixture of technical suavity and mystical metaphor has produced a compelling image of visual and introspective density.

SUZAAN BOETTGER is the author of Earthworks: Art and the Landscape of the Sixties (University of California Press, December 2002).

WATERCOLOR is accompanied by an extensive website-catalogue with information about the medium, its history, and the individual artists in the exhibition.

The artists in "Watercolor" are Avigdor Arikha, Georg Baselitz, Ross Bleckner, Janet Boulton, Bernard Chaet, Francesco Clemente, Marlene Dumas, Garth Evans, Janet Fish, The Late Andrew Forge, Suzan Frecon, Jacqueline Gourevitch, Al Held, Donald Holden, Ray Kass, The Late Ken Kiff, Per Kirkeby, Markus Lupertz, Melissa Meyer, Malcolm Morley, Stephen Mueller, Graham Nickson, Senam Okudzeto, Philip Pearlstein, Elizabeth Peyton, Sylvia Plimack Mangold, Robert Rauschenberg, Paul Resika, Gerhard Richter, Dorothea Rockburne, David Salle, Sean Scully, Susan Shatter, Shahzia Sikander, Eve Sonneman, Ena Swansea, Patricia Tobacco Forrester, Fulvio Testa, Wayne Thiebaud, and William Tillyer.

The Savoir Faire series of three panel discussions in conjunction with the show feature Philip Pearlstein, Dorothea Rockburne, Malcolm Morley, Paul Resika, Sylvia Plimack Mangold, Graham Nickson and Ross Bleckner, among others. For more info, see