The woman who said, “My mother disappeared, I was relieved,” is also missing… An ‘unexpected’ discovery one year later

After seeing Vermeer’s ‘Girl with a Pearl Earring’, I searched for all the related books and movies. I know you drew it well, but I wondered why this painting is famous. I didn’t know there were so many stories in one picture. Enjoyed. I also felt that the way I see the world has changed a little. I am writing to share this experience. We take a look at some of the most controversial works in art history, and therefore the most innovative and, in turn, the most famous. The articles are written in a storytelling style based on historical facts with some imagination added.

One day in 1967, Agnes Martin disappeared.

No one knew where she had gone. In fact, she was missing. Then, a year later, Martin showed up at a gas station restaurant in Cuba, New Mexico. He had lost weight, and his skin was charred. “You work in a wonderful place.” Martin greeted the gas station attendant warmly. To him who replied with a smile, Martin immediately added a word. “Do you have any land left?”

It was a wasteland.

All that was blown was sand, and all that was visible was trees and weeds. It was a place where I had run about 30 km on an unpaved road. It was a place that the wife of a gas station attendant showed me, saying that there was an empty land just in time. “Honey. But that’s the case, if you show me this land…” “Wait. Look at her eyes.” Martin’s expression brightened as he looked around. A place where there is nothing, and furthermore, this land where there is nothing seemed to like it. “i love it.” Martin couldn’t hide his excitement. “Thank you. This is the scenery I was looking for.” She ran around like a child. Now Martin was like Robinson Crusoe. She was different from Crusoe. Martin set herself on the path of her isolation.I embraced solitude and held on to loneliness. Martin came with a load in his car. He settled down in the middle of an empty piece of land. he built bricks He took out a chainsaw and cut down trees. Sheared, erected, tied, and wrestled all day long. As a result, he was able to create a plausible abode. Her tree nest and pickup truck were everything to her. It was her life with no electricity, no water tank, no toilet. She was a life without even the slightest trembling of life besides her.

Martin was completely alone.

She lay on her bare back on the floor. When it was hot, she munched on apples and peaches. When she was cold, she gorged on tomatoes and walnuts and hard cheese. When the whole universe was annoyed, she rolled Nox Jelly, a mixture of banana and orange juice, in her mouth. Martin’s favorite was something else. All she did was sit still in a rocking chair or bed. She closed her eyes as they were under the sunlight and moonlight above the vast sky. She often sang her favorite song, ‘Blue skies ‘ .

Martin, who seemed to play and eat like that, stood up from time to time as if in a fit.

He moved hurriedly, like someone who had recalled an unforgettable memory. Spinning around, Martin sat down on a random spot on the ground. She caught her breath. By the time her body stopped shaking, she made a dot on the sand. She and she cut the line. She drew something in a plaid pattern. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s drawing, but she clings tenaciously to the act. What made her even more absurd was that even the slightest misalignment of the line caused her to step on the sand and scatter it. What is her identity that is so unpredictable? Why did she live a life of extreme minimalism , and what does the absurdly simple lines she created mean?

The ‘tyrant’ mother leaves aftereffects…

Martin’s story begins on a farm in Saskatchewan, Canada.

Martin was born here in 1912. Martin received a gift as soon as he saw the light of day. It was his natural wonder. She could experience the sublimity of nature in every moment. She grew up eating the sun and the clouds, the stars and the Milky Way. She was also the same age as Jackson Pollock , who was born with towering rocky mountains and open meadows . Looking at them, I sometimes wonder if nature is the best stimulant to awaken human artistic sensibilities.

Little Martin could grow up to be a pretty woman who lay down in the fields, wrote poetry, and tended gardens and vegetable gardens in her free time.

She could have lived a normal life like that when Christmas came and she sat around waiting for the turkey to cook. She did, but she couldn’t. She blamed her mother for Martin’s misfortune. Her Martin’s mother was strong. She was strict and upright. Her neighbors said, “Even a monk would cry and leave.” Her problem was that she imposed that temperament on her entire family, even on her innocent daughter. Martin’s father is gone. She was when Martin was only three years old. Afterwards, her Martin had no choice but to surrender in front of her reigning like a tyrant. Martin, who was as cute as a shepherd girl, gradually became gloomy. Her Martin learned her silence through her. She has learned to be celibate and has become accustomed to her self-control.I grew up hearing that relying on others is a sin. “Mom, my throat hurts.” Martin appealed to her. she was six years old Even when Martin yelped, she just stared blankly. Martin had to take the tram to the hospital alone. It turned out that she was in such serious condition that her tonsils had to be removed. Independence can be an important virtue in life. However, it was true that it was too early for a delicate and sensitive little girl to learn. Martin was confused for many moments, and she had irreparable scars all over her heart. Soon, these things take their toll on her. “I thought (I) broke through the world with my sword. Winning (against the world), winning again.” Martin later said of the moment she was born: “But the moment people took me (as her newborn) to her mom, I immediately adjusted.” And Martin added this. “(I didn’t win) My mom won.” This is how Martin described her process of surrendering to her. “My mother is gone. It’s so cool.” These were the words she said when she died.

Martin took many side roads before becoming a painter.

Martin was good at swimming. As a teenager, he qualified for the Olympics and finished fourth. In 1931, he immigrated to the United States, after which he became interested in pedagogy. He wandered from school to school in the woods, grabbing chalk. It was after he fell in love with the vast desert in New Mexico that Martin dreamed of becoming an artist. Martin walked on the dry land and remembered the old days when his sensibility was flowing. He mixed his old memories with this feeling of being on another planet. ‘I need to do art.’ The result of doing so was this commitment.

Martin was now an artist.

In 1941, Martin went to the heartland of America. It was New York. She majored in Fine Arts at the Columbia University Affiliation. Martin continued her painting studies between New York and New Mexico. She immersed herself in traditional subjects such as still lifes and landscapes. She was as obsessed with perfectionism as was strange about Martin’s painting. If the painting was not satisfactory, it was smashed. Because of that nature, very little of her early work survives. She was Martin, she was a bit picky, but she managed to remain a woman painter who was nothing special. Then, she met another change in her values ​​when she met Zen thinker Daisetsu Suzuki at Columbia University. She said, “If a human being is to attain enlightenment, the mind must be emptied. Cumbersome decorations must be eliminated.” Daisetsu preached in this way through lectures and his book, What is Zen? Daisetsu also spread the idea of ​​old age to Martin. It was an idea that set the standard of morality as non-natural nature. Martin liked Daisetsu’s teachings. As she pondered the sentence, ‘Think about subtracting, not thinking about adding’, she remembered the wonders of nature as it is, the holiness of the uncontaminated universe and the earth. She was Martin, and now she knew what she was going to draw. He had to create a picture of sublime subtraction, not a picture of flashy addition.

Zen thought and the ruined city… ‘Plaid’ eyes open

Was it because of my mother’s ‘special training’?

Martin was strong. He could eat anything and sleep well anywhere. He didn’t try to lean on anyone. Such Martin learned the Zen thought and the Taoist thought. She was no longer afraid. She seemed to be able to survive in any environment she was solitary. So she and Martin went to Coentis Slip. She was about forty-five. The area was an ethnic minority enclave in the southern part of Manhattan, New York. It was a place where you could see old shipyards and abandoned warehouses on the deserted shore along the East River. Martin got her attic. She stayed still in the room where there was no water and only a cold wind was blowing. She explored her inner world by chewing on Platonism, Calvinism, Zen Buddhism and Taoism. She studied the human spirit and harmony with nature. Then, a number of ideas popped up in her head, and among these, she agonized over what could be expressed with lines and colors. At the signal she jumped up and grabbed a brush and pencil. She painted Martin increasingly simpler. She could no longer find the subject in his painting. Martin presented a repetitive grid (lattice) pattern, as if all human ideas were gathered and divided, leaving only dots and lines in the end.

Martin painted ‘Trees’ in 1964.

From a distance, only a white canvas is visible. If you come closer, you can see a square, and if you come closer, you can see countless thin lines. The barely visible lines drawn in pencil contain Martin’s subtle hand tremors. The picture is simple. Nevertheless, if you look at this fragile plaid pattern, you can feel the intense worries of human beings and the spirit flowing from it. This can also give you a meditative feeling. What Martin wanted to express was innocence. She understood every thought that crept into her life as her ‘keep her innocence’ . Enlightenment and reflection, she was convinced, could only come if it remained unspoiled. So, Martin made her paintings into her simplest tasks, such as dotting and drawing lines. She rejected all artistry that hindered her innocence. Martin named this painting her first plaid work. She said, “I was thinking of the purity of trees. Then this plaid came to my mind. I thought it meant purity, and I still believe that.” It was Martin’s words. “What kind of picture is this?” When there was a reaction like this to Martin’s work, I responded like this. “People seem to be intolerant of the fact that it’s all just empty squares.” As if it could be so, in a calm voice.

Martin also made some friends there.

Pop art masters Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, who used abandoned shipping warehouses as studios, and Ellsworth Kelly , masters of abstract painting . Martin, who is about ten years older than them, communicated freely with his ambitious younger siblings. However, something unexpected happened to Martin, who lived diligently. The aftereffects of his childhood, stained with coldness and indifference, began to rise belatedly. He was a paranoid schizophrenic. Martin has more moments with ‘voices’ . She politely referred to them as ‘voices’, but in reality these were unannounced hallucinations. She also became more frequent when she fell in love with the singer (she is 假睡 · half-conscious). One winter she shocked people when she heard George Frederick Handel ‘s ‘Messiah’ being played in a church and she entered the singer. She was once caught wandering around, not knowing who she was or where she was. She found Martin more and more frequently in a psychiatric hospital. She has also received over a hundred

Martin’s plaid paintings became famous thanks to several exhibitions and word of mouth among colleagues.

But Martin was visibly weakened by his illness. Then he suffered a decisive blow to his weakened health. It was the loss of his mentor, the painter Ad Reinhardt . The cause of death was a heart attack. Martin, who chose a life of solitude, was almost the only person he particularly cared about. Martin is in despair. In this chaotic atmosphere, Martin was faced with plans to demolish the building that houses his studio. The money she received was enough to buy a pickup truck and camping equipment. She looked like she was determined. She stopped painting her. She handed out canvases and paint supplies to her colleagues. “what’s the matter?” Even when asked by her friends, she only smiled inexplicably. Then one day in 1967, Martin disappeared.

great seclusion… Become more ‘minimalistic’

electroshock treatments.

“I hope you bring some ice, Agnes.”

1974. Martin’s friend Annie Glimzer, who opened the PACE gallery on 25th Street in Chelsea, New

Martin always emphasized, “I am not a Minimalist painter, I am an Abstract Expressionist painter.”

But, according to critic Lang, Martin inwardly took pleasure in being called a minimalist mystic. In painting, minimalism was a trend that emerged as a reaction against action painting, abstract expressionism, and pop art that followed immediately after World War II. It was a movement that appeared because it was impossible to ignore the burdensome eruption of emotions of action painting and abstract expressionism, and the awkward vulgarity of pop art. Minimalism was the art of subtraction. It was a difference from the work that most of the trends, including pop art, focused on ‘plus’. Impressionism, for example, was a painting style that added light to painting. Expressionism was the spirit of the painter, and Surrealism was the technique of adding the imagination of the painter. Then, abstract expressionism was a way of mixing the artist’s emotions and pop art was a way of mixing society’s capital.

Minimalism was far from such a mechanism.

Minimalism believed in the power of subtraction. I followed the spirit of inaction and selflessness. The characteristic of minimalism art was its extreme conciseness. It was about putting line and color first. Sometimes even that was removed. No clues were put into the work. He didn’t even explain every word in front of the work. However, the power of subtraction was much stronger than expected. Just as a quiet silent film gives a deeper lingering lingering effect than a sound film that cries burdensomely, minimalism without any equipment can give a greater lingering lingering effect to the viewer. Because there were no clues, the viewer interpreted the work at will, and because there was no device, the viewer was free to sympathize with and be moved by the work. If 100 people saw it, all 100 people could give a different impression. This was also an art. It was also a very groundbreaking art. Minimalism played a role in changing the mood of the art version of “Is that art?” to “That could be art (to some)!” It has stood tall as a new milestone in contemporary art in the 20th century. The area of ​​art that has been wandering in search of ‘one answer’ has expanded incomparably since minimalism, which has ‘no answer’ . “Things have no meaning other than what they appear to be.” Donald Judd, the master of minimalismIt is the words of and a sentence that summarizes this trend. After placing a rectangular module made of the same size and material, Judd named it ‘Untitled’ and presented it as a work of art. It was a way to interpret it on your own, and to appreciate it on your own. This work is currently treated like a symbol of minimalism.

York, received a surprise letter from Martin. She also came with her map, which she drew herself. Glimtzer went through deserts and forests. She was adventurous. As Martin said, ice was what he really needed. After so much toil, she reached Martin’s nest. As if he knew Glimtzer was coming, Martin served steaming roast lamb ribs. “What the hell are you doing here?” Glimtzer asked. Martin just laughed when he saw Glimtzer like that. “Tell me. Why did you become a hermit?” Questions persisted. “Suddenly, every day I felt like dying. That’s why I left New York.” That was Martin’s answer. “So you’re alone like this?” “I had to know my heart. When I’m with other people, my heart isn’t my heart.”This time it was like a master’s word. “I have something to show you.” Martin took Glimcher to the studio. All she showed were new pictures, she said. They were works with very light red and very thin light blue horizontal and vertical lines. “Have you been drawing something like this before?” Glimtzer asked. “No. Actually. She said that not too long ago she couldn’t paint a single picture. She only meditated for about six years.” Martin said in a calm voice. Glimtzer looked at Martin’s paintings, which saw the light at the end of her solitude. Some of her paintings contain the excitement of the setting sun, and the fear of thunderstorms in others. In some paintings, the comfort you can feel because you are completely alone, and in others, the anxiety and fear you can experience because you are completely alone. “Sand and apricot, color layers resembling the color of the morning sky, a country without borders, the flag of a comfortable and free new republic…” Critic Olivia Lange described Martin’s work this way in her book Strange Weather. Martin had been painting for years in this empty place, with nothing but lines and dots. She asked, “Can I have my painting displayed in a gallery?” Glimtzer nodded her head, enchanted by Martin’s words.

Martin denied it, but his life and paintings were heavily infused with the scent of minimalism.

They were works of subtraction that bloomed in the life of subtraction. In 1983, Martin came up with ‘Untitled 6’ . This was also a picture of silence. This picture without explanation looked like a work created by clouds in the sky, or a work raised from ashes in lava. In this, someone could feel comfort without superfluity, someone could feel the tears of solitude, and someone could feel the screams of pain. This work will later be sold for about $6.07 million (about 7.7 billion won) at an auction after Martin’s death. Martin continued to paint these paintings while living alone. She was also simple in her way of working, as was her painting of her self. It was very ‘minimalistic’ compared to Jackson Pollock running wild on canvas and Andy Warhol running factory machines. Martin’s friend Donald Woodman , who was a photographer, described her work style in his book ‘Agnes Martin and I’. “…I often saw Martin sitting still in his camper looking out the window, usually before starting a new project. Martin would shout out the open window, ‘You think I’m not working right now? But I’m working . !I’m just thinking about what to draw. Right now I’m meditating.’ 

All I can rely on is inspiration… “I draw with my back to the world”

It seemed that the same day as yesterday would continue.

Martin sat blankly in his rocking chair. As always, he continued to face himself. She often had ‘voices’ popping up and interfering, but she calmed them down skillfully in a gentle, soothing way. That’s how she waited for inspiration to come. But the visit to Martin today was something else. “Now get out of here.” It was a notice from the land owner. It was hard for him to blame them. Martin was, by all accounts, an odd resident. Because of this, he had a few minor fights and rarely serious crashes. Martin packed up. Out of the wasteland, Martin calls his friend Glimcher. “I’m broke without a single set of clothes.” “What are you going to do?” Glimtzer said. Martin’s voice was surprisingly quiet. “It’s a sign that I’ve been living my life so far. It’s another test that has come upon me.”

Martin overcame the new test with ease.

In fact he had nothing to overcome. Martin has lived like a monk. Thanks to that, I was able to fully capture the bouncing soul. Only his body was wandering aimlessly again. Even after being driven out of the wasteland, Martin still enjoyed being alone. His favorite things were rocking chairs and beds. Other delights were Agatha Christie ‘s mystery novels, Ludwig van Beethoven ‘s music, and the ‘King of Cocktails’ Martini. Such Martin gradually increased the time he spent hanging out with his people. Her world has raised her name by calling her mystic painter, hermit artist. Martin gave occasional lectures as a result. She also met and discussed with art world figures and journalists. She and Martin seemed genuinely reconciled by this point. Since childhood, she seemed to have reached a state where she could greet the fateful solitude, the obsession with inspiration, and the unannounced complaints of ‘voices’. She said Martin seemed to be getting happier. She seemed to let go of her attachment to the world even more. What came out of that was this picture. The color of the gentle sea, the color of the gentle sun, and the warm color of the earth are layered. This painting reminds the viewer of the moments of love, friendship, and peace that each of them cherished. To borrow a metaphor from critic Lang, it makes us imagine things like ‘a colorful ice cream cone, a wide-brimmed straw hat, a sparkling sandy beach, and a train heading to the sea’. ‘With my back to the world (return to my world ·With My Back to the World )’. She was the title of her work that she coined. She created six series under this title.

In 1993, Martin moved to a senior living complex in Taos, a town in northern New Mexico. She was when she was 81 years old.

And Martin painted this picture in 1997. Pursuing extreme minimalism, she drove a pure white BMW , one of the few luxuries she owned , and completed it piece by piece by going back and forth to her studio. As she drew over and over again of things that at first glance looked the same, she slowly walked towards her death. In 2004, Martin painted her squares on her canvas. She, who had been obsessed with her dots, lines, and colors, placed two black squares on her light gray background. Again, there was no explanation. The title was also ‘ Untitled ‘ . But those who knew Martin could guess what the squares in this ‘minimalist painting’ meant. It was a death cell. Martin put down her brushes and pencils that December. Martin was lonely all her life, but spent the last few days of her death surrounded by her friends. When she died, she was not alone. She was 92 years old.

Martin said she wished she was buried at the Harwood Art Museum in Taos.

I wished her to sleep forever in the garden near the exhibition room where the paintings she had donated were located. However, this was difficult under New Mexico law. So, the spring after Martin died, her friends reunited. Late at night, she sneaked into the Harwood Art Museum. I found the place Martin wanted, the place Martin dreamed of. There she scattered her ashes bit by bit. Martin’s white bone dust 스포츠토토flew over the monotonous dirt and grass. This seemed to be her last work by Martin. “I painted with my back to the world.” Even after Martin had gone so completely, people did not forget her words for long.

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