Contributed by Natasha Sweeten / In the early 2000s, among the pines and solace of an artist residency, Polly Apfelbaum shared with me a small, well-thumbed through book. Right off the bat I took the isolated black-and-white image on its cover to possess talismanic powers. Such was my introduction to the work of Myron Stout.
Born in Texas in 1908, Stout was planning to be a historian until he discovered painting. He spent years dissatisfied with his work, returned to school to earn a teaching degree, served in the Army during World War II, and eventually made his way to studying with Hans Hofmann in New York City. Although he followed his teacher to Provincetown (MA) and ended up settling there, his great-niece tells me that “Uncle Bud” would often visit family back in Texas. (Stout died in 1987.) It is to this family that we owe the pleasure of seeing “Myron Stout: Charcoal Drawings,” an archive of over 30 works on paper from his personal collection on view for the first time, currently at Peter Freeman, Inc.
Arranged more or less chronologically, the show includes a few nudes and landscapes (undated but estimated to be from the late 1940s) in which Stout engages the entire page as he grapples with jagged planes and broken depths of field. There is a low rumble of focus and determination as he searches for his subject. Alongside these are rigorous investigations into abstraction, no doubt influenced by Hofmann’s teaching, in which Stout aims to make every inch of paper pulse with life. That’s when the rumbling grows louder and things begin to get more interesting. By the third and final room, one can sense an accompanying chorus, something akin to what I’d expect entering Rothko’s Chapel. Here he finds his groove, playing with flat, bold distributions of positive and negative space. One drawing echoes an aerial cityscape, one a slightly angled grid like a child’s view of a quilt or tablecloth, another a car’s headlights bleaching the path ahead.
A drawing from 1950 is confettied with triangular wedges falling against the absolute darkness of sky. Stout’s ruminations are evident as he softly obscures a few areas just enough to allow them to fade into black, but not enough to erase earlier intentions. Another drawing (undated but likely from the early 1950s) masterfully balances horizontal triangles that – by way of two slanted, vertical divisions – rise to a tower-like shape. Sharp, black-and-white triangle tips pin the tower into place by pricking the left and right sides of the paper. Rustles of light gray (perhaps a fingerprint?) tease the atmosphere. The composition is mesmerizingly simple but embodies a wealth of consideration. Paper and charcoal cannot easily hide their shared history, and the adjustments to this drawing – and to many others in the exhibition – are quiet while defiantly present.
The work that has kept Stout’s name in circulation is, of course, his painting. Of modest scale and limited palette, unlike that of the Abstract Expressionists with whom he generationally overlapped and knew, the paintings are the culmination of years, sometimes decades, of working and reworking, an effort visually embedded in the resolution. His spare, intimate, iconic imagery compresses time and seems to hold many secrets, like the slow formation of a diamond. The later drawings on view coincide with Stout’s rereading of Greek mythology, especially the tragedies of Sophocles and Aeschylus, which blazed a path of invigoration for him. That’s why, to me, this show is important: it captures Stout’s trajectory precisely as he reinvents himself as an artist.
“Myron Stout: Charcoal Drawings,” Peter Freeman, Inc., 140 Grand Street, New York, NY. Through March 1, 2025.
About the author: Natasha Sweeten is an artist who divides her time between upstate New York and Brooklyn. She recently curated “IRREGULAr,” a show with four artists working in various media, at Project: ARTspace in New York City.
Engaging work. Thank you.
Natasha, you are a beautiful writer about art. It is always a treat to read your observations and insights. So glad you are writing. You have a gift for it.
Thoughtful review of deeply thoughtful work. I have been a fan for many years, but rarely get to see this work in person. It is a rare treat to see so many exceptional pieces in one place.