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This is what happens when you spend glorious weekend mornings up on the deck, reading a bio of Agnes Martin.
I became aware of her work only a short while ago, and find her story to be inordinately compelling.
"Canadian-born, American artist ..." That's how I'd like to be remembered as well, by the by.
Her enigmatic 6 x 6 foot grid paintings bring to mind the softest of flannel blankets I'd like to wrap myself in on any given cold night. Upon painting this homage, her work suddenly became much more accessible to me. In filling in the grid with gouache, making sure to leave the pencil marks visible, it struck me how everything fell away. The noise in my head abated. There was no personal memory attached, no object to render, no politics, no socio-sexual leitmotif: only the task of filling in the grid. Each rectangle's varying hues, each brush stroke, is a record of my breathing and pulse as I worked diligently, quietly, patiently. Hi, Agnes. We love you.