...oh, yeah, and they happened to be women. So it only took 60 some years to hear about some of them...sadly...I overheard a guy who was leading his lady date around commenting ignorantly, "oh, this one is actually important because she was married to a famous painter." Whaaaat??? "She" and the others are ALL important. They are here because of the canvases in front of you, you dull-witted oaf. Thanks be, he was far outnumbered by the others, who, with me, were actually looking, then seeing, then potentially awakening to the power of seemingly messy gestures expressing arrow straight visions.
My art viewing past is not full of swoon for Abstract Expressionism (except for Agnes Martin, who considered herself one although most people throw her in the Minimalism box). I have appreciated Peggy Guggenheim's commission by Jackson Pollock and Morris Louis' Seal does make me happy, but swoon? No. But I did indeed swoon at the Palm Springs Art Museum's show Women of Abstract Expressionism. Color, form, gesture. All screamed truth. In the current political climate, they seemed urgent. A call to wake up. Be alert, alive, awake to the cruelties perpetrated in the name of normal. Be exactly who you truly are, be damned the ignorance of regimented sameness.
Some of my faves: Mary Abbott, Joan Mitchell, Sonia Gechtoff, Judith Goodwin, Perle Fine. I highly recommend the book from the exhibit. Gorgeous reproductions, interesting reading and pictures of these extraordinary women.