Number 4 

Curator: We're standing before John McLaughlin's "Number 4", rendered in acrylic. What strikes you about it initially? Editor: A sort of bold, defiant optimism. The sharp yellow bars against the stark white feel almost aggressively clean, somehow. It resonates, albeit in a minimal way, with the colors and forms that dominated roadside signage of the era. It projects that postwar mood, with a strange certainty. Curator: I think that boldness connects with McLaughlin's dedication to the purity of form, and process as the content. His commitment to simplifying composition emphasizes the industrial production of the acrylic paint and the very physical act of applying it. The flatness eliminates depth and that relates to an attitude, an intention. Editor: Absolutely. This interplay of horizontal planes evokes a certain…stability? Perhaps that's naive, imposing meaning. Yet, aren't those horizontal forms loaded? A horizon line, perhaps? Curator: Perhaps, but if we emphasize the "horizon" or another symbolic interpretation we deny McLaughlin's effort to make pure space visible through geometric relationships. He talked of opening the observer to contemplation. To appreciate the production here is to understand the piece. The geometric composition focuses on industrial-grade color. Editor: I suppose so, and maybe the very blankness is part of the symbolism itself. A modern form that seeks to reflect back a clear slate? Curator: Exactly. "Number 4" serves less as a symbolic work than a material encounter. It uses industrial materials and pure shapes for an abstract interaction that questions not 'what it is' but 'how was it made'? The meaning in that way is generated from a modernist context about the making of the work. Editor: Well, whether an invitation to observe pure form or a window onto postwar dreams, "Number 4" certainly gives one pause. Curator: Yes, it reminds us to ask: what world made this artwork? To examine the labor that supports any aesthetic intention.