Frank Stella

  • Frank Stella

    WHEN WILLIAM RUBIN pointed out that at the end of the nineteenth century, Cézanne’s “characteristic work was largely unknown,” we are quite surprised. On the face of it, it seems odd. A sense of art-historical puzzlement draws us toward Cézanne and into the grasp of the scholar illuminating him. As the process unfolds, we experience William, the art historian, laying out the final arguments in a series of brilliant catalogue essays for what was at its onset a modest Museum of Modern Art exhibition titled “Cézanne: The Late Work” (1977). At nearly the same time, we come to realize that his alter

  • Frank Stella

    There’s a picture Hollis Frampton took in the mid-’60s of me in Rosenquist’s studio sitting in front of Growth Plan—a painting of little kids at camp. I probably first met Jim around the time that photograph was taken. I knew him a little bit, just as I knew all the other artists. The art scene in New York was pretty casual then, and it wasn’t a big deal to visit someone’s studio, whether it was Jasper Johns, Bob Rauschenberg, Larry Poons, or John Chamberlain. It was straightforward: You did occasional studio business, saw the shows, and met after exhibition dinners—a lot of Chinese dinners.