Warren Neidich
with William Corwin
09.28.2024
Warren Neidich,
Lee in the studio with her garden behind the house, 1983.
Ink on canvas, 20 x 16 inches.
William Corwin:
Thanks, everybody, for coming to this conversation between myself and Warren, on the occasion of his exhibition Krasner Pollock: Accidental Paintings. I was reading the background piece you wrote where you referred to the labels as "haiku," and I thought that was a wonderful way to approach the works. These works come from the Pollock-Krasner House out in Springs, Long Island, and I'll have you tell us the story. They are photographs of the walls after the works have been removed. Now, they weren’t all Pollock and Krasner's pictures; there are photographs as well. Like in one, Pollock is holding a crow with Alchemy on the floor. So, sometimes you’re looking at not just the artists’ marks, but also shadows or other images that blend history and the artist's making. But I’ll let you dive into how this show came about.
Warren Neidich:
Well, I had been living in Europe. I had just received the Bethanien residency or International Studio award. I spent six months in Berlin, and during that time, I frequented the famous Paris Rar owned by the renowned Michel Würtle. In this bistro, Martin Kippenberger and his artist friends had donated paintings, which were hung along the walls. This group, this gang of artists, contributed to a certain aesthetic in Germany called Bad Painting.
Before arriving in Berlin, I started a project called "The Unknown Artist." This was a very important project for me, in which I inserted myself into historical photographs of various art groups—surrealists, the Dadaists, the Judson Church—through early Photoshop techniques. I became part of these moments, standing with Yves Klein throwing gold leaf into the Seine, or collaborating with Robert Rauschenberg at the Judson Church. I always replaced an unknown or obscure figure in these photos, inserting myself into the historical narrative.
William Corwin:
That’s fascinating. So you’ve already played with this idea of blending fame and anonymity, inserting yourself into artistic history.
Warren Neidich:
Exactly. It was a way to challenge the concept of fame in the 20th century. There are two theories of fame—one based on the individual, like Jackson Pollock, who became one of the first artists to appear on the cover of Life magazine. In America, fame is about the individual. In Europe, though, it’s often about the group—artists like the Surrealists or Dadaists thrived as social formations.
For the Paris Bar project, I merged these two ideas. I first installed my "Unknown Artist" series within this famous group of art works of which painting was preponderant. The concept of fame is manifest in different ways—either through individual recognition, as in Pollock’s case, or through the collective, as in the case of European groups. My work seeks to blur those distinctions.
William Corwin:
And this plays into the idea of artistic legacy and how history is framed, right?
Warren Neidich:
Exactly. It questions who writes the history and how fame is constructed. One of the critical aspects of this project was removing all the artwork from the walls of the Paris Bar on the final day of my exhibition there and photographing the phantom spaces, left there. I documented the traces left behind, over time, which the combination of light, smoke, and even laughter had created. Somewhat analogous to the "photochemical" reactions of analogue chemistry, these ghostly images appeared over time and emerged when the paintings were removed. What’s left behind are these impressions, these memories of the paintings.
That’s where this project at the Pollock-Krasner House began. With Helen Harrison’s approval,she was the director at that time I performed a similar action at the Pollock studio. But unlike the informal nature of the Paris bar, the Pollock-Krasner House is a museum. It has all the trappings of an institution—name tags, display labels, etc.—which made it a very different experience for me.
William Corwin:
There’s a very different narrative here as well. The Pollock-Krasner House, with its shrine-like atmosphere, is steeped in the mythology of American postwar art. The Paris bar, on the other hand, feels more like a social hub where artists exchanged their work for drinks. There’s a whole story in how the art got there.
Warren Neidich:
Exactly. The Pollock-Krasner studio is a place of performance, not just gestural art. Pollock performed his drip paintings in that space, but there’s also an architecture of history—his death in 1956 marked a shift in the space. After his death, Krasner took over the studio, but she didn’t work on the floor like he did. She painted on the walls. So, there’s this vertical versus horizontal dynamic in their work. Her presence in that space after his death signifies a sort of emancipation.
So, Krasner’s shift to painting on the walls rather than on the floor created a very different relationship to the space than Pollock's. The architecture of the studio resonates with their personal histories—her taking over the studio was not just a literal change in workspace, but also symbolic of her stepping into her own as an artist after Pollock’s death. And she never painted over his traces on the floor, as if paying homage to him. That decision not to erase the past is important. So the work is a sociological expose.
William Corwin:
Yeah, and it’s fascinating that for many years they actually covered the floor to protect it, using masonite boards. Those boards themselves became part of the historical narrative, because when they were eventually removed, they revealed the splatters underneath.
Warren Neidich:
And when I started photographing the traces—the splatters, the labels left behind—I wanted to capture that relationship between history and absence. For me, these labels became a kind of "signifier without a signified," to use semiotic terms. The labels were originally connected to specific photographs and souvenirs. But now that the works were gone, the labels became abstract, allowing room for imagination. They became something new, detached from their original context.
Warren Neidich, East Wall (1994 - 2024). Ink on canvas, 33 x 41 inches.
William Corwin:
And you chose to photograph them in specific ways, right? There’s a strategy to how you frame these labels.
Warren Neidich:
Yes, I used two main strategies. In one, I photographed the label with enough space to include the splashes of paint around it. The label, now divorced from the artwork it once described, invites the viewer to imagine what was there. The leftover paint becomes an abstract painting in itself, with the label taking on new meaning. In some cases, I photographed only part of the label, cutting off some of the text, which transforms it into a form of concrete poetry. It’s abstract, fragmented, and pushes the words into something more interpretive.
William Corwin:
That fragmented label really shifts the experience into something more poetic, something beyond literal meaning.
Warren Neidich:
Exactly. It’s a play on language and perception, pushing the viewer to engage actively with the work. And then, of course, there are the photographs where I capture the entire space—the walls, the traces, the borders—turning the ghost of the artwork into a much larger composition. These moments, where the absence becomes the subject, create an interplay between presence and erasure.
William Corwin:
And that relates back to your earlier project, American History Reinvented, doesn’t it? This idea of reclaiming or recontextualizing history?
Warren Neidich:
Yes, American History Reinvented was a project I started in 1985. It was a naïve attempt, in hindsight, to recreate moments in history. I travelled across America, visiting historical museums and reenactment sites like Williamsburg and Bethpage, which presented these idealized versions of early American life. What struck me was how sanitized and incomplete these portrayals were. There were no people of color in these reenactments, for example.
So, I began bringing modern objects—like Motorola beepers or contemporary glasses—into these historical scenes. I photographed them in a way that subtly inserted the present into the past, highlighting the absurdity of these historical recreations. This eventually became part of a series that included albumin prints, which were historically processes accurate to the 1850s, adding another layer of irony.
William Corwin:
So, you're really playing with the notion of historical accuracy and the creation of archives.
Warren Neidich:
Exactly. It was a form of institutional critique—questioning the apparatuses that create and sustain official histories. At that time, I didn’t even realize how ahead of the curve I was. This was before artists like Jeremy Deller or The Atlas Group came along, who also dealt with archives and historical narratives. The work was about creating alternative archives, challenging what is preserved and what is left out.
William Corwin:
You exhibited this series quite extensively, didn’t you?
Warren Neidich:
Yes, it was shown at the Aperture Foundation, the Institute of Contemporary Art in Pittsburgh, MIT’s List Visual Arts Center, and other places. One of the key aspects of this project was removing modern objects from historical scenes and then playing with different types of framing. I was inspired by the work of Alain Jaubert, Photographs Which Falsify History wrote about the manipulation of historical photographs through techniques like airbrushing or re-photographing to create false histories—like how Trotsky was removed from Soviet photographs. I became fascinated by this kind of tampering with history.
William Corwin:
That’s such a rich area for exploration—how history is constructed, framed, and sometimes falsified. And now, with this Pollock-Krasner project, you’re continuing that interrogation of how stories are told, right?
Warren Neidich:
Yes, this current work is less about overt tampering and more about reclaiming those gaps in history. It’s about who gets to decide what’s shown in a museum, whose names are on the walls, and what stories are told. By photographing these labels and spaces, I’m exposing the underlying mechanisms of how art history is curated and constructed.
William Corwin:
That’s interesting, because we’re now looking at these works through a very different lens than when you first created them. In 2024, we’ve seen the end of the myth of modernism, as Jerry Saltz puts it. There’s a sense that the story of American art, and its challenge to European schools, has come full circle. These photographs, taken 30 years ago, are now being reinterpreted in this new context.
Warren Neidich:
Yes, the interpretation of the work has evolved, and that’s part of what makes it exciting. These could have been seen as ironic or skeptical when I first made them in the 90s, but now, they might evoke nostalgia or a critique of the modernist myth. My headspace at the time wasn’t one of awe towards abstract expressionism, but more a curiosity about the lives and camaraderie of these artists—how they lived and worked together.
William Corwin:
There’s definitely that myth of the artist community in East Hampton—the photos of artists on the beaches, having picnics, hanging out. If you weren’t in those pictures, you weren’t really part of the group.
Warren Neidich:
Exactly, and that’s where my earlier project, The Unknown Artist, connects to this work. It’s still about inserting myself into those historical narratives—whether it’s East Hampton or the Paris bar scene. It’s about questioning who gets remembered and who doesn’t.
William Corwin:
And you also took this approach into your newer series, where you’re using optical devices to alter photographs, right? Can you explain how that work relates to your previous projects?
Warren Neidich:
Yes, the work you’re talking about is my series called Double Vision, or The Hybrid Dialectics. These images were made with optical devices used to measure visual disabilities—like cross-eyes in children or trauma-induced visual impairments in adults. These devices, which are used for diagnosing and treating ocular defects, became the framework for photographing the world.
For example, the Lancaster glasses used to detect early amblyopia (or lazy eye) in children involve red and green filters that create a distorted image. I used those same glasses superimposed over the lense of the camera to photograph landscapes and architectural spaces, estranging what we expect from a normal photographic process. This was an extension of my earlier work, but instead of critiquing history and archives, it focused on the idea of disabled vision and the estranged body.
William Corwin:
So this is about challenging the relationship between the organic eye and the camera lens?
Warren Neidich:
Yes, I wanted to break that seamless relationship between the camera eye and the human eye that has been central to modernism. In these works, the camera is no longer an extension of our vision but a tool for estrangement. The use of medical apparatuses introduces a kind of disabled seeing, which questions our understanding of vision and perception.
This idea extends to the work I'm doing now, exploring neurodiversity and how certain visual and cognitive differences shape the way we interact with the world. My piece The Mysteries of Einstein’s Brain touches on this, using Einstein’s unique brain structure as a metaphor for how we define and treat difference, particularly in relation to neurodiverse individuals.
Audience Member:
It sounds like you’re not only exploring visual disabilities but also how the brain processes these altered visual experiences.
Warren Neidich:
Exactly. I’m less interested in the eye itself and more focused on the brain as an apparatus that processes what the eye delivers. My interest lies in how these different ways of seeing—whether through disability or neurodiversity—can be powerful tools for estrangement. For instance, I have ADHD, and while it can be disruptive in some settings, it also allows me to focus on multiple things simultaneously, making me incredibly productive in certain areas.
Chris Lee:
You’re talking about how disabilities or differences can be empowering, right? That makes me think—do you see your work as a critique of how things are, or more of an analysis of what is?
Warren Neidich:
That’s a great question. I’d say my work is usually a critique, but critique in the sense of opening up new possibilities. It’s about making visible what was previously invisible, and allowing people to see things in new ways. Critique doesn’t have to be negative—it can be about caring and improving awareness.
William Corwin:
And this extends to how you work with language too, right? I know you’ve done large-scale neon sculptures with words and phrases that engage with political ideas.
Warren Neidich:
Yes, language is a crucial part of my work. I’ve done neon word sculptures that hang like chandeliers or are mounted on walls. These works, like the titles in the Pollock-Krasner project, are meant to activate the viewer's imagination. They create a kind of performative experience, where the viewer completes the artwork in their mind.
In this series, for example, the title card becomes a signifier without the image it was originally attached to. It’s a way of pushing the viewer to imagine the missing artwork, making it an active rather than passive experience. I don’t want the viewer to simply read or observe; I want them to participate in the work by filling in the gaps with their own thoughts and interpretations.
Chris Lee:
It’s interesting to hear you say that because I’ve always felt your work invites a kind of deep engagement with how we see and think. It’s not just about the visual, but about how we process those visuals in our minds.
Warren Neidich:
Exactly. And that’s where my interest in language and text comes in. I want the viewer or reader to work—whether it’s with my writing or my artwork. I leave spaces in my writing that might be uncomfortable or don’t make perfect sense, because I want the reader to think actively and engage with those gaps. In art, just like in language, I want to leave space for the viewer to insert their own imagination.
Audience Member:
What about the titles for these pieces? How do you come up with them?
Warren Neidich:
The titles often come from the original labels that were left behind after the artworks were removed. For example, one piece is titled Pollock Holding a Crow with Alchemy, because that’s what the label originally described. But now, without the artwork, the title takes on a new abstract meaning. In other cases, I name the pieces after architectural features, like Seam, which refers to the seam between the floor and the wall where Pollock and Krasner’s lives and practices intersected.
William Corwin:
So the titles themselves become part of the critique of how institutions frame art and history.
Warren Neidich:
Yes, that’s exactly it. By using the same titles for different images, I’m critiquing the way museums and galleries present and label art. It’s about exposing the apparatuses of the art world—the labels, the hanging mechanisms, the institutional decisions that shape how we experience art. In a way, it’s a meta-commentary on the entire exhibition process.
Audience Member:
Why did you decide to frame some of the pieces and leave others unframed?
Warren Neidich:
The decision to frame some of the larger works came from a previous exhibition, where the gallery requested them to be framed. I ended up liking the way they looked, so I kept them framed for this show. But I understand the preference for unframed pieces too—it gives them a more immediate, less formal quality, and feels like an extension of the wall itself. They melt into the wall.
Audience Member:
It would be interesting to see them displayed as wallpaper or something more immersive.
Warren Neidich:
That’s definitely something I’ve thought about—taking this work further in future exhibitions. There are so many possibilities for how these images could be installed, and I’m always open to exploring new ways of presenting them.
William Corwin:
Warren, thank you so much for this insightful discussion, and thanks to everyone who joined us today. Any final questions from the audience?
Audience Member:
How do you see the evolution of your work over the years?
Warren Neidich:
My work has evolved from exploring cultural histories and archives to delving into more embodied experiences, like disabilities and neurodiversity. In the beginning, it was about institutional critique—challenging the ways we construct and remember history. Now, it’s about investigating the body and the brain, and how different ways of seeing and processing the world can be used as tools for creative exploration. But even as I move forward, I still feel a connection to my earlier work—there’s a throughline that runs across my entire practice.
Chris Lee:
It’s amazing how your work continues to challenge how we see, think, and engage with the world. Thanks for sharing your journey with us.
Warren Neidich:
Thank you, I really appreciate it. It’s great to have these conversations and hear everyone’s thoughts. It’s part of what makes art so rewarding—the dialogue that it inspires.
William Corwin:
And thank you again to everyone for coming to this talk. It’s been a pleasure discussing Warren’s work, and I look forward to seeing how it continues to evolve.