I have known Judith Murray and Robert Yasuda for more than four decades and I’ve been familiar with their work for the same number of years. While they have shown (infrequently) together before—most notably in Singapore in 2014—I have never considered their work as anything other than individual endeavors by two very individual artists. One reason I did not make the connection was because they themselves did not, discouraging, for the most part, those kinds of comparisons, protective of their aesthetic autonomy. When asked to write an essay for this exhibition, only the second joint venture of this scope, comprising nearly 25 years of work, I was suddenly struck by how much their practice and their ideas about art have in common, even though Judith’s paintings would never be mistaken for Bob’s, and vice versa. But, as a couple from the days when they were art students, their studios within steps of each other for much of that time, it seems natural, no, even inevitable that there would be multiple correspondences, conscious and unconscious.
For one, they are both preternaturally responsive to place. Bob was raised in Hawaii and Judith in Florida, and they have spent much time in both locales. I’m certain that the dazzling light, the rhythms of water, the soaring skies, the luxuriant foliage and brilliant colors, the languor and upheavals of southern climes are embedded in their being, perpetually on tap, and traceable, drop by light-filled drop, in their art, no matter how it has evolved through the years.
Although they are at home in the world—Kauai and India have been regular and beloved destinations—Key West enjoys special status as their longtime second home. They spend roughly half the year there and the other half in New York, going back and forth. In New York, they live in SoHo, during its pioneering days the undisputed hub of the contemporary art world, and still home to many artists, despite the numbers who have left. In fact, it may become an art center again, as galleries are returning downtown. The Murray/Yasuda loft is enormous, one of the great perks of being homesteaders, and is filled with a very idiosyncratic collection of treasured objects imported from the Keys and from travels that have crisscrossed the globe. It might be considered a personal kingdom and memory palace, with a pronounced southern tilt, enhanced by the astonishingly verdant garden they have coaxed into bloom on their roof, a delightful pocket version of their exuberantly flowering Key West wonderlands.
I have visited several of their homes in the Keys, from a charming houseboat to an airy and beautiful Bahamian style house on Big Pine next to a nature preserve. Their last dwelling was on Sugarloaf Key. Their most magnificent residence to date, it was built from scratch, born from the same kind of creative drive and imagination present in their paintings. And Key West has been, and continues to be, a primary inspiration and collaborator in a process that transforms what was blank, unformed, into something tangible and visually compelling, whether on actual terrain or in their art.
Beyond that, they are both abstractionist although their work, in varying degrees, can be read as sourced in landscape, in the real world, as can the endeavors of other so-called abstractionists, the divide between them and representational artists no longer hard and fast, no longer an issue. And, additionally, they have in common practices based on color, space, light, mark, scale, and a profound engagement with process and materials.
While they are both gifted colorists, Judith, in the 1960s, decided to work with only four hues: red, yellow, black, and white. The reason she chose those earthy pigments was, she once said, in homage to prehistoric cave paintings and the miraculous lineage of painting. It was a significant decision, one that she has never regretted or rescinded, sensing from the beginning that they would offer sufficient challenges for a lifetime. She also has one other unchanging element in her lexicon—a painted bar that runs from top to bottom along one vertical edge, made in specific response to the painting it borders. Among other functions, the bar delineates the boundary between fictive and real space, reminding us that the space of the painting is illusory.
Looking at her paintings, it is not immediately apparent that there are only four colors in them (theoretically, each color is infinite because tonalities are, even if they pass beyond our perceptual range). Her early paintings displayed hard-edged, fascinatingly eccentric shapes and were clearly painted red, yellow, white, and black. The later works are modulated, all over, expressive, one color often dominating, although the three other colors are present. Her materials are classic: oil paint on linen. To refer to only one example, there is the panoramic Once in the Morning, a gorgeous diptych from 2014. It radiates an enveloping golden light and at first glance, you might call it a yellow painting. But looking again, you see the presence of the other colors of her quartet, in a lighter, brighter register: pinks, yellows, whites, grays. The surface is a masterwork of thick, almost sculptural brushwork, lively with quick, beckoning beats, a world in dynamic, skittering motion, in disruption and resolution, throwing off sparks of light.
Bob, on the other hand, has gravitated toward cool colors such as clear greens, deep blues, aquamarines—signature shades summoning up associations with sea and sky—as if to balance Judith’s earthy tones. He also layers ceaselessly, slipping in warmer colors to make it a full spectrum, although he too, seems to verge on the monochromatic at times. That, however, is a feint. Other colors are there, submerged, enriching a surface that is much like that of water, which is never simply one shade. His surfaces are polished, immaculate and appear calm initially, but beneath the top layers, there is movement, swells, the rhythms supple, less staccato than Judith’s. Over the years, Bob has shifted from the cerebral and minimalist to the more overtly sensuous and subjective, although formal issues remain important to him, to both of them.
Bob also maintains constants in his work. One is his fascination with supports and frames. The wooden panels he uses are elegantly, meticulously hand-carved, and sometimes the paintings are edged in strips of black wood, also hand-carved, nudging his panels into the architectural and into relief, often suggestive of ceremonial objects. His “bars” are actual, as opposed to Judith’s painted bands. Lifeline, from 2013, is a good companion to Once in the Morning. It too, is a diptych, but with thin fabric stretched tautly across each panel. The palettes are relatively close, and both are hung with an interval of space between the constituent panels. Extraordinarily luminous, Lifeline emits a visual crackle along the textured, irregular cleft between the two supports, like an electric charge or tectonic plates unzipping. While capturing the phenomenal and transient is something they both pursue, Bob might be said to incline toward air and water while Judith embraces earth and fire, both envisioning their own private paradises.
As I write that, however, I can’t help but note that such paradises, such habitats are threatened, their existence increasingly precarious, as is the state of our planet. There is one other message, then, that they and their paintings might make us think about, at least under present circumstances: that if such places were to vanish, their loss would be irreparable, fatal.
Lilly Wei is a New York-based art critic, independent curator and journalist whose interest is global contemporary art.
With one of the tallest buildings – and most spectacular views – in town, the Hugh’s View rooftop terrace serves as The Studios’ creative space in the sky. The terrace sits four stories above street level and offers panoramic views of the island. The Kitwald Stage glows in the golden twilight of our sunset performances.
With original seating from its days as a Masonic temple, the Helmerich Theater has been updated to also include floor seating. As a black box theater, the set up is intimate but professional, and sets the stage for concerts and performances that leave guests feeling like they really got to know the performer.