"Fluorescent Light as Art"

Excerpted from Tiffany Bell, "Fluorescent Light as Art," in the exhibition catalogue, Dan Flavin: A Retrospective and its expanded edition Dan Flavin: The Complete Lights, 1961-1996 (New York: Dia Art Foundation in association with Yale University Press).

Dan Flavin’s art confounds conventional cataloguing concepts, which depend on criteria of permanence, authenticity, and chronology. The material is ephemeral, the works can easily be copied, and their production accommodated changing situations and contexts. In some ways, the cataloguing process seems slightly antithetical to the artist’s radical intentions.1

Yet Flavin was himself something of a cataloguer and historian by nature, researching the history of the places where he lived and the things that he bought. A collector of American glass, Stickley furniture, Native American crafts, Japanese prints, and nineteenth-century American drawings (to name a few of his collecting interests), he sometimes recorded historical and descriptive information on long labels, which he affixed to the back of the objects. In the same way, from his days as a young artist, he kept careful records describing his own work. Journals documenting his methods, daily events, or letters written were kept along with annotated working drawings often dated to the day of execution. With the help of his companions and assistants, Flavin kept well-organized files of letters, gallery invitations, installation floor plans, and other documentation surrounding his work.

This level of detail is already evident in inscriptions on the back of works from his series of icons, the first constructions in which Flavin used electric light. On the back of icon V (Coran’s Broadway Flesh), for example, Flavin recorded the date of completion (December 19, 1962), the materials and model numbers of the fixtures and bulbs used, and the place where the lamps were purchased: Macy’s department store in New York. Similarly, Flavin himself extensively edited the text entries in the catalogues of his major exhibitions, including those at Ottawa (1969), Saint Louis (1973), Cologne (1973), and Basel (1975), and to some degree Fort Worth (1975). Thus he constantly balanced those aspects of his work that challenged traditional practices with others that accommodated them. In one sense, this tension between the new ways and the old defines his artistic practice.

In 1963, when Flavin began to use only commercially available fluorescent fixtures and lamps, he took a radical step that was also historically apt. The choice of fluorescent light as a medium satisfied certain art-historical demands of the period. For one, the direct use of electric light as an artistic medium responded to the desire for innovative form. Furthermore, the commercial availability and mundane familiarity of the fluorescent light allowed it to be subversive when placed in the context of more traditional painting and sculpture. In a related way, the work could be said to engender a political statement that paralleled the challenges to authority and social structures so prevalent in the student demonstrations and protest marches of the 1960s. And as a commercial product available in only standard sizes and colors, fluorescent lights offered a preset system of form and color that was infinitely variable and adaptable. This system defied the tenets of Abstract Expressionism endorsed by much of the preceding generation of artists; although Flavin’s art is easily identifiable as by Flavin, it rejects the individualized, hand-marked character of gestural painting and sculpture.

This shift away from personalized mark-making is evident in Flavin’s choice of fluorescent light instead of neon (a distinction he often made in conversation). Neon lights are not standardized but custom designed for specific purposes. Moreover, one can make a drawn line or a written word with neon, representational or individualized effects impossible with fluorescent light. In addition, neon implies the attention-seeking showiness of signage as opposed to fluorescent’s pervasive but usually ignored presence. With fluorescent light, then, Flavin obtained characteristics so often associated with the art of his generation: industrial ordinariness and a system for repetition.

While the choice of the medium itself was clever, material novelty was not Flavin’s point, for he continued to use fluorescent light throughout his entire career, developing varied methods based on repetition of material and form. Flavin’s way of defining fluorescent light as art was to maintain a continuous dialogue with historical and contemporary painting, sculpture, and architecture. His first use of fluorescent light alone, the diagonal of May 25, 1963 (to Constantin Brancusi) (fig. 96), was dedicated to the sculptor as a nod to sculptural space and his Endless Column. Flavin suggested painterly concerns in another early work, a primary picture (1964; fig. 97), which makes formal reference to a rectangular picture plane structured by primary colors. This idea is explored further in his later “square across a corner” constructions that use colored light to define space in front of and behind the physical structure of the fixtures. In the “corridors”--8-foot-square hallways often centrally divided by banks of lights--Flavin played with the idea of perspective. He also made allusions to architecture by either linking his installations to existing architecture or making his own structures. All of the above strategies help frame the work within more traditional artistic practices.

By the early 1970s, Flavin had essentially developed his preferred configurations of fixtures, his systems for making colored lights function individually and together, and the possibilities of integrating his lights with architecture. In 1972, he introduced circular fluorescent lights into his array, leading to a new body of work. Then, in 1978, with the installation of untitled (to Helene) (fig. 98) at Heiner Friedrich’s gallery in New York, Flavin introduced more pronounced back lighting, in which the source of light was hidden from the frontal view while it mysteriously illuminated a given space. Finally, in a burst of renewed energy and activity in the late 1980s, his work achieved its most eccentric character, with fixtures projecting into space and lamps of multiple colors. Some of his grandest gestures, such as the lighting of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum building in New York, were made in these later years.

From the start, Flavin’s lights fell into two related but distinct categories. The first includes the total-room installations, which were most often temporary, as well as the site-specific commissions. These installations were made for particular locations, each with particular requirements. In a sense, all Flavin’s exhibitions fall into this category because all were specific to their circumstances. Nonetheless, it more obviously describes works such as the green room at the Kornblee Gallery in 1967; alternating pink and “gold,” one installation for the whole of the main exhibition space at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago (1967); and the various ultraviolet rooms at Kassel and Pennsylvania State University (both 1968), to name a few. While there were a few adventurous collectors, most notably Giuseppe Panza di Biumo, who purchased some of these large-scale works, most of the installations did not survive their initial exhibition. It was the smaller-scale, more easily transportable and reinstallable works that could readily be sold and maintained. These, then, became the second category of works--individual constructions made as multiples of three or five.

Whether site-specific or editioned, the effect of the works is conditioned by the fact that the medium of fluorescent light is elusive. Much has been written about the transitory, ephemeral quality of the light itself.2 As a volume of colored light radiates through space, it is perceptible only as reflection on its material containers--walls, floors, or whatever else falls in its path. Similarly, its intensity changes with location, viewpoint, and time of day. More practically speaking, the ephemeral nature of Flavin’s lights is inherent in the impermanence of the medium: the lights can be turned on and off, and like all bulbs, have a limited life span. Also potentially limited is the availability of the fluorescent lamps and fixtures Flavin used at various times. Since the manufacture and design of these products are controlled by marketing, not by the exigencies of an artwork, there is no guarantee that the lamps and fixtures will continue to be produced.

That Flavin embraced ephemerality is evident from his writings. In a poem written in 1961 (fig. 99), he redefined the “monumental” in art in terms of fluorescent light’s characteristic transience: “fluorescent/ poles/ shimmer/ shiver/ flick/ out/ dim/ monuments/ of/ on/ and/ off/ art.”3 The idea of monumentality (or nonmonumentality) in a temporary art form was more directly dealt with in perhaps Flavin’s best-known series of works, the “monuments” for V. Tatlin (fig. 100). Of these, Flavin wrote:

My concern for the thought of Russian artist-designer, Vladimir Tatlin (1885–1953), was prompted by the man’s frustrated, insistent attitude to attempt to combine artistry and engineering. The pseudo-monuments, structural designs for clear but temporary cool white fluorescent lights, were to honor the artist ironically.4

When lit, Flavin’s Tatlin “monuments” stand as commanding tributes to technology and art but are anti-monumental not only because they may eventually burn out but also because they can be turned on and off at will.

This contrast between the monumental and the nonmonumental permeates all Flavin’s lights. Almost none of his art is conventionally titled, for example. Rather, he used lowercase letters to indicate “untitled” works, but usually dedicated them parenthetically to an individual or a group of people. The implication is that on some level Flavin intended the works as unassuming tributes to family members, friends, artists, electricians, gallery and museum workers, and others.

Flavin’s acceptance of the impermanence of his art was noted in 1973 by Emily Rauh (later Pulitzer): “The temporal nature of the medium is something [Flavin] accepts as integral in his attitude toward it.”5 Speaking mostly of the exhibitions that were installed for a brief period and then permanently dismantled, she observed that Flavin compared his presentation to the Celtic tradition of traveling minstrels, in which a bard would present his song and then disappear. Even his more permanent works changed with time, as they were relamped or even rebuilt. And these too may disappear if the products--the fluorescent lamps especially--become commercially unavailable.

As with Marcel Duchamp’s readymades, Flavin’s choice of a commercially available product as his medium challenged conventional art-historical notions of authenticity. He had already partially abandoned the idea of an artwork handcrafted by the artist in the icons, when he affixed lights on painted boxes. Although he hand-built the boxes and meticulously painted the surfaces, his wife, Sonja, attached the lamps and did the electrical wiring. After he decided to use fluorescent fixtures and lamps alone, he removed himself completely from the fabrication process, depending on Sonja, hired electricians, gallery art handlers, and later, studio assistants to make the work.

An art fabricated entirely from commercial fixtures was easy to reproduce, and Flavin welcomed the idea of reproduction. Not only were all but the site-specific works made as editions but also particular configurations of lamps were often produced in editions using different-sized fixtures or as separate editions in different colors. Thus, the nominal three (to William of Ockham) (fig. 101) was made in four editions: two in cool white in 8-foot and 6-foot versions; and two in daylight in 8-foot and 6-foot versions. Flavin expanded the idea of repetition inherent in the editioning process by making his installations in series. Throughout his career, the configuration of one group of lights would usually generate at least a pair but often a larger group or series. Either the colors of a given structure would change, as in the European Couples, a series of constructed “squares across a corner,” each in a different color, or alternately, the color would stay the same and the format would vary, as in the fifty “monuments” for V. Tatlin.

Although Flavin rejected traditional notions of uniqueness, permanence, and authenticity, he maintained more familiar strategies of control over the circulation of his work. He may have delegated the fabrication of the object to others, yet he never relinquished authority over their presentation. The details--placement on the wall, height, color, relationships of the works to one another, and so on--were determined and approved by him. Not only did he supervise the installation of the works, sometimes making changes in the process, but he also often designed the exhibition invitations, posters, and catalogues. And he publicly objected when purchased works were exhibited without his input. In 1967, for example, Gian Enzo Sperone held a solo exhibition in his Milan gallery of lights purchased from Rudolf Zwirner’s 1966 Cologne exhibition. Though Flavin recognized the importance of this first Italian exhibition and the support of key dealers and collectors, he disclaimed the show, objecting to the way the work was installed.6 Again in 1988, when Panza exhibited works by Flavin from his collection at the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía in Madrid, Flavin objected to the liberties taken in the presentation of his lights.7

The marketplace also forced Flavin to deal with issues of authenticity and permanence. In order for dealers to sell the work, the identity of the artist had to be validated and distribution and production had to be controlled. And while Flavin’s attitude suggests resistance to these commercial demands--he was notoriously difficult to work with, especially if one was a dealer or collector--having come from a lower-middle-class environment, he was also captivated by the pleasures and comfort that affluence provided. To ensure commercial success as interest in purchasing his art grew, he had to accommodate the demands of the marketplace.8 To this end, he devised a certification and editioning process that authenticated the works sold.

A closer look at Flavin’s working method reveals how he was able to maintain his artistic concerns while conforming to more conventional pressures of the market and responding to his own desire to make more lasting art.

Making the lights

Although Flavin always had a “studio” room wherever he lived, after completing the icons in the early 1960s, he used that space more as an office than a studio, for he had little need of a large working area. His actual art-making took the form of notes and drawings, usually in 3-by-5-inch notebooks that he carried around with him (fig. 102). The lights were fabricated for the most part at the site of the exhibition, or “exposition” as Flavin liked to put it, following plans made in drawings. Early in his career, Flavin could barely afford the materials, so the gallery or museum would be given the specifications--the number of fixtures and lamps needed and any changes or additions to the architectural space--and everything would be assembled in place. In the early shows at the Kaymar and Green galleries, Flavin, artist friends, and Sonja (in the role of electrician) would install the shows. Later, when he could afford it, Flavin hired electricians or art handlers, often young artists themselves, to install and fabricate the art. It was not until 1977 that Flavin engaged a full-time studio assistant, or “shop manager” as he defined the job, to fabricate the works in the editions and supervise installations.9 At that time, he did secure a studio space in which his assistant worked.

James Ballard, now an architect, was often employed by the galleries at 420 West Broadway in New York, that is, the Leo Castelli, Sonnabend and John Weber galleries, to install many of their shows between 1971 and 1982. He remembers installing several complicated Flavin exhibitions, working from verbal instructions about where to place the lamps; many of the technical details were left to him. He suggests that he was guided by “the Leo way,” an understanding that presentations should be as clean, regular, and consistent as possible. Flavin, whom Ballard respectfully describes as the most “hands off” artist he worked with, would come in at the end and make corrections to the details.10

Flavin could be minimally involved at the installation of the lights because there was consistency in his material and a straightforward approach to its presentation. Much had been worked out beforehand. Generally, he limited his work to four lengths of fixtures--and later four diameters of circular fixtures--and ten colors of fluorescent lamps, including filtered ultraviolet. For most of his career, he insisted that the lamps and fixtures be purchased off the shelf, usually from a local vendor. Union labels attached to the fixtures were to be left in place whenever possible,11 cords were preferably hidden or allowed to hang from the left, unless the alternative made for a cleaner look, and except in certain cases, the lights were mounted just above the floor if the architecture permitted, or at the top of the floor molding. Given a choice, Flavin preferred lamps with bare aluminum end caps, instead of those with black plastic ones, and tubes measuring 1 ½ inches in diameter. At one point, Mercury began to produce a certain type of fixture, which Flavin adopted because of its clean lines and sharp edges, which allowed the fixtures to be fitted more closely together.

Despite the fact that much was worked out in advance, some experimentation was built into Flavin’s “exposition” process--especially at the beginning of his career. Usually he was seeing his lights for the first time in the gallery. It was there that he could study the way the colors mixed, how a particular construction held up, and so on. Though major reworking was precluded by time limitations and expense, minor changes could be made in the color of a lamp or sometimes the position of a fixture.

In some cases, the effects of the lights pleasantly surprised Flavin. In describing the all-green exhibition at the Kornblee Gallery in 1967, Brydon Smith notes:

The phenomenal effect of this exposition was not mentioned in “the plan,” but was discovered after a few moments in the gallery. Although the room was pervaded by green light, the light-providing tubes appeared to be empty of almost all color. When the viewer then looked toward the daylight source outside the gallery, he saw only complementary rose, until his eyes readjusted.12

In later works, such as the all-green barrier untitled (to you, Heiner, with admiration and affection) of 1973, Flavin would accentuate this phenomenon to great effect.

In other cases, adjustments made from one show to the next suggest that there was initial dissatisfaction with certain proposals. In 1966 at Nicholas Wilder’s gallery in Los Angeles, for example, Flavin installed his first “square across the corner.” He used four single-lamp fixtures, each 8 feet long, placing them across the corner in a square format. All cool white, the lamps on the sides were attached to the side wall, the bottom lamp faced out toward the viewer, and the top lamp faced up toward the ceiling. When this work was loaned to an exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum in 1969, Flavin rebuilt it with the side lamps facing into the corner and the top and bottom lamps facing out toward the viewer. He also changed the lamps to combine cool and daylight whites. After the work was sold to the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis, he changed the construction again on a visit there in 1971, using fixtures for two lamps on the verticals, thus adapting the construction to the “near-square” corner format that he came to favor and use repeatedly (fig. 103).

Flavin’s way of leaving certain things to chance--the availability of fixtures or the sensibility of the fabricator--did lead to differences in the way things looked. The most noticeable difference was between works produced in the United States and those made in Europe. Whereas 8-foot fixtures are available in the United States, only 5-foot fixtures can be found in Europe. A long sequential work, untitled, 1964, was made of these 5-foot fixtures for his 1966 exhibition at Galerie Rudolf Zwirner in Cologne; and later, they were used in the series untitled (to Rainer) of 1987. The diameter of fluorescent tubing also varies between the two continents, with thinner tubes more readily available in Europe. Flavin’s entire exhibition at Baden-Baden in 1989 was made with these slightly thinner lamps (fig. 104).13 On occasion, Flavin purposely used fixtures that varied from his norm. His 1968 exhibition at Galleria Sperone in Turin was made from locally supplied fixtures that have matte black steel cases with white frosted acrylic covers (fig. 105). The barrier greens crossing greens (to Piet Mondrian who lacked green) installed at the Stedelijk Van Abbemuseum at Eindhoven in 1966 used similar fixtures (fig. 44). In 1986, for an exhibition at the Margo Leavin Gallery in Los Angeles, Flavin used triangular-backed fixtures with four lamps each that allowed them to fit flush into a corner or cantilever off the wall (fig. 106). In most cases, these atypical fixtures were used for a single exhibition or installation.

Though Flavin always sought, and usually found, skilled fabricators and oversaw and inspected the work before sale or exhibition, the construction of the early work varied according to the experience of the fabricator. Around 1977, he hired Robert Skolnik as his full-time studio assistant, thereby attaining a certain consistency in the quality of workmanship. Skolnik, trained as an artist himself and formerly an art handler at the Whitney Museum of American Art, developed a close working relationship with Flavin. He was a meticulous craftsman and, with Flavin’s support, insisted on perfection. Fixtures were painted with a second coat of white paint for better and more lasting finishes (though union labels were sometimes covered up in the process), and they were inspected at the factory before delivery. For some commissions, most notably at Grand Central Terminal in New York, Skolnik oversaw the fabrication of fixtures custom-made to Flavin’s specifications. He also had well-constructed shipping crates made for editioned works that were sold.

Several other assistants and helpers, including Mel Ziegler and Bill Bremenour, maintained these standards after Skolnik’s departure around 1983. The next long-term assistant was Alec Drummond, who fabricated Flavin’s works from 1986 to 1991. He describes his dealings with Flavin as distant, since he worked more directly from instructions provided by Morgan Spangle of the Leo Castelli Gallery and later the Rubin Spangle Gallery.14 Drummond’s work is distinguished by the hardware he used--screws, grommets, and connectors. Flavin reportedly referred to Drummond’s more elaborate constructions as his “Cadillacs.”15 Though Drummond traveled extensively, he did not build every show. In Paris and Lyon, for example, a French electrician did the work.

In 1991, Steve Morse took over as shop manager, and like Skolnik, he developed a close working relationship with Flavin despite the artist’s rare visits to the shop. They communicated via faxes, drawings, and discussions at the artist’s Long Island home. Whereas the construction of earlier work had occasionally been contracted out to a manufacturer of fluorescent fixtures, Morse began to outsource the work on a regular basis. He says Flavin did not want “custom-made” fixtures, but was satisfied with standard, prefabricated units, which were stronger, more precise, and more easily assembled. Morse describes Flavin as so confident in his medium and approach that he only needed a few minutes to observe a site for installation. When he was too ill to travel (Flavin suffered from diabetes), however, Morse would visit the sites and make videotapes, from which the artist would then work. Morse oversaw the fabrication and installation of Flavin’s final works, including four commissions that were completed posthumously: the stairway in the Hypovereinsbank Munich; the Chiesa Rossa in Milan; Richmond Hall at the Menil Collection in Houston; and the lighting of the barracks at the Chinati Foundation in Marfa, Texas.

Editions and Certificates

It was in the editioned works that Flavin most directly confronted the art-historical issues of permanence and authenticity. The records indicate that the editioning of his lights began around the time of his first European exhibition at Rudolf Zwirner’s gallery in 1966. Not coincidentally, it was around this same time that sales of Flavin’s work increased, which made the production of editions desirable. Eventually, the process was adapted to earlier work. For example, in the case of the diagonal of May 25, 1963, Flavin’s system of editioning slightly transformed the original intent of the work. In the catalogue for the 1969 Ottawa retrospective, Flavin and curator Brydon Smith report:

When the diagonal of May 25, 1963 was first exhibited publicly in the Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford [January 1964], it was dedicated to Constantin Brancusi. Later, before exposition in the Kaymar Gallery [March 1964], Flavin re-dedicated it to Robert Rosenblum. The color of the lamp to be used is as variable as lighting equipment manufacturers will allow. Also, the positioning of the lamp is subject to change.16

The above text refers to a black-and-white illustration of the work installed in Flavin’s Williamsburg loft. We know from Flavin’s “autobiographical sketch” (also published in the Ottawa catalogue) and from a color photograph of the diagonal that the lamp placed on the studio wall was yellow (fig. 96).17 From Donald Judd reviews of the Wadsworth Atheneum and Kaymar shows, it is evident that these versions were daylight white and cool white, respectively.18 The Ottawa version was to be cool white, as indicated in the catalogue, but was switched to daylight during the installation.19

Flavin’s original idea, then, was to vary the colors of the lamps. But when he initiated an inventory of light editions, he created nine versions of the diagonal--in the nine commercially available colors that he used consistently--and dated them all 1963. He gave the yellow version the dedication to Brancusi, and the cool white version was dedicated to Rosenblum. The others have no dedications. Somewhere along the way, Flavin also decided that the positioning did matter, and the diagonal came to be installed resting on the floor and leaning right at a forty-five-degree angle.

The first editioned versions of works were issued in editions of three. Later, Flavin made the larger works in editions of three and the smaller ones in editions of five; editions with previous sales, however, such as a primary picture (1964), which was a smaller work that would have had five in the new system, were not expanded.20 Initially, lists were kept to record the sales of each work in the various editions. When Flavin joined the Leo Castelli Gallery, around 1970, Sonja began to keep records of the editions on index cards, with a diagram of the installation; its title, date, and materials; a Leo Castelli inventory number; and often a note about the first exhibition of the installation on the front and a list of buyers on the back. Copies of these cards were made for several galleries, including Leo Castelli, John Weber, and Heiner Friedrich, among others, when they shared representation of Flavin’s work.

The recording system initiated by Sonja was maintained by Helene Geary (later McQuade, who became Flavin’s office manager and companion in the late 1970s) until 1985. At some point after that, as Flavin’s health declined, his staff changed several times, and he switched gallery representation, the master set of cards was lost. When Prudence Fairweather, Flavin’s last office manager, and Steve Morse began working for Flavin in the early 1990s, they reconstituted the records to the best of their ability, but not before a few discrepancies occurred. Two works were editioned twice: untitled, 1970 (blue and red fluorescent light, 4 feet wide across a corner); and untitled, 1964 (red and yellow fluorescent light, 8 feet wide), resulting in the oversale of these editions. In other cases, double sales were made of certain numbers within the edition but the total number remained below that intended. At Flavin’s death, few of the editions had been sold out, and many intended works remained unbuilt and uncertified; the Flavin Estate elected not to issue any work not certified during the artist’s lifetime.

With the decision to edition the works came the certification process. Previously, the few fluorescent light works sold were treated like sculptural objects; they were individually signed and dated (fig. 107).21 Flavin stopped this practice very early on and began selling built works with drawings made by him that denoted how the lights should be configured (fig. 108). This change acknowledged his acceptance that the hardware might need replacing, and more subtly, that he himself did not physically build the works. The drawings, however, were interpreted by some as individual works of art and sold independently of the constructions. To prevent this, in 1966, Flavin began making more informal documents on gallery stationery that included a small sketch of the construction, its title and date, and the date the record was made (fig. 109). In 1970, he began issuing certificates (originally made by Sonja, once again, subsequently by Helene, and later by others) on graph paper, which included diagrams of the works, written descriptions, and Flavin’s signature, with the comment “this is a certificate only” (fig. 111). Most were also embossed with a corporate seal, much like a notary’s stamp. The look of these certificates changed over time: the later ones are distinguishable by the gallery that produced them; and the very late ones included computer-generated diagrams made by the artist’s son, Stephen Flavin (fig. 112). Fortunately for the cataloguers documenting Flavin’s work, he kept photocopies of these certificates, although they were not always stored together in the same location, which accounts for some overlap in the numbering.

Flavin’s certification process has been misunderstood over the years. Perhaps because the guarantee of authenticity seems to lie in the certificate rather than the physical object itself, some have thought that the possession of a certificate alone authorized them to refabricate the work at will. The emergence in the late 1960s of Conceptual art, in which emphasis is placed on the idea rather than the object, may have played a role in this misunderstanding. And it definitely was a misconception; although bulbs could be replaced, Flavin wanted the works made to his specifications. In almost all cases, therefore, the certificates were made after the work was built and sold.22 If an owner presented the artist with damaged or aged fixtures accompanied by the work’s certificate, he would remake the work. But he would not do so if the hardware had been lost or discarded.23 His intent was to protect the editions and to promote the care of the objects. Likewise, he would not issue replacements for lost certificates.

Dating the Works

While the editioning and certification of Flavin’s work has enabled the documentation and attribution of his oeuvre, the issue of dating is somewhat more problematic. Once again, in his approach to chronology Flavin both embraced convention and challenged it. The drawings from which the lights derive record the month, day, year, and often the sequence of the day in which they were drawn (fig. 113). The location where they were made--in a plane, restaurant, or wherever--is sometimes also noted. The date of the lights, however, is harder to fix.

Every certificate includes a date or a date span for the edition. The year listed (or the first year in the date span) refers to the conception of the work as registered in one of the artist’s drawings. The conception could refer to a particular configuration of fixtures, a notion about placement within a room, or a combination of colors. A second date denotes a change or enhancement of the idea that often occurred with the fabrication of the work. The recording of modifications, however, became impractical when works were editioned and an alteration might occur during the installation of the second in the edition after the sale of the first, and so on. Flavin continually reused earlier configurations and felt comfortable adapting them to whatever situation presented itself. To simplify the process and introduce consistency, for the most part he later dropped the second date on certificates, so that, for example, the series untitled (for Charlotte and Jim Brooks) 1–6 is dated 1964 even though each of the works was fabricated and dedicated in 1992.

The works then incorporate several dates: the certificate notes the date of the fundamental conception; the first exhibition of an installation generally dates the first fabrication of the object; and the sale date indicates when a given numbered work from the edition was first fabricated. Consequently, there could be an edition dated 1964 for which the objects were fabricated in 1968, 1974, and 1988--when they were sold. To complicate things further, as mentioned above, Flavin sometimes rebuilt works because he preferred new fixtures. When the Guggenheim Museum took possession of a number of Flavin’s works originally purchased by Panza and organized an exhibition of them in 1995, the earlier fixtures were “decommissioned” and the works refabricated using all new equipment; all this at Flavin’s request and under the auspices of Steve Morse.

The Issue of Artistic Development

If Flavin’s lights resist definition in strict chronological terms, in their repetition of form, the constant renewal of the object, and the ephemeral but persistently present character of light, they also defy conventional notions of artistic development.24 As noted above, Flavin’s work did evolve, but the formal development in the later work seems less significant than the changes that resulted from the demands of a specific place or the overall context of the project he was working on. It was the small changes an adjustment in color or orientation that could register a difference in the perception of a place, a thought about the person to whom the work was dedicated, or a sentiment Flavin wished to convey. Such subtle but significant details emerge from Flavin’s process of variation within repetition.

For example, in untitled, 1996 (fig. 116), for Richmond Hall at the Menil Collection in Houston (a permanently installed work), Flavin made only minor adjustments to the earlier untitled (to Saskia, Sixtina, Thordis) done for Cologne in 1973 (fig. 115). Both installations, made for large rectangular rooms, have long horizontal double rows of 4-foot lamps aligned along both long walls about 4 feet above the floor. Above and below are vertically oriented single lamps, placed at 4-foot intervals, the top lamp facing opposite the bottom. In both installations, the vertical lamps repeat a sequence of pink, yellow, green, and blue, the top slightly offset from the bottom. The main difference between the two installations is the color of the horizontal lamps: in Cologne they were blue, and in Houston they are ultraviolet.

Though seemingly a minor difference, the result is significant. Documentation of the Cologne installation suggests that the room was washed in a blue light, whereas in Houston, the ultraviolet casts very little light but helps to blend the other four colors into a white light. The horizontal lamps form a dark line running the length of the room, and the colors from the verticals are localized to the wall and reflections on the backs of the fixtures. Filling the complete spectrum of light, together they project a bright white light into the space of the room. The light is very much like the strong sunlight of Texas, though artificially produced. The effect is disorienting as the decorative patterning on the walls dissolves into the brilliant, seemingly natural light, within the emptiness of the interior space.

Flavin’s installation at Marfa similarly employs familiar strategies of form, color, and composition (fig. 117). The diagonal orientation of the fixtures, the serial progression of color and form, and the pairing of lamps back-to-back are all features that derive from earlier works. Nonetheless, the effect here is dramatically different. Flavin used the same colors that he had in Houston, but rather than blending them, at Marfa he juxtaposed them to create strong contrasts. Similarly, whereas the installation in Houston seems in harmony with its architectural frame, in Marfa the diagonally built corridors sit in tension to the enclosing structures. The monochromatic landscape of western Texas and the proximity of Judd’s resolutely cool installations seemed to have provoked Flavin to make his most intensely colored, least “minimal” work.

Flavin’s response to changing contexts and his resistance to chronology and formal development enable his lights to transcend time. The constant refabrication of the works and the replacement of bulbs, moreover, mean that the objects never acquire the patina of age, the physical evidence of time’s passing. Just as you cannot really delineate the material boundaries of a Flavin installation, you cannot pinpoint the precise moment of its making. The lights shine in a continuous present.

Footnotes

1. Since 1998, with support from Dia Art Foundation and the Dan Flavin Estate, the author has directed the collection of information for a catalogue raisonné of Flavin’s lights. This information is published in Dan Flavin: The Complete Lights, 1961–1996, an expanded edition of Dan Flavin: A Retrospective. For more details about the resolution of these issues, see the methodological statement in The Complete Lights, 1961–1996.

2. See, for example, Marianne Stockebrand, “Pink, Yellow, Blue, Green, and Other Colors in the Work of Dan Flavin,” Chinati Foundation Newsletter 2 (1996), pp. 2–11.

3. See fluorescent light, etc. from Dan Flavin/lumière fluorescente, etc. par Dan Flavin, exh. cat. (Ottawa: National Gallery of Canada; Vancouver: Vancouver Art Gallery, 1969), p. 118.

4. Dan Flavin, “Some Artist’s Remarks . . . ,” in “monuments” for V. Tatlin from Dan Flavin, 1964–1982, exh. cat. (Chicago: Donald Young Gallery, for the Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, in collaboration with Leo Castelli Gallery, New York, 1989), unpaginated.

5. Emily Rauh, “Introduction,” in corners, barriers and corridors in fluorescent light from Dan Flavin, exh. cat. (St. Louis, Missouri: St. Louis Art Museum, 1973), p. 4.

6. See fluorescent light, etc. from Dan Flavin, p. 250. Although the exhibition is listed in the chronology of the Ottawa catalogue, it is noted: “Flavin does not recognize this exposition as his, because it was prepared without his permission and conceptual administration. Stated in a letter from Dan Flavin, 8 November 1968, Lake Valhalla, Cold Spring, New York, to Brydon Smith at The National Gallery of Canada.”

7. See Dan Flavin, “Letters,” Art in America 76, no. 9 (September 1988), p. 21. Flavin writes: “The color reproduction of To Jan and Ron Greenberg of 1972, as installed in Madrid’s Reina Sofía and published in the July issue of your magazine, reveals an utter spatial and architectural misinterpretation of it.”

8. Flavin did advocate for means of income for artists other than participation in the gallery system. Without that potential, however, he felt the need to work within the system. See Dan Flavin, “. . . on an American artist’s education . . . ,” Artforum 6, no. 7 (March 1968), pp. 28–32.

9. Steve Morse, conversation with the author, 1999; Morse has been the “shop manager” since 1991.

10. James Ballard, conversation with the author, April 2003.

11. According to Morse, the union labels were left on out of respect for the factory workers who made the fixtures and, more practically, because it aided the installation process at venues where union labor was required.

12. Brydon Smith, in fluorescent light, etc. from Dan Flavin, p. 106.

13. According to Nikki Diana Marquardt, who represented Flavin’s work in Paris in the late 1980s, an order was made for lamps of the preferred 1 ½ inch diameter but the delivery contained the thinner tubes, whose use Flavin okayed. Conversation with the author, June 24, 2003.

14. Alec Drummond, conversation with the author, February 2002.

15. Steve Morse, conversation with the author, 1999.

16. fluorescent light, etc. from Dan Flavin, p. 168.

17. See Dan Flavin, “‘. . . in daylight or cool white.’ an autobiographical sketch,” first published in Artforum 4, no. 4 (December), pp. 20–24; the entire text is reprinted on pages 189–192 in this book.

18. See Donald Judd, “Black, White and Grey,” Arts Magazine 38, no. 6 (March 1964), pp. 36–38, and Donald Judd, “New York Exhibitions: In the Galleries,” Arts Magazine 38, no. 7 (April 1964), p. 31. Both are reprinted in Donald Judd, Complete Writings, 1959–1975 (Halifax, Nova Scotia: Press of the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design; New York: New York University Press, 1975), pp. 117–19 and pp. 124–25.

19. Brydon Smith, conversation with the author, 2001. According to Smith, Flavin decided the daylight lamp would more effectively contrast with the nearby cool white lamps of the nominal three (to William of Ockham), so he changed it on location.

20. Although it has been reported to me that Flavin expanded (revised from three to five) the edition of “monument” 1 for V. Tatlin after initial sales, the certificates all list the edition number correctly. Only untitled, 1963 (green fluorescent light, 8 feet high) appears to have been expanded after the fact.

21. Sonja Flavin suggests that it may have been at the request of Flavin’s dealer at the time, Jill Kornblee, that some works were signed. Earlier works made for and sold from the Green Gallery were not marked. Letter to the author, April 25, 2001.

22. There were occasional exceptions to this rule. Flavin presented a few close friends with certificate-type drawings as gifts to validate the eventual fabrication of a work. These were recorded as such in his inventory. In addition, in one case he did give certificates to validate eventual fabrication to a long-term dealer/friend and he left for his Estate a number of certificates for works to be built.

23. This procedure was clearly outlined and adhered to for most of Flavin’s career. In a letter dated January 23, 1979, written by Helene Geary to an owner who claimed his Flavin lamps had accidentally been discarded, she wrote: “When the John Weber Gallery told us last year of your wish to have the work replaced, Dan’s response was that he would do so provided he was able to inspect the damaged equipment. When he learned that the equipment was in fact destroyed, and, evidently, disposed of, Dan asked the Gallery to tell you that he could not rebuild the work without first seeing the ‘remains,’ and since this was not possible, that you should collect insurance money for it.” In a follow-up letter of February 6, 1979, written by Flavin, he reiterates: “Fixtures and tubes that no longer exist should not be replaced!” And he adds: “By the way, the certificate is a clerical record of my existing equipment. It was prepared by my assistant. When you no longer need it for an insurance claim, please destroy it.” Apparently Flavin did not make this stance known to Morgan Spangle, who claims works were fabricated for existing certificates with Flavin’s acknowledgment when he worked with Flavin in the late 1980s. Conversation with the author, December 2003. Susan Dunne of PaceWildenstein confirms that Flavin maintained the stricter policy in the 1990s when he was associated with PaceWildenstein. Conversation with the author, March 2004.

24. Once again Flavin recognized this aspect of his work early on. In 1966, he wrote: “I know now that I can reiterate any part of my fluorescent light system as adequate. Elements of parts of that system simply alter in situation installation. They lack the look of a history. I sense no stylistic or structural development of any significance within my proposal--only shifts in partitive emphasis--modifying and addable without intrinsic change. All my diagrams, even the oldest, seem applicable again and continually. It is as though my system synonymizes its past, present and future states without incurring a loss of relevance. It is curious to feel self-denied of a progressing development.” Dan Flavin, “some remarks . . . excerpts from a spleenish journal,” Artforum 5, no. 4 (December 1966), p. 27.

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