TABLE OF CONTENTS

PRINT October 2001

Sol LeWitt

BACK IN THE ’60S, I used to visit Lee Lozano’s studio pretty regularly. On some of these visits, she would present you with three objects—abstract objects, like small cubes—and tell you to arrange them on a tabletop. I remember her doing the “Wave” paintings, which I was very impressed with—and their premise. When they were first shown, everyone agreed it was a major statement. Lee’s relative disappearance from the historical records is sort of mysterious; the work was hardly negligible, so it’s hard to say why she didn’t have more of a career. It was definitely hard to make it as a woman artist, and she herself really withdrew from the world. The thing about not speaking with women went way beyond an art project. I remember sitting in a restaurant with her once and a waitress came to the table; not only would Lee not talk to her, she would hide her eyes. She had an extreme dislike for the company of women, thought they were evil. When she came to my studio, if my girlfriend opened the door, Lee would turn on her heels, run down the stairs, and be gone. Her wounds were self-inflicted; the withdrawal from the art world and the antifeminism. Eventually she stopped making artworks altogether. She became a spirit who would appear and then vanish, but her work was saved by friends and those who had faith in her vision.