Celebrated Painter Peter Williams, NA, Explores Themes of Racial Animosity

BEARING WITNESS | Article by Ann Manser | Photos by Evan Krape

UD Professor Peter Williams, NA works in his studio in suburban Wilmington, Delaware.

UD Professor Peter Williams, NA works in his studio in suburban Wilmington, Delaware.

Peter Williams’ long and acclaimed career as an artist and an educator — recognized recently with his induction into the prestigious National Academy of Design — almost ended before it began.

One night in the early 1970s, as an undergraduate art student at the University of New Mexico, a car in which Williams was a passenger plunged off a cliff from a steep, twisting road. He would spend most of the next year in the hospital, unable for months to use his hands or to see, while slowly recovering from injuries that included the amputation of his right leg.

Now a professor of painting at the University of Delaware, Williams went on to earn bachelor’s and master’s degrees in fine arts and to teach for 17 years at Wayne State University, where he was described as a mainstay of the Detroit arts community.

Peter Williams, NA fills in the outlines he’s drawn for a piece titled “Once We Built Pyramids,” referring to the ancient Nubian Dynasty in Africa. He uses thousands of brightly colored dots, creating a different look from the traditional pointillist painting technique pioneered by 19th century artists such as Georges Seurat.

Peter Williams, NA fills in the outlines he’s drawn for a piece titled “Once We Built Pyramids,” referring to the ancient Nubian Dynasty in Africa. He uses thousands of brightly colored dots, creating a different look from the traditional pointillist painting technique pioneered by 19th century artists such as Georges Seurat.

He joined UD’s Department of Art and Design as a full professor in 2004 and continues to teach painting and, occasionally, drawing classes.

His own work has won numerous awards over the years and has always included themes of cultural identity and representations of African Americans. He has often inserted black characters and race-based imagery into his work, he said.

“I’ve always believed in the idea of bearing witness to the times in which you live,” Williams said recently. “I’ve always been involved with the underdog and with global diversity, but up until about five years ago, I had been all over the place in my art.”

Peter Williams uses different methods and tools for creating his art.

Peter Williams uses different methods and tools for creating his art.

That changed, he said, with the onset of the Black Lives Matter movement and other social-media-inspired attention being paid to the deaths of African Americans in police custody. At the same time, a growing awareness of racist incidents and policies, past and present, motivated him to do research into lesser-known aspects of American history, including lynching.

“I became aware that the world hadn’t changed that much,” he said, explaining why his work has become more focused on systemic racism. “African Americans are still being brutalized and killed.”

In his use of narrative and story-telling in his art, Williams invented a superhero called “The N-Word” who saves the lives of African Americans as they engage with police. His recent work has also become much more directly connected to such social-justice issues as mass incarceration.

Peter Williams, NA was inducted in November as a National Academician in the National Academy of Design, considered one of the highest honors in American art and architecture.

Peter Williams, NA was inducted in November as a National Academician in the National Academy of Design, considered one of the highest honors in American art and architecture.

“Thinking about the history of this country, learning more about it, made me crazy and angry,” he said. “I wondered: How could people know about these things and still let them go on?”

Williams said that, even though galleries sometimes “don’t know what to do with” his work and some urge him to tone down his depictions of racial cruelty, he hopes that most people are intrigued and moved by the powerful images he is painting.

His work features bold colors and cartoonish caricatures that challenge viewers to think more deeply about the dark themes they represent.

"I know that it can be painful for people to see, but I do think many people are enthusiastic because no one else is doing work that’s so blunt,” he said.

More about Peter Williams


Williams was inducted in November as a National Academician in the National Academy of Design, considered one of the highest honors in American art and architecture.

National Academicians are chosen by their peers and serve as ambassadors for the arts in America. Williams’ art will be included in the National Academy Museum's collection of more than 7,700 works spanning nearly 200 years. 

His work is often featured in exhibitions, including the prestigious EXPO Chicago 2018, held Sept. 19-22, and his first solo show in Los Angeles, “River of Styx,” which opened in October and ran through Dec. 15 in the Luis De Jesus Gallery.

Williams will be part of the upcoming exhibition “Men of Steel, Women of Wonder,” at the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Arkansas, from Feb. 9 to April 22.

Another recent exhibition, at the CUE Art Foundation in Manhattan, drew critical acclaim. “Peter Williams: With So Little to be Sure Of” was reviewed in the online arts magazine Hyperallergic by noted critic John Yau in March 2018.

“Williams uses caricature to invite viewers — whatever their political persuasion — to reflect upon how they see people of a race different from their own, as well as underscore the intolerance, distrust, and fear running throughout our everyday lives,” Yau wrote.

Williams has won numerous awards, including the Whitney Biennial in 2002, Djerassi Resident Artists Program in 2018, Joan Mitchell Award in 2004 and 2007, a Ford Foundation Fellowship in 1985-87 and the Wynn Newhouse Award in 2012.

His work is included in such permanent collections as the Detroit Institute of Arts, Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, Whitney Museum of American Art, Delaware Art Museum and Howard University.

Donna Dennis, NA: Review of “Ship and Dock/Nights and Days or The Gazer”

Donna Dennis, NA, an internationally exhibited artist known for her architectural installations, created “Ship and Dock/Nights and Days or The Gazer” in 2018.

With its two perched houses and a sky that changes from dawn to star-filled night, it is about time, the transformation of energy, the final journey and our collective journey into the unknown. “Have you ever wanted to walk inside a painting, sit down and experience the work from the inside?...This mixed media assemblage…takes up an entire room and carries psychological power…This is a durational work because beyond the dock the projection of sky above the horizon changes gradually from day to night to day, from painterly sky blues to dark night with brush-stroked stars as a ship changes from white against the night sky to black against the daytime skies in the distance. Thus the elements of engineering and technology that exist here in a three-dimensional space, also includes the fourth dimension of time. And, though that horizon changes, it’s always night for the viewer with the stars shining behind us.” from “Passage” by Annabel Lee, art critical, June, 2018.


Help Restore An Iconic Sculpture by Garth Evans, NA and Bring It Back to Wales!

A Message From Hannah Firth at Chapter Arts Centre, Cardiff

We need your help to restore an iconic sculpture and bring it back to Wales.

In 1972 influential British artist Garth Evans, NA created a large-scale sculpture that was sited in Cardiff City Centre for six months as part of the Peter Stuyvesant City Sculpture project, which saw 17 new works placed at the heart of eight cities across England and Wales. The project was a significant chapter in the history of public art and urban space.

Garth chose Cardiff as the location for his work as he had very strong family connections with Wales and his Welsh grandfather’s tales of his time as a miner were hugely influential in the sculpture’s form – evoking both a hammer-like tool and the image of a mine tunnel that was as black as coal.

'I wanted to make something that would impact its location, altering and affecting the space and by its presence, create a new sense of place.' Garth Evans, NA

After the project, the sculpture was relocated to Leicestershire where it has remained hidden, neglected and unseen by the public ever since. The years have taken their toll on this important work and its condition is now rapidly deteriorating.

Your money will help us to save the sculpture by carrying out the specialist restoration that is so desperately needed to prevent any further and irreversible damage. In a truly unique project we will then be able to return the work to its original location in Wales almost 50 years after it was first seen.

Please support us by contributing as much or as little as you can and help us to rescue, restore and relocate this iconic work.


Leslie Wayne, NA: Studio Visit With Barbara Takenaga, NA

Barbara Takanaga, Shadow Love, 2018, acrylic on linen, 54 x 45 inches

Barbara Takanaga, Shadow Love, 2018, acrylic on linen, 54 x 45 inches

Contributed by Leslie Wayne, NA / Barbara Takenaga, NA has been pitting her skill at painting pattern against the physical constraints of materials for years, and her skill has usually won out. For a long time, bodies of work based on the Mandala were her signature motif. She meticulously painted carefully plotted circular patterns with the devotion of a Buddhist monk. Then she abruptly shifted, not only in her approach to process but in size and scale. What has happened in the last three shows since she started exhibiting with DC Moore Gallery is a deliberate privileging of chance. This has not in any way diminished her labor-intensive process. In fact, labor in a way has taken on a greater role, though in such a sly and sophisticated manner that you would never know that, for example, she painted what you think is the background last instead of first. Does it matter that one is painted over the other? Not in terms of the work’s conceptual underpinnings. Only to Barbara, whose love of the labor itself is close to sacrosanct.

Barbara Takenaga, Black Shape on Red, 2018, acrylic on linen

Barbara Takenaga, Black Shape on Red, 2018, acrylic on linen

If you were to ask her what the overall conceptual framework was behind her painting, she would defer to process. She in fact calls herself a process painter, someone dealing improvisationally with order and chance. But based on this very commanding new body of work, I would suggest that powerful and durable emotional and intellectual forces, however subliminal, also play a role in her art making. These influences include her personal history and of the current state of national affairs. One doesn’t need to be truly old, which in today’s terms can verge on 100, to feel the weight of mortality and the pressures of time. One also need not be a bleeding-heart liberal to feel the intense anxieties of this political moment. Both these factors have converged on Takenaga, and the results are unexpected and arresting.

Barbara Takenaga, Cloud River, 2018, acrylic on linen, 45 x 54 inches

Barbara Takenaga, Cloud River, 2018, acrylic on linen, 45 x 54 inches

My recent visit to her studio gave us a chance to talk about these issues in anticipation of her upcoming solo show, “Outset,” her fourth at DC Moore.

Leslie Wayne: Barbara, I see how you’ve been slowly moving away from a centralized pattern over the years as the dominant characteristic of your paintings. And that’s true here too. But there are a couple of other things going on in this new body of work that are stunning. For one, your palette is much more restricted. For another, you’ve introduced in some of these paintings some singular and rather mysterious forms. What’s going on here?

Barbara Takenaga: Oh, yes, the palette is mainly black, white, gray and blue.  In fact, the first working title was “Blue and Black.”  I had been looking at a lot of books on Japanese and Indian painting and was enticed by the wonderful flat black shapes – a draped robe, elaborate hair styles, a winding river, the backs of elephants submerged in water.  The shapes became silhouettes, separated from their context, abstracted to a place where they open up to other associations. A black figure turned on its side becomes a menacing cloud or an island or a big weird fish.  And a lot of times the positive/negative spaces slide around because they’re less tied to a narrative.  Is it cloud, land, constellation or does the foreground flip to a river, net or monster? I like that in between-ness.  And I like that you called them “mysterious” because it enhances that aspect.  What is that thing?  For instance, the silhouette in the painting, Shadow Lovecame from a bit of peeling paint above the trash cans in my apartment building.  I would walk past it every day and I fell in love with that image.  It’s the absence of paint and a character.  And a random encounter.

I didn’t really answer your question about the palette, did I? I want the work to be elegant, a little disturbing, a little funny, and have some weight.  It didn’t initially occur to me that the palette was limited, but I think your thoughts about mortality and our particularly infuriating times in 2018 are in there.  I’ve always felt that the invisible core of my art making is a struggle with change, which is essentially death, successive little ones and big ones.  Between control and the passing of time.  A futile attempt to hold on and let go simultaneously. Stuff we all know.  I think about it a lot even though it’s not that apparent in the work. Wow, we really jumped into it all – in the first question even.

Barbara Takenaga, Rust Never Sleeps, 2018, acrylic on linen, 60 x 60 inches

Barbara Takenaga, Rust Never Sleeps, 2018, acrylic on linen, 60 x 60 inches

LW: Yes we did! So let’s backtrack a little. Your palette includes one other very prominent characteristic, which you didn’t mention – the use of interference colors. It’s very hard to incorporate those without taking on a kitschy quality, but to your credit, you’ve managed to use them in a way that mimics, or at least references the use of gold and silver in traditional Japanese art, particularly scrolls and screens. Were you aiming for that?

BT: Not in a conscious way, but I like that you pointed that out.  It’s definitely there.  I initially started using gold leaf in my small paintings in 2001 after a trip to Venice. That, plus an interest in how the Egyptians thought of gold, wanting to take it into the afterlife because it never changes, never corrodes.  The vampire of metals. That desire to hold still in time.  But gold leaf was tricky to paint on so I switched to acrylic iridescent paint.  Not nearly as visually seductive – gold leaf wants to sit up on the top surface and flaunt itself – but definitely more of our time.  And cheaper.  And a little goofier because of that kitschy aspect, it’s basically plastic.  I eventually moved on to other iridescent and interference colors because I liked the way the image would shift, according to the viewer’s position or because of changes in light from different times of day. The image moves around a bit, a little quiet animation, but stays the same.

Barbara Takenaga, The Edge, 2018, acrylic on linen, 54 x 45 inches

Barbara Takenaga, The Edge, 2018, acrylic on linen, 54 x 45 inches

LW: So the reference is there but not consciously. That’s interesting, and maybe I’m reading more into it than is really there, but I find that we become more ourselves, in spite of ourselves as we mature as artists, and that our intentions become increasingly subsumed by our personal history. So I’m returning to that, because I think this work, more than anything I’ve seen of yours in the past – and your recent career survey at the Williams College Museum of Art still looms large in my memory – feels unadulterated by convention. I’m reminded by the great Ann Magnuson, the performance doyenne of the 80s East Village scene, who I saw at a talk about a year ago. Describing her life and career, she said, and I’m paraphrasing here, that for years she climbed and climbed the hills and mountains of middle age and when she finally got to the top and looked over the summit what she saw was the valley of fuck it! And that’s what I’m seeing in this new work. A bit of fuck it. So I’m not sure which is at work here. Have you deliberately given yourself permission to just be yourself?  Or is your cultural and aesthetic affinity with Japan making its way into your iconography unbidden?

BT:  The valley of fuck it!  Perfect. I’d like to descend into that valley. And build a little house there. Right now, I think I’m still climbing to the summit.  Ha.

This is a great question because there are so many parts to the answer. The thing about the “mountains of middle age” – I have so many artists friends, particularly women, who have deep, long years of making art, we keep at it.  I love that.  I think one of the rewards of being an artist for a long time is that the work becomes more and more “you”, whether you push it there or not.  There’s more confidence in the work because it’s an old friend and you trust it.  There’s more fuck it now, at least for me, because I can’t do much about it, the work is what it is after all this time.  I show up, I work hard, the work shows up.  It’s a kind of giving up in little positive ways.  I give up trying to control things, I give up trying to be smart, I give up regretting.  Because of course, time is flying.  I don’t put away the Christmas ornament on my door because every time I turn around, it’s December again. The end time looms larger.  Not much time to not be oneself, to use a double negative. I guess this is stuff we all already know, just saying it again.

The other answer is that I started out as a printmaker and that has informed my work a lot.  My paintings aren’t painterly so when you talk of “not conventional,” maybe that’s part of it.  They’re flat and somewhat graphic and rely on a lot of processes like tracing, transferring, outlining, pooling paint, etc.

Which leads into the last part of your question. I never felt an affinity to Western art history.  It never moved me like it did for other artists.  But I’ve always had an interest in Eastern art and pattern. Was that a longing for a culture that was mine but not really mine, having been born and raised in Nebraska?  Is it something else?  (Sheila Pepe curated a show at the Bemis Center that dealt with some of these questions.)  So from way back, I always loved Japanese prints, tantric mandalas and miniatures from India, textile designs, those wild Samurai helmets, etc.  As a young artist, my favorite book and resource was Yoga Art by Ajit Mookerjee – which I paid for, five dolllars at a time on a layaway plan at the bookstore.  I think those influences, as well as my personal history, were always in the early work but submerged.  I didn’t want things to get too treacly or sentimental.  References to my grandmother were coded into mountain shapes (she was born near Mt. Fuji), images of a crow and a key were funny, private stand-ins for my mother’s maiden name Kuroki.  I used soba noodles as stencils versus Italian pasta, silhouettes of the structured robes of warlords, etc.  Lots of hiding and coding.  The whole series of dot mandalas from 2001-2009 were about my mother, sliding away into space. So the personal and Asian thing has always been there, but maybe it is more obvious now.  Maybe I’m growing into myself.  Ha. In this upcoming show at DC Moore, I laughingly thought of titling it “I think I’m Turning Japanese” from that old Vapors song.  Because I never saw myself as being defined that way. I told a friend that I was really surprised to find that my new paintings were getting very Asian-y.  She said, no, I hate to break it to you but your works have always been Asian-y.

LW: Okay, so fuck it, you’re an Asian artist! In a moment where the prevailing discourse is all about identity politics, that doesn’t seem like such a bad place to be. Particularly with the current immigration crisis mirroring the stain of WWII Japanese internment camps, honoring your Japanese identity feels like a statement of activist pride. But am I pushing this aspect of your work a little too hard here? Even though you say you’ve never felt an affinity with Western art, perhaps you mean Western as in Renaissance. But I do think you are an artist who is participating in the ongoing conversation about contemporary painting and the crossover of disciplines – in this case between painting and printmaking, and the complicated trajectory of postmodernism, including Minimalism and the Pattern and Decoration movement. Does that seem fair?

BT:  Yes, I do see myself more as a process painter, an abstract painter, a quasi-formalist, a female painter – more than in terms of noticeable identity politics. My personal history is definitely there but coded and submerged under other, more visible concerns – which is how I want it to be.  I feel fairly accepting and earnest in my choices.  Instead, I worry about entropy, I like visual ambiguity, I make an effort to be nonverbal and not think when it comes to making art – I’d like to be a better “grokker,” something I’ve chased since grad school.  (Heinlein, sci-fi, visual empathy…all good.)

And I used to have a much clearer take on that trajectory of postmodernism in the last part of your question. I gave lectures on it when I taught – horrors.  And of course, I love P&D, a movement that was a game changer. But while many artists are very conscious of the weight of the history of painting behind them and its influence on their work, that history is very quiet in my art thinking. It takes naps. My practice is fairly simple: I go to the studio and wait for something to happen, then I get to work.  Working gives me great pleasure, it’s the payoff. Which if probably true for most of us, right?

To be honest, the older I get, the more I feel that I know nothing. Me and Jon Snow. I know, it’s such a cliché.  But it’s good, it’s a good place. I’m okay with that for the moment.

Barbara Takenaga: Outset,” DC Moore Gallery, Chelsea, New York, NY. September 6 through October 6, 2018.

About the author: New York artist Leslie Wayne is represented by Jack Shainman Gallery in Chelsea. Wayne is an occasional writer and curator, and has received numerous grants and awards for her painting objects, including a 2017 John Simon Guggenhheim Foundation Fellowship and a 2018 New York Foundation for the Arts painting grant.

Congrats to Martin Puryear, NA for being chosen to represent the US at the 2019 Venice Biennale!

Martin Puryear,  Big Bling  (2016). Photo courtesy of Madison Square Park.

Martin Puryear, Big Bling (2016). Photo courtesy of Madison Square Park.

Martin Puryear, who is known for his large-scale wood sculptures, has been named the US representative to the 58th Venice Biennale, opening next spring. Brooke Kamin Rapaport, the deputy director and senior curator of New York’s Madison Square Park Conservancy, will curate the pavilion.

“Martin Puryear confronts contemporary issues as a maker of objects in the studio,” said Rapaport in a statement. “For more than five decades, Puryear has created a body of work distinguished by a complex visual vocabulary and deeply-considered meaning.”

News of Puryear’s selection by the US State Department’s Cultural Programs Division, Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs, was rumored over the weekend in a Tweet by New York magazine art critic Jerry Saltz, and was confirmed by officials this morning. University of Chicago art history professor Darby English has been tapped as the pavilion’s exhibition scholar, while Tod Williams Billie Tsien Architects are the exhibition designers.

Puryear, who is 77, will create a new site-specific work, including an outdoor installation and sculptures that will be displayed in the pavilion’s galleries. The exhibition will also include outreach to under-served youth, overseen by New York’s Studio in a School and the Istituto Santa Maria Della Pietà in Venice, according to the New York Times. The biennale’s main exhibition, curated by Ralph Rugoff, is titled “May You Live in Interesting Times,” and is inspired in part by the phenomenon of fake news.

This is the first time that an institution for public art has been selected to organize the US pavilion in Venice. In 2016, the park hosted Puryear’s sculpture Big Bling, a 40-foot-tall curved tower of chainlink fencing and plywood, topped with a shackle gilded in 22-karat gold leaf.

Martin Puryear,  Plenty’s Boast  (1995). Photo courtesy of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri/McKee Gallery, New York.

Martin Puryear, Plenty’s Boast (1995). Photo courtesy of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, Missouri/McKee Gallery, New York.

“This enormous wooden construction was conceived by me as a kind of visual praise poem, an ode, to New York City,” Puryear said in a statement at the time. “It was my way of saying: I see you New York. I see how you grow and compartmentalize and stratify. I see how you beckon and promise (and also how you exclude). And crowning it all like a beacon, I see your wealth, your gilded shackle, the golden ring (the bling), the prize, our pride, maybe even our success.”

The Venice announcement comes just a few months shy of the 30th anniversary of Puryear’s selection to represent the US in the 1988 Sao Paulo Biennale, at the time dubbed “the most prestigious international art exhibition after the one in Venice” by the New York Times. It was the first time a black artist had been the sole representative of the US at a prominent biennial.

Martin Puryear,  Desire  (1981). Collection of Panza di Buono, Varese, Italy. Photo courtesy of McKee Gallery, New York.

Martin Puryear, Desire (1981). Collection of Panza di Buono, Varese, Italy. Photo courtesy of McKee Gallery, New York.

Puryear is the second African American artist in a row to represent the US in Venice, following Mark Bradford in 2017, whose critically acclaimedexhibition “Tomorrow is Another Day” was organized by the Rose Art Museum at Brandeis University in Waltham, Massachusetts, and the Baltimore Museum of Art.

The news of Puryear’s participation comes several months later than Bradford’s did in 2017, in August rather than April, and there is not yet a page for the 2019 Venice Art Biennale on the State Department website. (It instead redirects to the Venice Architectural Biennale site, which saw similar delays in the announcement for the 2018 US pavilion, on view through November.) 

Martin Puryear,  Ladder for Booker T. Washington  (1996). Installation view at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, Texas. Photo by David Woo, ©David Woo.

Martin Puryear, Ladder for Booker T. Washington (1996). Installation view at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, Texas. Photo by David Woo, ©David Woo.

Although President Donald Trump has been outspoken in his desire to cut cultural agencies such as the National Endowment for the Arts, funding for international exhibitions like the Venice Biennale comes from the Fulbright-Hays Act of 1961. The purpose of the act is to “enable the Government of the United States to increase mutual understanding between the people of the United States and the people of other countries.”

The US government grant is $375,000, which includes $125,000 earmarked for staffing the pavilion during the exhibition’s run, though that total must usually be supplemented by outside funding. Venice’s Peggy Guggenheim Collection oversees operations of the pavilion, built in 1930 and owned by the Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation since 1986.

The US pavilion at the Venice Biennale. Photo by Elisabetta Villa/Getty Images.

The US pavilion at the Venice Biennale. Photo by Elisabetta Villa/Getty Images.

Puryear was the subject of a retrospective at New York’s Museum of Modern Art in 2007-08, which later traveled to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, and the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth. A travelling 2015 survey, “Martin Puryear: Multiple Dimensions,” was organized by the Art Institute of Chicago. The artist appeared in the Whitney Biennial in 1979, 1981, and 1989.

The winner of a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1982 and a MacArthur Foundation Fellowship in 1989, Puryear was awarded the National Medal of Arts and National Humanities Medal by former President Barack Obama in 2011.

The 58th Venice Biennale will take place May 11–November 24, 2019.

Alfred Leslie, NA Receives Lee Krasner Award 2018

The Pollock-Krasner Foundation, Inc. was established in 1985 for the sole purpose of providing financial assistance to individual working visual artists of established ability through the generosity of the late Lee Krasner, one of the leading Abstract Expressionist painters and the widow of Jackson Pollock.

“The Pollock-Krasner Foundation’s mission is to aid, internationally, those individuals who have worked as artists over a significant period of time. The Foundation’s dual criteria for grants are recognizable artistic merit and financial need, whether professional, personal or both,” says the release of Bruce Silverstein gallery. The Lee Krasner Award is a tribute to and recognition of artists with long and distinguished careers.

Alfred Leslie’s, NA  most recent body of work, known as the “Pixel Scores” will be hosted at the Blaffer Art Museum, University of Houston, Texas, opening in September 2018.

Painter and filmmaker Alfred Leslie, NA was born in the Bronx, New York in 1927 and currently lives and works in Manhattan. In the late 1940s, he emerged as an experimental filmmaker and a second generation Abstract Expressionist painter. In the 1950s and 1960s, he was associated with a community of avant-garde artists and writers, including Joan Mitchell, Larry Rivers, Robert Frank, Frank O’Hara, and Jack Kerouac, with whom he often collaborated. The quintessential Beat Generation film “Pull My Daisy” (1959) was codirected by Leslie and photographer Robert Frank, with subtitles and narration by Jack Kerouac. “In the early 1960s, Leslie’s style evolved from pure abstraction to figurative realism, distilling his background in film to be fully realized through painting. Over the last 15 years, he has taken these interests one step further, incorporating them with new digital technology to create paintings on the computer, which he has named Pixel Scores,” writes Bruce Silverstein gallery.

His notable works include “100 Views Along the Road” which is a series of elegant black-and-white watercolors of American scenes that Alfred Leslie, NA made between 1981 and 1983. “They were all painted in Leslie’s studio from drawings he had made, mostly in his car,” the gallery says.

His work has been widely exhibited nationally and internationally and is included in the permanent collections of numerous institutions, including The Art Institute of Chicago, The Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, washington, D,C., Washington University in St. Louis, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, The Museum of Modern Art, New York, The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and The National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.