Ohne Titel 1977

Here's a set of four small paintings, a kind of quartet, made by Blinky Palermo. Imagine Palermo in his studio, maybe listening to some Krautrock, trying to make nothing happen, letting the thinned-down yellow paint stain the white ground. It must have felt precarious, teetering between control and chance. Each panel shares the same DNA but has its own distinct personality, a bit like siblings. I wonder if he was looking at the early Renaissance when they used the white ground as light, or maybe at Agnes Martin’s grids, or even Ryman's experiments with white. There’s a real tension between the looseness of the stain and the hard edges of the panels. They sit together, these small, quiet paintings, in a row. Artists are always chatting to each other across time, spurring each other on. These paintings feel like a reminder that painting doesn't always have to shout; sometimes, it whispers.