Harriet Korman has never wanted to become part of someone else’s story.
Recently, in the self-published catalogue Harriet Korman: Notes on Painting 1969–2019, which the artist sent me, I came across two statements that I want to cite. In her text “2005, On Painting,” Korman stated:
What is my relationship to the surface? Covering, uncovering, changing, marking — in many ways treating the surface as a two-dimensional plane, another aspect of reality, as a sculptor would.
In a later note, “3 Drawings from 1971, information for a group exhibition in 2018,” on work done at the outset of her career, Korman wrote:
The painting process I became involved with was traversing the surface (drawing) side to side/edge to edge with a crayon, then covering the surface with acrylic gesso, then scraping off some of the gesso in bands with a piece of wood or trowel.
After looking through the catalogue and reading these statements, I emailed Korman and asked her if she thought what she called “process” was related to drawing. She wrote back:
Yes, the two statements are related, and could be described as relating to drawing. I am a very process-oriented painter; I get a lot out of what happens when you paint. This has a relationship to drawing in that there is a flexibility involved. I mostly started drawing with color in 2010.
Korman’s catalogue was published for a survey exhibition at her gallery, Thomas Erben, which was scheduled to open in April, but has now been delayed to the fall. It is a show that I have wanted to happen, at least since I proposed that a museum ought to give Korman’s work a long and deep look in my review of her exhibition Harriet Korman: Line or Edge, Line or Color, New Paintings and Drawings at Lennon, Weinberg, Inc. (September 18–November 1, 2014). A survey exhibition spanning 50 years will introduce her work to viewers who don’t know it, as well as remind her fans — of which I am one — just how exceptional her paintings and drawings are.
Drawing — the most fundamental process — is at the root of Korman’s practice. Although she has not shown them often, those I have seen have dazzled me. The color relationships are always unpredictable, while the mark-making is direct, flatfooted, and even clunky at times. They are eloquently terse, like the 16 words of William Carlos Williams’s poem “The Red Wheelbarrow.”
I never feel like Korman is trying to finesse something; that directness is carried over into her painting. Since she began painting in color, she has made works in which the majority of the interlocking shapes have curved edges. She has also incorporated a diamond motif and has divided the painting’s rectangle into four equal-sized rectangles, each of which is further divided into six triangles. Each of these 24 triangles, nested within four rectangles, is defined by one color. This could become a pattern or design, but Korman never takes that route; instead, she works from one form to another.
“Focus” (oil on canvas, 48 by 60 inches, 2011) has no underlying plan to hold it together, to unify it. We see two adjacent triangles in different shades of blue, one larger than the other. Using paint straight out of the tube, she explores shifts in color and hue. In addition to multiple red, blues, yellows, and greens, she applies various browns and mauves. Each connection we form between two or three or even four shapes will shift so there is neither a focal point nor an all-over pattern or repetition. (This is why I don’t see a connection to the Gee’s Bend quilt that Raphael Rubinstein made in his review of Korman in The Brooklyn Rail.) Rather, Korman keeps the viewer’s attention shifting, which is the real and deep pleasure of the painting: it continually reveals links and differences.
In the exhibition Harriet Korman, Permeable/Resistant: Recent Paintings and Drawings at Thomas Erben Gallery (November 1–December 21, 2018), which I reviewed, Korman drew a centrally placed cruciform, without using a ruler or tape to determine its placement or precision.
The cross divides the painting’s rectangular surface into four sets of L-shaped bands and solid-colored rectangles locked into the composition’s four corners. The tension between completeness (the crosses) and incompleteness (the rectangles tucked in the corners) causes us to see differences. At a certain point does the cross shift into four L shapes? The rectangles in the corners are not all the same size or the same color. Again, we cannot determine any underlying pattern, as the color choices seem to follow no obvious order. Structure, improvisation, and surprise are inextricable from each other.
In these cruciform paintings, Korman has come up with a structured color composition that holds its own with Ad Reinhardt’s non-relational compositions in black and red. She both loosened and reimagined Reinhardt’s brilliant rigidity by drawing in color. By making vibrant color compositions that address Reinhardt’s black paintings, which he claimed were “the last paintings one can make,” Korman challenges that endgame mentality and the various narratives that incorporate it. This is one area that makes apparent the greatness of Korman’s achievement.
Korman does not focus on painting’s purpose, but on process, which is connected to drawing. She has never wanted to become part of someone else’s story.