Case Study : Agnes Martin

"It took me 20 years to paint completely non-objective, not about this world… I can remember every day I got a little more abstract and finally I was thinking about innocence, the innocence of trees, it’s quite easy to be innocent if you're a tree. And in my mind there came a grid with lines this way and that, and I thought, am I supposed to paint that, no one will think it’s a painting, but at least it’s non-objective, completely abstract, so I painted it 6 foot square."1
Agnes Martin

When viewing an Agnes Martin’s painting from a distance, you see an illuminating field of color or tone, and as you move in closer, horizontal and straight lines appear in a repetitive all over geometric pattern. If the viewer is patient and continues absorbing the surface, the seemingly mechanical grid reveals their hand drawn imperfections along with variations in color, line, shade, value and even the sensitivity of touch by the Martin's hand on the rough gessoed canvas. Her lines beg to be redrawn mentally, unlocking the creator within the viewer while reading Martin’s carefully pulled pencil as it skims the textured surface of the stretched canvas, yielding an acute awareness of time as it passes in the present along side the historic time Martin spent in the studio making the work.

Agnes Martin’s paintings unravel over time and explore the perceptual field of abstraction. Her hand drawn graphite lines on large canvases are evocative of quietude, contentment and strength. They defy the definitions of grids as being without narrative or metaphysical connection. For this case study I will research how Agnes Martin’s grid paintings create a contradiction between the values of logic and science with those of symbolism and spiritualism within the realm of modernity.

Agnes Martin (1912-2004) was born on a homestead in a remote part of Saskatchewan, Canada. After her father died, her family moved to Vancouver. Agnes Martin loved the water and was a competitive swimmer. She received her teaching certificate from Bellingham Washington and had a long interrupted career as a schoolteacher. By 1941 she realized she wanted to be an artist and attended the University of New Mexico and finished her art education at Columbia in 1951. During this time she became very interested in meditation, Buddhism and Zen teachings. She lived and worked in Taos until 1957 when art dealer Betty Parsons convinced her to return to New York. In New York, Martin moved into the Coenties Slip neighborhood where artists Ellsworth Kelly, Lenore Tawney, Robert Indiana, Jasper Johns, Jack Youngerman and Robert Rauschenberg also resided. Martin became immersed in the studio practices of these artists. She was also part of a group of minimalists that included Sol LeWitt, Anne Truitt, Donald Judd, and Ad Reinhardt. In 1967 when Martin was gaining recognition for her art, she left New York, moved back to Taos and stopped painting for nearly a decade. (Later her battle with schizophrenia became know and many speculated her disease was the basis for her departure.)2 Martin not only practiced Buddhist beliefs she embodied it’s ego-less lifestyle. Like her sparce paintings reminiscent of the minimalist but with the expressionist hand drawn graphite line and painted washes, the adobe home she built for herself in Taos had only the minimum of comforts and was without electricty or plumbing. Once Martin resumed her studio practice, she painted daily up until her death at age 92.

Kasha Linville, beautifully describes Martin’s last painting during her New York period in the Art Forum Summer 1971 issue. “Tundra, the last painting she did before she stopped working and left New York, opened entirely new ground for her. She knew it but decided not to pursue it. (By one account, she said she had painted all the pictures she needed to and younger painters would paint works subsequent to Tundra for her.) Tundra is a simple, almost inexplicable canvas. Its surface is divided by three lines into six tall rectangles. The pattern reminds you of a window, but the surface is closed. It suggests the heavy, white jade blankness of a snow sky. The lines that divide it are dominant at close range, but something very peculiar happens as you move back from this canvas. Because the horizontally brushed, grayish wash on the surface stops near but not against the lines, they seem to have halos around them. These halos actually swallow the lines at middle distance, leaving only their white ghosts. Even the ghosts disappear eventually."3 The title Tundra means a vast, flat, treeless region in which the subsoil is permanently frozen. Similar to the terrain of Martin’s childhood Saskatchewan home bordering the Canadian Tundra. Martin's paintings are reminescent of open planes like those in Taos and Saskatchewan and oceans with endless horizons.

In the 20th Century the grid became the emblem of modernity. What may have begun in the work of artists like Mondrian as a response to Plato’s belief that art is an imitation or a copy of a copy of a form.4, and used in order to create something purely abstract and without references, went on to form the basis of cubism, abstraction and minimalism. Rosalind Krauss wrote in her essay on grids “It [the grid] is anti-natural, anti-mimetic, anti-real. It is what art looks like when it turns its back on nature.” She goes on to state “The grid’s mythic power is that it makes us able to think we are dealing with materialism (or sometimes science, or logic) while at the same time it provides us with a release into belief.”5

Martins work was often shown with the minimalists though she thought of herself as an Abstract Expressionist. “Martin achieved an artistic style that fused universal order and symmetry with a profoundly beautiful, subjective, oscillating human touch.”6 The human touch is what set’s her work apart from the machine like hard edge of works by Donald Judd, Sol LeWitt and other minimalists. It is also unlike the more ego centric work of the expressionists and likely falls somewhere between these two genres.

Agnes Martin followed her inspired vision and she used it as a guage to measure the success of her paintings and to edit out the painting that did not match this vision. “The bad paintings have to be painted and to the artist these are more valuable than those paintings later brought before the public. A work of art is successful when there is a hint of perfection present—at the slightest hint… the work is alive.”7 She waited for an inspiration to come to her and when the image came, she would sketch it out the size of a postage stamp and than mathematically scale it up onto a 5’ or 6’ square canvas. “She painted everyday and destroyed with a matt knife the ones she didn’t like. She could paint the same image over 10 times and destroy 9 of them.”8

In conclusion, the uniquely perceptual qualities of Agnes Martin’s work exemplifies Rosalind Krauss's statement that the grid in art creates an inherent paradox of conflicting values between logic and spiritualism. This conflict is compounded by Martin's austere and strictly imposed Buddhist minimalist lifestyle and ego-less, selfless embodiment of the those ideals. Adding a dimension that is felt through her meditative, rhythmic, repetitive and mantra like paintings. “I ask for inspiration. I have a vacant mind in order to do exactly what the inspiration calls for… I think we don’t deserve any credit for the inspirations that comes to you and tells you what to do.”9 Like the frenetic actions felt when viewing a Jackson Pollock painting, these paintings contain and project the thoughts of innocence, boundless patience, devotion to her inspiration and the powerful conviction she embodied in her art practice and in her belief that “Art restimulates inspirations and awakens sensibilities that’s the function of art”10

”In our minds, there is awareness of perfection; When we look with our eyes we see it, … And then sometimes there are moments of perfection and in these moments we wonder why we ever thought life was difficult. We think that at last our feet are on the right path and that we will not falter or fail. We’re completely convinced we have the solution and then the moment is over.”11

1. ”Documentary “Between the Lines” about the painter Agnes Martin (trailer).” YouTube. March 08, 2016. Accessed December 09, 2017.

2. Nancy Princenthal, “Agnes Martin: Innocence the Hard Way – Talk at Tate Modern.” July 15, 2015. Accessed December 07, 2017.  1:28:55

3. Kasha Linville “Agnes Martin: An Appreciation by Kasha Linville.” Summer 1971. Accessed December 09, 2017.

4. “Plato.” Aesthetics - Plato’s Aesthetics. Accessed December 10, 2017.

5. Rosalind Krauss, “Grids.” October 9 (1979): 51-64. doi:10.2307/778321.

6. Peter Plagens, “‘Agnes Martin’ Review: The Essentials of a Minimalist Master.” Wall Street Journal, October 16, 2016.

7. Agnes Martin, Dieter Schwarz. Agnes Martin: writings ;. Winterthur: Kunstmuseum, 1991. pg 32

8. Arne Glimcher. “Agnes Martin: Arne Glimcher in conversation with Frances Morris.” Tate. April 17, 2013. Accessed December 10, 2017. 1:18:20

9. “Tate Shots | Agnes Martin” Vimeo. June 2015. Accessed December 6, 2017.

10. Agnes Martin, Writings pg 39

11. IBID pg 31

Case Study : Richard Tuttle

"Someone once asked me why I do these pieces.
It’s so I don’t have to make them again.”
Richard Tuttle

Richard Tuttle was born in Rahway, New Jersey in 1941 and has been creating work that feels continuously contemporary since the mid-1960’s. “Tuttle’s work exists in the space between painting, sculpture, poetry, assemblage, and drawing. He draws beauty out of humble materials, reflecting the fragility of the world in his poetic works. Without a specific reference point, his investigations of line, volume, color, texture, shape, and form are imbued with a sense of spirituality and informed by a deep intellectual curiosity.“* 2 In the catalog for Tuttle’s Whitney show in 1975, Marcia Tucker wrote, “The work of Richard Tuttle often shocks viewers with its offhandedness, its modest informality and its rough, impermanent look. Tuttle’s pieces are insistent; their often small size, visual frailty and blatant disregard for the kind of technical refinement found in “major” art stubbornly, even perversely, command attention.”3

In the 1960’s and early 1970’s Richard Tuttle exhibited along side the post minimal artists. These artists preferred revealing the hand of the artist over the machine aesthetic of minimalism. They questioned ideas of permanence, ephemerality, the subject of time, architecture and scale. They also changed the course of artistic production in the years that have followed.4

For this case study I will be primarily investigating the work of Richard Tuttle. During this inquiry, I hope to discover a possible connection between the materiality of Richard Tuttle’s art works, and the current object oriented philosophy of the 21st century? Since Tuttle’s abstract objects do not point to any recognizable symbolic, representational, realistic, narrative, naturalistic or anthropomorphic form, and that each sculpture is just trying to be itself,5 I speculate this gives them a life that cannot be completely known by us and thus reflects the basis of Heidegger’s philosophy reflected in the words of Graham Harman. A philosophy that emerged from our current anthropogenic impact on the Earth’s ecosystems and offers a way of thinking about everything as an object of equal importance where human objects are not privileged over non-human objects.

Richard Tuttle layers and contrasts an all inclusive array of materials to create interdependent and ambiguous forms that explore the relativeness of reality and the possibility of universal meaning that can transport the viewer from the material world to the immaterial. “The artist... always has one foot in the possibility of no meaning and the other foot in the possibility of real meaning, in speculation.”6

From 1967-1972 Tuttle made a group of ten cloth octagonals that were were dyed and stored crumpled in a canvas bag. They could either be installed on the wall or the floor with small nails. Tuttle called the cloth octagonals, drawings for three-dimensional structures in space. After the cloth octagonals Tuttle made twelve white paper octagonals. Each paper octagonal was cut from a pattern and glued directly onto the wall. “These paper works are perceptually so elusive that it is often difficult to see the pieces or, when one does, to determine whether the paper constitutes a light form on the darker ground of the wall or vice versa. The light changes the pieces as much as the pieces alter the light around (or on) them, but they are as much like shadows, defined by their delicate edges, as they are like volumes of light.”7 In a lecture at The Royal College of Arts, Tuttle stated that the paper octagonals were very difficult to make and that he could only make one at a time on the day of a full moon.8 The tension of this work is at the edges and when one feels this tension, one’s feelings for the work can begin; one can sense the constants that lie beneath our perceptions of absence and presence. “...The emptiness I’ve been talking about is actually a comfort. You are comfortable in the unknown... the freedom comes from this emptiness and the vastness of the unknown, because the unknown is infinity.”9

Tuttle remakes the paper and wire octagons every time they are shown. He examines the walls, the colors, the light of the new space and reinvestigates the materials and all the elements as if for the first time. Color itself is redefined with each work and their relationships to shadow, reflection and light reveal new connections and feelings not experienced before.10 Madeleine Grynsztejn, Pritzker, director of the Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago, says, “They have a kind of life of their own, these works. They kind of live and breathe in the same air and space that we do… even when he’s reinstalling a piece, he finds a way to make it come as alive as it moves from context to context.”11 Or, as Tuttle says, “I do what my work tells me to do, at the same time what the work wants is to deal with being alive.“12

A later body of work titled Systems, VII-XIII, were show for the first time in Tuttle’s solo show at Pace Gallery from September to October 2012. These new pieces show Tuttle’s continuous search to create sculptures that are expansive while retaining their intimacy. Though these “systems” are physically very different from the Octagonals created 40 years prior, his underlying immateriality through materiality remains. “Tuttle’s explorations of line, volume, color, texture, shape, and form are imbued with a sense of spirituality and informed by a deep intellectual curiosity. Teasing beauty out of humble materials, the artist reflects the fragility of the world in his poetic works.”13

Systems, XII looks as if the elements, a metal pole wrapped in red cloth, a wooden beam on a small pile of blue styrofoam, a piece of crumpled white fabric on the wooden beam and raw wooden blocks in a pyramid shape, were casually arranged to create a painterly compositions. In an Art in America review of this work, Gregory Volks writes, “it subtly embraces juxtapositions of elevation and gravity, rigid and flexible materials, revelation and concealment, vivid and subdued colors.”14

Systems, X is tripartite. A three sided wood block with coarsely woven cloth inside which rests on a red painted block. The third part is a thin plywood sheet on legs that forms a low sloping table. Underneath are black plastic bags stuffed with black fabric and on the table is a thick white cloth, with a stick dipped in red paint, jutting out. ”You know what you are looking at is humdrum stuff, but in this very particular arrangement, the idiosyncratic “system” of shapes, textures and colors seems quietly marvelous and frankly sublime.“15

The similar thread in all Tuttle’s work is an insatiable curiosity that is contagious. The viewer is left to explore the materiality of the work, to mentally remake the work and in doing so perceive their subtleties and the interplay between the layers of materials—like the color of a cast shadow on green fabric shaded by red fabric. Tuttle stated that when he selects a color it is redefined as if he had never used that color before. Everything is seen as if for the first time and each object he creates is it’s own and cannot be defined by anything else in the world. “The objects he makes do not, as is his intention, resemble anything but themselves, we are led to assume indeed, to feel distinctly that he is interested in the expression of interior states rather in a reexamination of the physical world… Examples of such nonphysical things, which are part of interior states, are the mental categories of time and space, beginning and end, part and whole, singular and plural, equal and different, cause and effect.”16

Tuttle’s material explorations create complex objects that increase our awareness of them and attract our attention. We become aware of their inner presence and unique life that exists outside of the visitor, object, and participant relationship. Similar to Heidegger’s example of the broken hammer—when the hammer can’t do the job of hammering, it can be thought about from a distance and appreciated for it’s objectness. Harman adds that since our knowledge of the world is illusive, indirect and cannot be fully know—we can reconsider assumptions of human-centeredness and speculate a flat ontology where humans and objects stand on equal ground. 17

The objects of Richard Tuttle, and the “life of it’s own” he gives his works, exemplify this flat ontology. They work to increase the viewer’s perceptual and sensual reality of objects and heighten the viewer’s understanding of the ability of objects to transcend them from the physical to the psychical. Art reflects our world and the links between the artist’s experiences and their works are inescapable. The environmental movements, the awareness of the anthropogene, object oriented philosophy, and our sensitivity to objects seems like a progressive step away from human-centered thinking in order to rebalance our relationship to all things and embrace the knowledge that we are a part of this greater world and not apart from it.


1. Marcia Tucker and Richard Tuttle, Richard Tuttle: Whitney Museum of American Art New York, September 12 - November 16, 1975 (New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, 1976), 

2. Pace Gallery, "Richard Tuttle," (Accessed October 16, 2017).

3. Marcia Tucker. 

4. Tate, "TateShots: Richard Tuttle," (Accessed October 08, 2017).

5. Marcia Tucker.

6. Molly Donovan, "Richard Tuttle and the Comfort of the Unknown," American Art 20, 2 (2006): 102-25.

7. Marcia Tucker.

8. Richard Tuttle, “Visual Cultures Lectures Series - Richard Tuttle: Layering,” Royal College of Arts, 17 October 2014,

9. Molly Donovan, "Richard Tuttle and the Comfort of the Unknown,": 115

10. Marcia Tucker.

11. Madeleine Grynsztejn, "The Art Of Richard Tuttle," Canadian Art 22, no. 3 (Fall, 2005): 63.

12. Tuttle, “Layering.”

13. Pace Gallery, "Richard Tuttle".

14. Gregory Volk, "Richard Tuttle." Art in America, November 13, 2012.

15. IBID

16. Marcia Tucker and Richard Tuttle. 1976.

17. Lucy Kimball, 2013. The object strikes back: An interview with Graham Harman. Design and Culture 5 (1): 103-17.)

Case Study : Jessica Stockholder

“I begin, and still do begin, with a love for color and unrelenting interest in the intersection of a pictorial way of looking, (or thinking,) with the physical matter of the body and the materiality of things in space. I continue to be interested in how experience of the physical world, its form, and our form determine how and what we are capable of thinking. Both the structure of our perceptual apparatus (eyes, brain, size) and the given nature of the cosmos are the foundation for thought and understanding. Following from these givens we humans use metaphor to build elaborate abstract and concrete structures to live within. In this way I find form to be full of significance.”1

(Figure 1) Jessica Stockholder, images from Jessica Stockholder, (10/5/17)

Refrigerators, skeins of yarn, lumber, lamps, fruit, platforms, chairs, ribbon, shower curtains, spools of thread, plastic storage bins, light bulbs, packing tape, linoleum, bathtubs, carpet, plexiglas, mirrors, sheet-rock, old suitcases, the kitchen sink... This list represents only a fraction of the materials Jessica Stockholder uses as artistic mediums. Stockholder orchestrates experiential installations using the mundane materials of our everyday lives that pull the viewer into the architectural space by her addition of multiple viewing positions. There are often chairs to sit on and ramps to walk over that place the viewer within the tableaux and then be viewed as part of the work. The multi-layered situations made from known materials add familiarity and feel comfortable even in their institutional settings. These works are not narrative or literary, they are about the grander thoughts and the feelings they elicit. Though these assemblages are reminiscent of Rauschenberg, Stockholder points to the minimalists, like William Morris, whose intent was to activate the viewer.2

For this case study, I am interested in understanding how Stockholder’s dimensional arrangements of decontextualized everyday objects and staged constructions, not only initiate thoughts about their perceptions of — and relationships to the objects in order to make sense of their arrangement, but also activate the viewer as a participant and than to be seen by other viewers as part of the tableau.

Stockholder is not interested in generating an object based upon initial ideations, but is instead invested in the process of production and the relationships between things. "The things I have to say about the work come afterwards. The work is about the experience of making the work."3 I relate this to my own process of working through ideas that are more of a visceral experience than a verbal narrative. "As the viewer comes across her very eclectic but also striking juxtapositions, it becomes necessary to build and bind the construction in thought, for without intellectual composition the collaboration of objects can appear to be in disarray."4 Objects bring forth a multitude of meanings that are both universal and specific to the individual. This relationship between the object and our thoughts, reflect the relationship between our mental space and our physical body.

(Figure 2) Jessica Stockholder, Vortex in the Play of Theater with Real Passion: In memory of Kay Stockholder, (2000), from Jessica Stockholder, (9/21/17)

Jessica Stockholder has described her “Vortex in the Play of Theater with Real Passion in Memory of Kay Stockholder”(figure 2) as one of her favorite pieces.5 Structures are made from Duplo blocks, brightly painted small construction site containers, building materials, theater light, theater curtain, chair, bench, and stage. Jessica states she is interested in the theater and how sculpture, since it has moved off the pedestal, has become theatrical because it is in the room with its viewer and both become actors relating within the space.6 “Objects and colors speak to each other from across the room.”7 When seeing and thinking about the bright blue container, the color blue will bring up a multitude of memories, thoughts and ideas that are non-existent in the physical world. Roland Wäspe writes "A little like Alice in Wonderland is the way you feel in one of Jessica Stockholder’s environments. You see what are quite ordinary things, but transformed poetically and magically into a work of art.”8 These room sized works, encourages the viewer to enter the picturesque stage and interact by inserting themselves into the installation.9

(Figure 3) Jessica Stockholder, The Guests All Crowded into the Dining Room, 
Mitchell-Innes & Nash, NY, 2016,, (9/21/17)

In the work titled "The Guests All Crowded into the Dining Room" (2016) (figure 3), Jessica creates a large-scale site-responsive installation from pre-made, purchased and found materials. “Meanwhile, the objects she uses are still identifiable as themselves, introducing their own set of histories and associations, even at the same time that they merge and melt into the larger installations in which she combines them...The sensation was heightened on the runway, which set visitors descending it facing those entering the space, as if coming to greet each other.”10 In an interview Stockholder stated, “The viewer slips between audience and actor. …I’m not focused on narratives at all—I’m interested in my peripheral vision, so to speak, in how a multitude of nostalgias, upsets, gleefulness, memories, or references to types of people, all fly at once from the myriad materials I’m working with. That kind of narrative information is not controlled in my work—it’s an appreciated backdrop for something else that I’m doing involving how my direct experience of stuff bumps up against the abstract contours of mind.”11

In this exhibition are also sculptures Stockholder refers to as Assists. These sculptures attach to a bed, the wall, furniture, other sculpture, or appliances. The Assists have a symbiotic relationship with everything around them. "With the Assists, Stockholder continues to explore questions of boundary, dependence, and response to the landscape of human-made things, notions which have been central to her practice to-date."12

Even though many of Jessica's forms are monumental in scale they feel proportioned for humans. Containers can be entered, stairs, ramps and stages walked on, chairs and benches sat in—each giving the viewer another perspective and vantage point from which to view and be viewed. The variables in Jessica Stockholder's installations and the combination of these variables do not necessarily point directly to feelings of comfort and familiarity. There is something about these situations she is creating using common objects, large fields of densely saturated hues, titles suggesting family events like, “The Guests All Crowded Into the Dining Room,” and the human proportioned scale that feel easy even though they are chaotic and complex. There are likely visitors who prefer the more democratic viewing of a pictorial picture frame to being engulfed by a dimensional experience.

Perhaps adding to the feeling of familiarity, is the similarity these installation share with the messy chaos of real life. Miwon Kwon writes, "Jessica Stockholder's installations often appear messy and funky, almost out of control… This seemingly indiscriminate accumulation of stuff stuck together is usually attached to, framed by, or supporting quasi-architectural constructions-platforms, ramps, walls, ledges, columns-that in turn play off of the existing architecture of the given exhibition space. Intersecting, over laying, and juxtaposed throughout this large-scale assemblage is another layer of aesthetic information: bright patches or fields of paint (orange, aqua, yellow, red) that tend to disobey the contours of the accumulated objects as well as the shape and edges of the constructed or pre-existing walls and floors."13 One critic called it "things thrown eccentrically together"14

Stockholder's works contain a multitude of complex relationships Hundreds of small parts made from intensely colored objects with surfaces that are smooth, textured, shiny, matte, reflective, absorbent, hard, cold, warm, stiff or flowing. It can appear messy and confusing and there is little understandable reason behind the arrangement of the objects and the work. There are objects in front of the viewer, overhead and underfoot, pathways with paint, linoleum, carpet and wood. There are places to stand, ramps to walk over and places to sit. Objects are bouncing off and reflecting each other, colliding and melding together. Perhaps the viewer’s feelings of comfort stems from the need to make sense of stockholder’s work. Familiar in the way it mirrors our struggle to calendar time, budget money, manage love, health, death, disasters, and all the other entanglements that can appear from nowhere and meld together to form our existence.

Perhaps, even less researchable and knowable is my desire for the visitor within the human scaled tableaux, to feel symbiotic feelings with the non-human elements. Ultimately, it is my search to find ways to make our human permeability felt, and to diffuse the edges that define our figure and ground relationship to the universe. In my last project, I created a still life reminiscent of the 17th century Vanitas and invited multiple artist to paint it life sized on the four walls of the installation. I included mirrors, small intimat e paintings to add the relativity of scale, chairs for sitting on, a chandelier with blue lights and a project to participate in. Like Stockholder, visitors entered the space and become part of the still life.


1. Jessica Stockholder, “Biography,” Jessica Stockholder, (accessed on October 5, 2017).

2. Claire Bishop, Installation Art: Art Critical History, 2005 (London: Tate, 2005), 52-56.

3.  Jessica Stockholder, “Jessica Stockholder, New Chair of the Department of Visual Arts,” film [October 27, 2011], Youtube video, 1:20:28, posted May 1, 2012,

5. Roland Wäspe, “Jessica Stockholder, Vortex in the Play of Theater with Real Passion,” in Jessica Stockholder, ed. Konrad Bitterli,pg. (Nurmberg: Verlag Fur Moderne Kunst, 2001).

6. Video, Art 21 Exclusive,

7. Roland Wäspe, “Jessica Stockholder, Vortex in the Play

8. Jonathan Goodman, “Jessica Stockholder: Gorney Bravin + Lee,” Sculpture 20,7 (2001): 77-78.

9. Roland Wäspe, “Jessica Stockholder, Vortex in the Play

10. Art Forum, David Frankel, Jessica Stockholder at Mitchell-Innes & Nash, (accessed on September 20, 2017)

11.  Jessica Stockholder, “Corresponding Between Found and Made: An Interview with Jessica Stockhold,” interviewed by Caroline Picard, Badatsports, October 5, 2016, (accessed on October 1, 2017).

12. Jessica Stockholder, “Jessica Stockholder, New Chair

13. Kwon, Miwon. "Promiscuity of Space: Some Thoughts on Jessica Stockholder's Scenographic Compositions." Grey Room, no. 18 (2004): 52-63.

14. Jessica Stockholder: Gorney Bravin + Lee." Sculpture 20, no. 7 (September 2001): 77-78. Art Full Text (H.W. Wilson), EBSCOhost (accessed on October 2, 2017).