IT IS THIRTY years since the Centre national d’Art et de Culture Georges Pompidou, the fantastic tubular machine by Renzo Piano and Richard Rogers, arose phoenix-like from the ashes of Paris’s demolished Beaubourg district. A building conceived as an anti-monument has become perhaps the most popular of all Parisian landmarks, the inspiration for every city-defining museum and gallery from Fort Worth to Bilbao. The Pompidou is celebrating its anniversary in style, with the recent exhibition Airs de Paris, a labyrinthine survey of art and design made in the French capital during the last three decades; a retrospective, opening in November, of the work of the Richard Rogers Partnership; and, most significantly, a new presentation of the permanent collections of the Musée national d’art moderne – Centre de création industrielle. Following two years during which, alternately, each of the two floors allocated to the Museum was closed while an essential fire prevention system was installed, the collections are now back on show in their most coherent arrangement to date.
JOSEF ALBERS (1888–1976) has sometimes been seen as an artist who spent most of his life teaching and who only attained renown with the Homage to the square paintings, produced over the last twenty-five years of his life (Fig.1). This late interest was largely due to the vogue for optical, minimal and other types of geometric abstract painting during the 1960s, when Albers was already in his seventies. Yet, much earlier, he had made a reputation as a practitioner while he was at the Bauhaus, where he was known for his work in glass as well as a designer of furniture. Although he produced virtually no painting at the school, where he was successively student, technical demonstrator and teacher from 1920 to 1933, his work in glass during this period can be considered as a kind of painting – or object-making directly related to painting – which was clearly perceived at the time as a fine-art practice rather than as applied art or design (Fig.2).
In Robert Irwin’s most recent paintings one is confronted by what at first appears to be an immaculate white picture plane, about seven feet square, and nothing more. Some time must pass – a minute, or two, or three – before the viewer becomes fully aware of an indistinct, irregularly-shaped mass which seems to have emerged out of the white plane, roughly centered [. . .] after the elements of the painting have, so to speak, ‘emerged’ – [the encounter] is a history of hypnotic involvement between the viewer and the elements of color and whiteness before him [. . .] upon the quality of this involvement, the entire success or failure of the picture is staked [. . .] if what the viewer is experiencing is not art, there are no substitute gratifications to get him by.
IN THE EARLY 1950s Stuart Davis (1892–1964) produced a series of paintings and drawings that featured the word ‘champion’. Alfred Barr, Director of the Museum of Modern Art, New York, asked the artist to explain one of the works, Visa, a 1951 painting that had entered the Museum’s collection. Davis stated that the word ‘champion’ in Visa as well as in Little giant still life (1950; Fig.38), the first painting in this series, ‘was derived quite casually and spontaneously from a book of paper matches which has this word printed on it, and the design of the matchbook was singularly uninteresting and it was the challenge of the lack of interest in this case, rather than the direct stimulus of a subject, but nevertheless the matchbook was the source’. The logo for Champion spark plugs was printed on the cover of a matchbook that Davis possessed, and scholars have accepted it as the sole source for the central image in his ‘Champion’ series of paintings and drawings. This article briefly assesses the brand identity of Champion spark plugs, presents a possible second source of inspiration for Davis’s Little giant still life and considers his interest in the word ‘champion’.