For decades, I have repeatedly asked whether art is still operative.

 

The absence of shared criteria, language, or a unified aesthetic horizon

means that art must continually prove itself through the way it operates.

What matters is not what appears as art,

but questioning its mode of existence and operation.

The artist must locate that answer within the work itself.

 

This text began with Sol LeWitt’s Brushstrokes.

Though it appeared visually similar to my own drawings,

I sensed a certain productive tension within it—

like encountering a real rose among ornate paper ones.

In that moment, Robert Morris and Lee Ufan came to mind.

A dialogue seemed possible.

 

In LeWitt’s work, the stroke operates as a repetitive module,

immediately forming a structure as a conceptual unit.

In Morris, the stroke accumulates through duration,

registering time as repeated action.

In Lee Ufan, repetition also constructs structure,

but within controlled intervals that sustain it.

 

Each of these artists demonstrates a distinct unit of the stroke.

However, I believe that under certain conditions,

this unit can no longer be maintained—

it collapses before it is even recognized as such.

 

This drawing was produced under conditions that disrupt that stability.

Instead of preparing the canvas to hang on a wall,

I laid it flat on a table.

Paint was heavily applied to the upper edge,

water was sprayed across the surface,

and a portion was slowly drawn downward with a brush.

 

Rather than compositional intention,

gravity, water, and time intervened,

producing irreversible phenomena beyond my control.