Vija Celmins - Man With Gun
Vija Celmins - Burning Man
Painter Vija Celmins, born in 1938 in Riga, Latvia, has lived and worked primarily in New York since 1981. She immigrated to the United States at the age of ten with her family, settling in Indiana. After attending the John Herron Art Institute in Indianapolis, Celmins completed her MFA at the UCLA in 1965.
With a palette focused on the gradations between black and gray, Celmins has been known as a painter of refined representational images of night skies, ocean waves and spider webs. But her first subjects were war planes, smoking guns, and other images of death and disaster. In all of her work, the precisely rendered paintings suggest the importance of patience – the artist’s, in making a precisely rendered painting, and ours, in viewing it.
Organized by the Menil Collection and consisting of approximately 20 paintings and two small sculptures, Vija Celmins: Television and Disaster will be the first exhibition to concentrate on a specific time (1964-1966) and subject matter – including violence in America, U.S. involvement in the Vietnam War, and the news media. While several early images derive from the artist’s own interest in common objects from the studio, such as a television set or a lamp, this exhibition also concentrates on images of war – and televised images of conflict. Celmins’s work from this pivotal time reflects on the moment when the printed image began to give way to the television screen.
This exhibition will travel to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art March 13–June 5, 2011. www.menil.com

I’ve dreamed of you so much you’re losing your reality.
Is there still time to reach that living body and kiss
on that mouth the birth of the voice that’s dear to me?
I’ve dreamed of you so much that my arms, used to crossing on my chest
as I hug your shadow, couldn’t fold themselves around the shape of your body, maybe.
And faced with the actual appearance of what’s haunted me and ruled me for days and years,
I would probably turn into a shadow.
O what a sentimental pair of scales.
I’ve dreamed of you so much there’s probably no more time for me to wake up.
I sleep standing up, my body exposed to all the appearances of life and love and you,
the only thing that counts for me today. I’d probably reach for the first lips and face that came along,
than your face and your lips.
I’ve dreamed of you so much, walked so much, talked, slept with your phantom
that maybe there’s nothing left for me to do but be a phantom among the phantoms
and a hundred times more shadow than the shadow
that strolls and will go on strolling cheerfully over the sundial of your life.

“A desk is a dangerous place from which to watch the world.”


Dylan Thomas, outside the Ashmolean, Oxford c.1946 © Francis Reiss
Michael Corridore, Untitled 13, from the Angry Black Snake series, Courtesy of a New York Collector

"Op Art-Fashion“, Gizeh/Ägypten 1966 In: Brigitte 10/1966 © F.C. Gundlach
"Op Art-Silhouette“, Jerseymantel von Lend, Paris 1966 In: Brigitte 4/1966 © F.C. Gundlach
Hollywood, 1946

Poison on the Night Stand: Bodies of exiled Austrian author Stefan Zweig & his wife lying on bed, still holding hands, after they committed suicide together - Rio De Janeiro, Brazil - 1942
Photo assemblage of a portrait of Julian Maclaren-Ross