![]() The Water Gazer A 1970s masterpiece by de Kooning All his life, the Dutch-born artist Willem de Kooning, who, for much of the latter half of the 20th century became America's 'greatest living painter', was a 'water-gazer'. These were the Manhattanites in Hermann Melville's Moby Dick who found themselves, almost unconsciously, migrating to the edge of the town in order to gaze in reverie at the ocean. In 1977, the year in which de Kooning created Untitled XXIII, the favourite pastime of this seventy-three year old immigrant artist was to cycle from his house in the Springs, Long Island, out to Louse Point. There, he too, would spend an hour or so silently contemplating the surface of the sea and its fluid ever-changing play of light shimmering under the sky. 'There is something about being in touch with the sea that makes me feel good, he told his friend Harold Rosenberg. 'That's where most my paintings come from even when I made them in New York.' Untitled XXIII is one of the last of the great series of paintings that de Kooning made in a sudden burst of activity in the mid-1970s. These paintings, like much of his work, were born of such water-gazing and of de Kooning's unique view of reality as being a similar shimmering flux of form only truly perceivable through what he once famously described as a 'slipping glimpse'. For this reason, and like the skin of the sea, which held such a mesmerizing power over him, surface is the key element in all of de Kooning's work. Everything that goes on in a de Kooning painting, every gesture, inflection, smudge, splash, twist, turn and halting point, takes place overtly in full view, right there on the surface for all to see. Nothing is hidden or submerged, there appears to be no patient build-up or pre-meditation, no modeling or craft, only a constantly shifting ebb and flow of paint establishing its own unique identity on the flat surface of the canvas support. Like Heraclitus' river, (a unity of chaotic flow), randomness and flux seem held together in de Kooning's extraordinarily fluid painting, by an innate but indecipherable ordering principle. In the same way that Heraclitus observed that, one could never step into the same river twice, no two de Koonings are ever alike either. Despite the epic scale of his vision, de Kooning's art was, because of the way in which it was made, always founded on a profoundly human and even personal scale. Filtered through the artist's physical response to his medium, inevitably de Kooning's paintings can only express the very human scale of the artist himself immersed in this shifting landscape of light and fluidity and are powerfully corporeal. This is one of the reasons why the artist was never really a purely abstract painter. In Untitled XXIII this corporeality is conveyed not just through the fierce physicality of de Kooning's sweeping and meandering line, but also through the rich fleshy tones and deep red hues of his paint. Seemingly returning to a theme that had permeated his work of the 1960s and early 1970s, there are hints of a female figure in a landscape discernible in this work, her naked fleshy form mirroring that of a painting such as The Visit of 1966-7 as well as some of his more recent sculptures. Amid the fleeting glimpses and suggestions of physical form, the figure, landscape, and the viewer's own gaze, all merge into one another, each becoming a part of a shimmering surface that is animated and enlivened by the dramatic sea of de Kooning's magisterial brushwork. Clashing, splashing, dripping, coagulating and merging in a spectacular cascade of flowing material, de Kooning's fluid colours tumble and crash over the surface of the painting like waves against rocks, foaming and bubbling, building and subsiding in an energetic physical play that is seemingly without beginning or end. This article was provided by Christie's Post-War & Contemporary Art Department, New York |