RONI HORN

  • PRODUCTION NOTES

    RONI HORN

    IN 1980 I WANTED a closer relationship to the sun, and to get that I decided to make a gold field. I found an engineer at Engelhard Precious Metals in Massachusetts who helped me figure out how to produce a gold mat of four by five feet. It needed to be as thin as possible. It needed to hold together as an object, and it needed to be one hundred percent pure gold. This meant no glue. We came up with a thickness of six ten-thousandths of an inch, which is considerably thinner than a human hair. I was happy about this because it made the object pretty much all surface. We figured out that

  • the best books of the year

    WHAT BOOKS STOOD OUT IN THE PAST TWELVE MONTHS? ARTFORUM ASKED A HANDFUL OF HISTORIANS, CRITICS, AND ARTISTS TO NAME THE TITLE (AND, IN SOME CASES, TITLES) THEY MOST REMEMBERED FROM THE PREVIOUS YEAR.

    Arthur C. Danto

    The title of Joseph Leo Koerner’s extraordinary study The Reformation of the Image (University of Chicago Press) refers to the way Martin Luther “reformed” religious pictures to make them consistent with the Second Commandment, thus protecting them against the wave of iconoclasm that swept Protestant churches in the early sixteenth century. Luther’s remedy consisted in treating images

  • SOME ASPECTS OF COLOR IN GENERAL AND RED AND BLACK IN PARTICULAR

    MATERIAL, SPACE, AND COLOR are the main aspects of visual art. Everyone knows that there is material that can be picked up and sold, but no one sees space and color. Two of the main aspects of art are invisible; the basic nature of art is invisible. The integrity of visual art is not seen. The unseen nature and integrity of art, the development of its aspects, the irreducibility of thought, can be replaced by falsifications, and by verbiage about the material, itself in reality unseen. The discussion of science is scientific; the discussion of art is superstitious. There is no history.

    There has

  • Roni Horn

    A WEEK AGO I WAS driving through a Texas night—and I found myself peering, relentlessly, into Texas.

    Texas darkness is deep. It exceeds the visible. It exceeds the measurable. It presents things perceptible only on the scale of Texas or bigger.

    And while I was contemplating the properties of Texas darkness, I began to muse on Donald Judd. Judd—the place; Judd—the geology; Judd—the darkness; Judd—the dust.

    Texas dust is big and ubiquitous. It’s complex and delicate too. When I walk upon it, as I am bound to do, I hear the strangely distant and loud grinding of the dust under my leather soles. Each