by Hunter Drohojowska-Philp
I don’t remember much from the rambunctious late ‘80s, but I do remember seeing Mary Heilmann’s paintings, probably at Pat Hearn’s gallery in the East Village. Vaguely geometric yet relaxed and colorful, they had a feeling of possibility that was refreshing. They seemed to stand outside of the rigid history of abstract painting as I had understood it up to then. The color was cheerful, the forms wonky, decorative but slightly mauled. They somehow conveyed the feeling of just getting out of the bed in the morning, hair not yet combed.