Ray Johnson Five Decades @ David Zwirner

"New York's most famous unknown artist."
                                  —Grace Glueck, The New York Times, 1965

To begin this review of Ray Johnson's work at David Zwirner, I want to share that the announcement email dazzled. An animation of artwork "details" (I was to realize after perusing the online exhibition) grabbed me and was so visually captivating that I wanted to see the show and learn about Ray Johnson, an artist with whom I was only vaguely familiar, but who nonetheless has created a space that my own work resonates with stylistically.

One of the things that I really like about how the email functioned was that the artwork was the draw and the text about the artist was succinct with a BROWSE button for the online exhibit, but also there was an embedded link to the physical exhibition WHAT A DUMP curated by Jarrett Earnest at the 19th Street gallery, and a "Book an Appointment" link to see the physical exhibition. Truly the perfect blend of physical and digital—creating the phygital experience—right from the email. 

Beyond the beauty and the enticing nature of the email, I was also impressed that the email sent April 8, 2021 still has working links for both the online exhibit and access to the online version of the physical exhibition. This for me is essential in this phygital space that is emerging. While Platform will be rotating artwork on a monthly basis (which is good for selling art), I was very pleased that the backroom concept was still in play and access to Johnson's work was still possible. Both a regular rotation of artwork on Platform and deep dives into particular artists (like Ray Johnson) are needed to maintain the phygital experience at the highest level.

I am a skimmer and drawn in through great visuals. I usually look through an entire magazine first to see what grabs my interest: a great headline or a great picture is where I will follow up after the skimming. So I skimmed through the online exhibition and then went for a brief skim of the physical exhibition. Both presentations were attractive and well designed. But the online exhibit was structured to be informative with an overview of the five decades noted in the show title: '50s, '60s, '70s, '80s, and '90s each defined a section with artwork and commentary. Johnson committed suicide in 1995, which is revealed in the WHAT A DUMP press release. When writing these reviews of the phygital art experience, I don't check out other websites except through the links provided in what I am viewing. For reviewing Johnson's work I am experiencing the freshness of the work for the first time exclusively through these David Zwirner presentations. 

The online presentation continued the art "details" animation from the email and also had a photo of Johnson from the 1960s with a final design feature of large font quotes from art reviewers during his lifetime and beyond. Mixed throughout were the framed collages with sizing details, pricing, and more text about the artist's career and his significance. I really loved that the first image (from a private collection) of Johnson's art was his abstract work, influenced by Albers, with whom he studied, which was noted in the text. 

This online exhibition is very concise, educational, and lets the viewer have a sense of expertise about this artist—all with a minimal investment of time if desired. Every image is linked to its own window noting again the artwork's title, size, materials, date made, frame size, price, an "inquire" button, and social media links. These individual window links don't necessarily show a larger image and they don't show a detail. The lack of detail is a missed opportunity to enhance the online viewing experience. Every piece of artwork made has a relationship to a viewer. The relationship is experienced when seeing the art in person. The energetic intention of the artist is conveyed and received in the close approximation of viewing. For me, I wished that there was a detail image for each piece of artwork. That would give the online viewer a more tactile sensation about each piece of artwork highlighting their beauty and originality.

I opened this blog post with Grace Glueck's quote from 1965 from her The New York Times review. While detail images of the artwork are missing there is something that only online presentations can give and that is links to other websites with more historical or contemporary commentary and information. In this case The New York Times link is to an archive review from April 11, 1965 by Glueck. To read the review one must click on the TimeMachine button from the NYTimes link and then in the left side dialogue box, click on "CONTINUE READING PDF." A few extra clicks, but truly worth the read. From the review, having Johnson's quotes about his work adds insight to his art and artmaking process. 

Also throughout there are other quotes in the online exhibit, which are eclectic and give a sense of mystery. And many quotes have a link to the original source material. At times it is easy to get lost in reading all the links, but I rather find the act of absorbing this artist through all the connections he made an excellent way to possibly understand Johnson and the context of his art.

Now to transition toward the physical exhibition Ray Johnson: WHAT A DUMP at David Zwirner's 19th Street gallery in New York, curated by Jarrett Earnest. In the first paragraph at the online exhibition there is a link to this show, but no link to the online exhibition from WHAT A DUMP. Not sure why that is: possibly an oversight? The overall feel of WHAT A DUMP definitely mimics the sensation of visiting the gallery plus more. Between the two exhibits there was only one duplicate image: James Dean (Lucky Strike), 1957, Collage on board. So viewing each exhibit yielded a unique experience and greater depth on Johnson's work.

Opening text for WHAT A DUMP includes the first paragraphs of the press release with an option to read more and general gallery details for seeing the show in person. Next there is a video, which is focused on Johnson speaking about his process followed by a 29-page downloadable essay PDF by curator Earnest. The essay PDF is presented as if it is a folded pamphlet set in a typewriter font. The essay is filled with details that are salacious and intriguing weaving together a life biography of Johnson that captures a feeling of what the art scene and Johnson's community of artists were like when he was alive.

WHAT A DUMP moves beyond just showing Johnson's work and instead includes work from artists with whom Johnson the man and Johnson the artist was engaged with in his artmaking process. There are a number of full wall installation shots that help the viewer see the intimacy of Johnson's work in a collective group of pieces. 

What I love about both exhibitions is that there are levels of "knowing" to be unpacked when reviewing this artist in this context. Without ever clicking a link the viewer can still connect to work through each the presentation, but each link is an incredible rabbit hole leading to another rabbit hole that keeps uncovering more of who Ray Johnson is. And yet can we really know him? 

In this process of considering the phygital experience for this review, I had a recent opportunity to physically visit an exhibition at SITE Santa Fe. The visit clarified for me the three elements that should be present for a complete phygital experience—represented through imagery—scale, texture, and proximity.  It is the interplay of light and shadow in a gallery space that gives the depth of perception for artwork seen by the human eye, which can then possibly excite or inspire the viewer.

The email "detail" animation was a teaser about the nature of these collages. A close viewing of the individual collages could make all the difference for a possible buyer and the phygital viewer. Some 50 years after Glueck's review, Roberta Smith in her 2015 New York Times review articulates why the detail images are so needed.

Mr. Johnson’s efforts teem with art-world names and related iconography, much of it explained in a gallery handout. But what I like best about them is, again, never quite being sure how a piece came to be. Are the white flecks atop or beneath the luminous blacks and grays they are scattered across? Are repeating images stamped or drawn by hand? Despite being wonderful vortices of wordplay, personalities and connectedness, these collages begin with the unending mystery of how they were made, which still looks new.

David Zwirner's staff are approaching the phygital experience with these two exhibitions of Ray Johnson's artwork. But investigating a bit deeper there are holes that are revealed from the Village Voice review of May 11, 2021 by Daniel Felsenthal highlighting that there's still more work to be done to bring the gallery into The Living Room.