MARFA, Texas – Donald Judd’s sculptures are on the way. In the high desert, 100 shiny aluminum shapes, each the same size, are lined up in rows with military precision inside two old artillery sheds, just as Judd had ordered. Pristine and silver, they reflect the light pouring in through giant walls of windows that Judd designed to replace aging garage doors. The installation, which offers views of the endless landscape, could make anyone who has scoffed at minimalist art believe it.
But listen carefully and you can hear the metal sculptures as they expand and contract. Some have slowly become misaligned, heating up to 120 degrees, not hot enough to fry an egg, in buildings without climate control. Its custodians at the Chinati Foundation, which manages Judd’s collection of works and a dozen major artists he invited to this remote city, must decide how best to mitigate the heat without compromising the holistic experience meticulously calibrated by Judd four decades ago. The foundation also needs to replace the eroded barrel-vaulted metal additions that Judd placed on top of the sheds to improve drainage. But he was not an architect. The roofs still leak.
Judd arrived in far West Texas in 1971 looking for space and conceived a singular vision that integrated art, architecture and landscape. As shaggy as the terrain, he wanted to get away from the New York art world, where he made a name for himself in the early 1960s as an art critic and then as a rigorously experimental sculptor exploring color and form and the space around his geometric works, made from industrial materials. Too often I heard that museums mishandled the installation and transport of these pieces, sometimes returning them with shipping labels carelessly stuck to the surface of their plywood boxes, mistaking them for art containers more than with the art itself.
“The installation of my work and that of others is contemporary to its creation,” he declared in 1977. “The space surrounding my work is crucial to this.” He added: “Somewhere there has to be a place where the installation is well done and permanent.”
That would be Marfa, with a population of 1,800 and a three-hour desert drive from El Paso and Midland public airports.
“He looked on a map for the least populated place yet in America,” said his daughter, Rainer Judd, a filmmaker, artist and president of the Judd Foundation. (Named after the dancer Yvonne Rainer.)
As children, she and her brother, Flavin, accompanied their father when he began buying vacant buildings in Marfa. He renovated two aircraft hangars and the adjacent old army offices as a family residence and an ideal setting for his own art, furniture designs and a 13,000-volume library. (Judd purchased 22 buildings in and around Marfa as live-work spaces, now open by appointment through the Judd Foundation.)
Judd in Marfa with his daughter, Rainer, now president of the Judd Foundation, and his son, Flavin, now its artistic director, circa 1979. Credit… via The Judd Foundation
With funding from the Dia Art Foundation in 1978, Judd acquired 34 more buildings on 340 acres: Fort DA Russell, an out-of-town Army base, and three structures downtown, to display his own work and that of his friends Dan Flavin, the famous light artist (his son’s namesake) and John Chamberlain, whose assemblages of shredded car parts implied a culture of use. In 1983, Judd opened his first architecturally modified warehouse dedicated to 23 monumental Chamberlain sculptures and simultaneously worked to install his own 100 aluminum sculptures in the artillery sheds, along with 15 concrete sculptures on the grounds of the strong
When Dia backed out of his major financial commitment, Judd threatened to sue for breach of contract and the lawyers negotiated a settlement in which he got possession of all the art, buildings and land. He never spoke to Dan Flavin again, who refused to sever ties with Dia. In 1986, Judd established the Chinati Foundation as a curatorial forum for permanent installations and temporary projects, a kind of anti-museum where the artist was paramount.
Judd expressed his deep dislike of museums and the commodification of art: “conquered as soon as it is made,” as he wrote in 1987. “The public has no idea of art but that it is something portable that can be bought.” In contrast, he invited artists such as Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen, Richard Long, Roni Horn, David Rabinowitch, Ilya Kabakov and Ingolfur Arnarsson to place work in Chinati, where it would be preserved in perpetuity. Others, such as Robert Irwin, Carl Andre, John Wesley, also found a home there.
Michael Govan, director of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, recalls visiting Marfa in the early 1990s as deputy director of the Guggenheim Museum, which had recently acquired the Panza Collection of minimalist and conceptual art, including works by Judd that the artist had renounced. . Govan was tasked with opening communication with the artist. “In a way, I was right there with him, as a young person who felt that museums weren’t doing what they could do for artists,” said Govan, who said the experience was life-changing.
“Judd was a domineering person to some people,” he said, “but his principles make Marfa special: the reclaiming of America’s abandoned landscape of industrial buildings to create honest, good spaces for art; the sensation of space and light; the commitment to long-term installations to endure through cycles of taste where it is at a disadvantage”.
Judd died unexpectedly in 1994 at the age of 65, shortly after a diagnosis of lymphoma. He left behind family, loved ones and acolytes deeply committed to him and his vision, countless unfinished projects, prolific writings on art and architecture, and one of the most important installations in American contemporary art. It has become a place of pilgrimage for artists, architects, collectors, art professionals and cultural tourists from all over the world. Now the foundations charged with preserving his work are debating the best way forward.
It is a complicated legacy to interpret. The question always pops up, “What would Donald Judd do?”, a bumper sticker once seen around town. “I was 23 and Flavin was 25 when our father died,” said Rainer, who is 52. “I spent a lot of time thinking about whether I should accept the challenge that my father asked of me.” .
His will dictated that his works be “preserved where installed” for study and appreciation. But Judd also left huge debts, which took his children years to settle. A Christie’s sale of Judd’s artwork in 2006 raised $28 million for the endowment, which has a current value of $60 million.
Both foundations are pursuing long-term plans to preserve the blighted buildings and posthumously complete the projects, with an estimated price tag of $40 million for Chinati and $30 million for the Judd Foundation. In April, Chinati completed its first phase, a $2.7 million restoration of the 23,000-square-foot Chamberlain Building, replacing the roof, upgrading the Judd-designed windows and pivot doors, restoring the garden of Judd planted with a grid of rosette-shaped soffits and its distinctive adobe wall enclosing a courtyard. The space is ADA accessible and open without an appointment for the first time.
“The completion of the Chamberlain building is a demonstration that the foundation is able to renovate one of Judd’s buildings in an exemplary way,” said Nicholas Serota, a long-time Chinati trustee and former director of the Tate de London
However, following this success, Chinati’s board chose not to renew the contract of its director, Jenny Moore, after nine years. Moore, who helped raise $5 million to complete Robert Irwin’s largest permanent artwork in 2016, spearheaded the foundation’s master plan and oversaw the Chamberlain’s restoration, stepped down this summer.
The decision to seek new leadership “led to a difficult conversation that really focused on maintaining the vital mission,” said Annabelle Selldorf, a prominent Chinese architect and adviser.
Moore came to be perceived as a divisive figure. Critics expressed concern that attendance numbers, metrics and branding were prioritized over the curation of the art. The board had backed Moore a year earlier by refusing to renew the contract of Chinati associate director Rob Weiner, but that action sparked a huge public outcry. Weiner, who came to Marfa to work as Judd’s assistant, stayed after his death to help Judd’s romantic partner, Marianne Stockebrand, Chinati’s first director, steer the institution from the financial abyss . He worked closely with many artists, including Flavin (whom Stockebrand persuaded to finish his fluorescent light installations). Weiner’s firing sparked a slew of Chinati-affiliated artists, who signed a group letter to The Big Bend Sentinel accusing its leadership of losing touch with Judd’s founding mission.
One critic was Christopher Wool, a Marfa resident and the only artist who has served on Chinati’s board of directors for seven years. Wool was one of several trustees who resigned during this tumultuous period. “The board turned its back on deep institutional knowledge and insisted that Chinati be governed under a corporate model simply because that was its experience,” Wool said in an email. “The fact that it was different from formal museums was not a weakness but its most important strength.”
Jeff Jamieson, who helped Judd and Irwin with the installation, also expressed concern to the board. “Every move that Don made was to create this experience of getting to see his art in the best possible light,” he said, noting that changes in the shape of a path or the line of a ceiling could break and “degrade” it. experience.”
“Chinati is not a sexy museum with new and fancy things,” he said…