The Ocean Park series is
the name of the body of work painted by Richard Diebenkorn (American, 1922-1993)
during the last twenty-five years of his successful career. An abstract expressionist, Diebenkorn lived in
Southern California during this period and named his paintings by place and
number alone. Following the first major
retrospective of the series at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth and then at
the Orange County Museum of Art, the exhibit came to the East Coast at the
Corcoran Gallery of Art for the summer of 2012.
Large oil canvases, smaller acrylics on paper, watercolors on flimsy
trace, and even tiny paintings on cigar box lids, this show encompassed his
full exploration of media as well as his thorough investigation of, in his
words, color, form, space and line.
Diebenkorn’s work
attracted my attention many years ago. I
remember paintings with chalky and smoldering color patches next to lines that
frame and release simultaneously, and suggestions of picture-free landscape. Diebenkorn’s larger paintings are bigger than
a spectator making them fields to enter, and the smaller ones seem to be
windows to peer through. They are
balanced without mirroring symmetry, centered without objects, frames or
perspectival devices, and complete without being overly polished. Nothing seemed rushed or accidental or
over-wrought. The art opened my
sensibilities and retained my interest without insulting my emotions.
Those who create have
their purposes and corresponding materials for execution. Each project has unique pressures in the
making and judgment in the finishing.
Over time, sometimes, an artist develops both vocabulary and methods
that becomes a signature recognizable to others. Those who follow this work see the flow of
thought from one project to the next, and these developments and evolutions
become clearer with exhibitions that gather a lot of work in one place for
viewing. Cézanne painted Mont Sainte-Victoire
many, many times, but until the Philadelphia Museum of Art hosted an exhibit
where a dozen of these paintings of the same subject were displayed in the same room, their visual connections
were more imagined than perceived. If
before the paintings were only available sequentially, now they could be
experienced in the sweep of the eye collecting impressions in layers.
Taking an idea to
exhaustion gives it a chance to be fully realized. The patience to work through one project,
learn all you can, accept that it is the best you can do at that time, and then
set it aside for the next commitment takes disciplined curiosity. Seeing a collection of such work allows
others to participate in this forward motion as well as to witness the artist’s
honest reappraisal of past effort.
No one does this better than Diebenkorn whose play of tones for instance in blues, greens and
grays, cut with fine black lines, scraped down and built up as repetitively as
a Philip Glass piano solo, and in this he shows his hand, his eye, his arm’s
reach, the concerns of his heart and his intellect’s questions; that is, his
whole body in his work.
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