You may have seen the photo before. It captures a group of 14 men and one woman clustered together in a sparse room, staring straight at the camera with scowls of varying intensity. The painter Jackson Pollock is perched on a stool in a suit and tie, holding a cigarette. Barnett Newman, seated in the front with his legs crossed, had insisted they all dress “like bankers.” This is the famous portrait of “the Irascibles,” which appeared in Life magazine in 1951. The artists pictured—including Willem de Kooning, Robert Motherwell, and Mark Rothko—would go on to be regarded as pioneers of Abstract Expressionism, a style prized for exuberant, seemingly spontaneous brushstrokes that revolutionized the art world.
For Hedda Sterne, the lone female artist in the group, the shoot was not particularly welcoming. “They were sufficiently macho to think that the presence of a woman took away from the seriousness of it all,” she later recalled. If a similar portrait was staged today, it would look quite different. For one, the artists would not all be white. Nor would they be exclusively from New York. And many would be female. Women and artists of color have been working in abstraction for as long as anyone else—they just haven’t historically been recognized by the establishment.
That’s why the new generation of female abstract artists is not discussing who can make abstract painting—Hilma af Klint began creating abstractions in the early 20th century, years before the men who got the credit. Nor are they making art explicitly about their identities as women and people of color. Instead, they are redefining what abstraction can be. The age of the Irascibles was all about the mind—minds so powerful they could create paintings that referenced nothing but themselves. That kind of solipsism is not particularly interesting now. Artists such as Rachel Jones, A’Driane Nieves, Li Hei Di, and Grace Carney see abstract painting as a place to express the power of not only the mind but also the body, spirit, and subconscious. Nathlie Provosty deploys shiny surfaces that literally reflect the viewer; Pam Evelyn assembles brushstrokes that recall the expansiveness of the seaside; and Tala Worrell incorporates in her canvases nigella seeds, sumac, and coffee grounds that evoke the textures, smells, and feelings associated with making a home. All these tactics serve to invite others into their paintings, rather than pushing them out.
Curator Gary Garrels, who organized a blockbuster exhibition of contemporary abstract painting at Gagosian gallery in London in June, believes its resurgence coincides with a cultural moment of self-reflection. “People are turning to look more deeply inside themselves, to think about how to connect with where we are in the world today,” he says. In the past, abstract artists sought to avoid engaging with anything external. Their descendants, on the other hand, bring a profound curiosity and openness to the outside. And at a time when screens offer endless temptation and instant gratification, these artists take pride in making work that rewards extended viewing. The result is less irascible, more insightful.
Carney isn’t the only artist who draws creative energy from embedding intimate narratives in her work like secret messages. Li Hei Di, who had a solo show at Michael Kohn Gallery, in Los Angeles, in November and is due to open another at Pippy Houldsworth, in London, in March, layers nude forms and sex scenes into her acid-hued paintings, blurring the line between abstraction and figuration. Phallic symbols come into focus as quickly as they disappear into pools of hot pink and kelly green; her work often looks like a psychedelic, orgiastic fever dream. Part of the reason for this approach is practicality. Li was born in Shenyang, China, and now lives in London; but China, where she has shown frequently, places restrictions on nudity in art. Li proudly recounts sneaking a tiny copulating couple into a large abstract composition. She has even fooled her own mother. “I was painting a giant butt plug,” Li recalls. “My mom said, ‘What a nice waterfall.’ ” Li’s influences are an eclectic mix of films, poems, and books that share the themes of love, sex, and desire. Recent inspirations include Green Snake, a 1993 Chinese film about two snake sisters who assume human form, and Breasts and Eggs, a Japanese novella about a young girl coming to terms with her changing body and her relationship with her mother.
Li Hei Di: Hair and Makeup by Nadia Altinbas at The Wall Group. Photo Assistant: Isabel MacCarthy. Pam Evelyn: Hair and Makeup by Julia Wren for Clarins and Colour Wow at Carol Hayes Management. Digital Technician: Anna Sophia John; Photo Assistant: Isabel MacCarthy. Nathlie Provosty & Grace Carney: Hair and Makeup by Amanda Wilson for Dior at Opus Beauty. Digital Technician: Charlotte Swinburn. Rachel Jones: Hair by Nat Bury for STMNT Grooming at Leftside Creative; Makeup by Lucy Burt for Dior at The Wall Group. Photo Assistant: Isabel MacCarthy; Fashion Assistant: Emeline Taverne. Tala Worrell: Hair by Nikki Providence for Unite at Forward Artists; Makeup by Yasuko Shapiro for Dior at A-Frame Agency. Photo Assistant: Benjamin Callot. A’Driane Nieves: Digital Technician: Charlotte Swinburn.
