Philip Guston is an artist whose work invites conversation. Even the abstract works that brought him recognition mid-career have a chatty quality or, more accurately, a sense of give and take that pulls the viewer in for a closer look and a longer stay. The “plus-minus” brushstrokes by which Guston’s abstract paintings can be identified has always seemed to beg for interaction. The rhythmic application of the back-and-forth marks delivers the energy of their making which is transferred to the viewer and feels like an invitation to engage with, rather than to merely view and assess, the painting.
The American composer Morton Feldman wrote in his essay “Philip Guston: 1980/The Last Works,” “Guston’s paintings tell you instinctively where to stand.”[1] Perhaps one’s placement in relation to the painting is where the conversation that I imagine with Guston’s work begins. Standing in front of Wharf, 1976, I take in the painting edge to edge, top to bottom. Once I “find my footing,” I see the plus-minus brushwork that operates like voice recognition in identifying the artist. After acknowledging that this is Guston, I wonder what he is saying—or, first things first, how he is saying it. In the same essay on Guston, Feldman went on to write, “To a great extent we respond to a painting as a visual replica of how it was painted.” Surveying Wharf and tracking the artist’s moves lead to a conversation with Guston, which is where I believe meaning is found in this artist’s work.