“Martin has captured the longing I feel when I think of the blues of distances I cannot close, and in putting it somewhere where I can see it, has closed the distance. Somewhere in there, too: a little joy, tempering all that wanting. It soothes my anxieties about replication, about what I fear is the ultimate failure of communication. For that’s something I’ve always worried about in art—that I keep making things that don’t mean what I want them to mean.”
Critics: Agnes Martin, Untitled, 1965Larissa Pham, The Paris Review