R.I.P. Robert Ryman

Robert Ryman, 1930 - 2019

Whilst it grieves me to post two obituaries, back-to-back - it would be remiss not to mark the passing of the painter, Robert Ryman, a few days ago.  He was 88, and had seemingly ploughed one of the most enduringly single-minded furrows in the whole of Modern Art.

Robert Ryman, 'Classico 5', Oil On Paper, 1968

Ryman was one of those go-to figures, to whom I've repeatedly turned as an exemplar of a particular attitude to painting over the years, despite having only ever seen one significant exhibition of his works (on paper - I think), at London's Shoulder Of Mutton Gallery, some years ago.  All too often my acquaintanceship with them has only been in reproduction - making any direct encounter a cause of some excitement.  And when I turned to the keyboard to write this, I realised I knew very little of the man himself, or his life - despite the fact his paintings have always loomed vividly in my imagination.  

Robert Ryman, 'Director', Oil On GRP, 1983

I think this may be, in part, because a somewhat pristine sense of the hermetic seems to cling to his oeuvre - something possibly magnified by its appearing to have arrived almost fully-formed, back in the mid 1950s.  The work seems to stand less for the man, than simply for itself.  Indeed, its conceptual rootedness in the idea of how one might define or specify an artefact that might be labelled 'a painting', makes any sense of autobiography or personal expression pretty much irrelevant.  Some might find that alienating - but I've always found it strangely thrilling.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, perhaps.  Ryman was, of course, primarily known as 'that guy who just paints white paintings' (not technically true - his first significant piece was  orange).  That he should have compiled such an extensive and unfailingly elegant catalogue of monochrome ('no-chrome'?) abstract pieces, over more than sixty years - without ever exhausting the potential of such a seemingly simplistic formula, feels little short of miraculous.

If art historical labels are required, I guess he belongs with the Minimalists. Rather delightfully - I now learn, he supplemented the early years of his career by working as a gallery attendant at MOMA, in New York, alongside those other noted exponents of the genre, Sol LeWitt, Dan Flavin and Al Held.  But, whilst Ryman certainly shared a superficial aesthetic with such artists, there's perhaps also something a little too deliciously painterly about the work for it to fit into a strictly orthodox interpretation of Minimalism.  There's often a residue of the earlier Abstract Expressionism that first caught his eye on his move north.  In fact there are certain respects in which Ryman seems to bridge those two American art moments - perhaps just as Jasper Johns bridges Ab. Ex. and Pop with a similar visual elegance and philosophical detachment.  Either way, It seems Ryman's real agenda was simply to investigate what constitutes a painting - by stripping it back to its simplest essential components, then trying to find out in how many different ways they might be deployed without repetition.

Robert Ryman, 'Wing', Date & Medium Unknown

For Ryman, that might involve brushing his paint smoothly and uniformly over a variety of substrates, from canvas - to aluminium - to plastic; or squeezing it directly from the tube - to form wiggling worm-casts of whiteness; or building puddled impastos and snowy crusts of pigment; or exploring the potential of white to veil, mask, or not-quite obliterate another underlying colour.  Or, indeed - pretty much any other way you might be able to imagine deploying an endless variety of white pigments onto a flat plane.  White, it seems to me, was the obvious choice, not just to encapsulate the fetish of blank/blanc nullity, or to signify anti-emotion - but also because (as Newton proved) it contains all other colours.  It that sense, I suppose white paint might be said to represent all paint.

Robert Ryman, 'Untitled', Oil On Linen, 1965

Robert Ryman, 'Attendant', Medium Unknown, 1984

Robert Ryman, 'Untitled', Graphite & Pastel On Plexiglass & Steel, 1976

The by-product, is also that it allows painter and viewer alike, to luxuriate in the myriad ways in which a painted surface might absorb, reflect, modulate, energise, or otherwise interact with the ambient light it encounters, and in the most unencumbered way imaginable.  The subtle incidents of shadow on one of Ryman's refined and highly nuanced surfaces, thus become some of the most paradoxically breathtaking events in painting of any age.  Should all of that really be insufficient to hold your attention, he also went on to explore the physical construction of the painting/object too - either by leaving exposed portions of the raw substrate; deliberately drawing attention to the wall attachments; or simply asking whether a painting might not just as easily be presented horizontally, as flush to the wall.  I mean, really - what's not to enjoy?  Who really needs all that distracting extraneous meaning?

Robert Ryman, 'Checklist', Pastel, Conte Crayon & Charcoal On Paper, 1961

Robert Ryman, 'Record', Medium Unknown, 1983

Ultimately though, this is an obituary, and basic respect requires at least some fleshing out of the man himself - I suppose.  Robert Ryman was born in Nashville, in 1930, and moved to New York in 1952 - after a short stint in the military during the Korean war.  Interestingly, he initially set out to be a Jazz musician, and had studied under pianist Lennie Tristano, before committing himself to painting instead.  He married the art critic, Lucy Lippard in 1961, and later - the artist, Merrill Wagner.  Mostly, though, he was a painter - pure and simple.  He also claimed that the real purpose of painting was to give pleasure.  I can think of no better testament or ambition.