Untitled 1968

Robert Morris made this big sculpture out of black felt, and I can't help but imagine him wrestling with these unruly strips, shaping them into a deliberate yet random arrangement. It’s not painting exactly, but you sense the same back and forth. I wonder if Morris ever felt like he was losing control, letting the material dictate the form. You know, sometimes the best paintings come from those moments of near-disaster, when you're just trying to salvage something from the chaos. The texture, the sheer physicality of the felt, it all speaks to an artist grappling with gravity, with chance, with the very nature of sculpture. It's all about what happens in the studio, the push and pull between artist and material. It reminds me of Lynda Benglis's poured latex sculptures, that same willingness to let go and see what happens. We’re all just riffing off each other, across time and space.