Washington, D.C. is not a town renowned for its art scene. Hardcore kids might proudly recount the days of Minor Threat, and Wale might slip a line about D.C. into some of his Chicago-indebted raps, but the city’s a haven for politicos and diplomats—artists usually go a bit farther up the coast.
That being the case, many might be surprised to learn that our city gave birth to one of the most exciting styles of American studio art of the modern era: the Color School. A bridge between Jackson Pollock’s Abstract Expressionism and the cold Minimalism of the late 1960s and early 1970s, the style is surprisingly pleasant—unafraid to play with color while avoiding the messy sprawl of de Koonig.
On display at the Corcoran Gallery through Mar. 6, Washington Color and Light is a fantastic genre primer; it explains the style’s roots, highlights some of its biggest names, and demonstrates how it operates in various media. The layout is not optimal—individual artist displays take precedent over a more appropriate chronological explanation of the movement. But taken as a whole, the exhibit leaves a curious newcomer with a strong sense of the style and its relation to the District.
The best-represented artist by far is Gene Davis, whose portfolio alone summarizes the genre’s growth well. His massive “Junkie’s Curtain” (1967) epitomizes the Color School—all strict lines and bold colors applied directly to a canvas without a white base. We see his roots—the somewhat chaotic “Royal Bungalow” (1958) shows where he developed his love of color—and we see how he progressed in his mature period, playing with canvas shape and viewer perspective in the extraordinarily tall “Pink Bayonet” (1968).
The style’s appearance in sculpture is remarkably well-represented, considering its position as a largely canvas-based school. Although a number of them fall flat—like Anne Truitt’s creations, which come off as Minimalism-lite—Rockne Krebs’s “Ice Flower” (1969) shows that the style can translate into three dimensions quite successfully. Essentially three huge Plexiglass pyramids, the piece is at once alive and austere.
Although a good introduction to our city’s biggest claim to artistic fame, the exhibit falls short with a conspicuous lack of Kenneth Noland, perhaps the most important member of the movement. Just a few blocks away, the American Art Museum features numerous examples of his finest work, while this special exhibit features just one of his pieces, 1966’s “Brown Stretched.” This piece is a unique standout, but it is nonetheless a poor example of his approach. Then again, his point of view is easier to understand once you have got a handle on the genre, and Washington Color and Light will most certainly give you that
