Manuela and Iwan Wirth had been wooing Hammons for fifteen years. So why, in his mid-seventies, did he deliver the prize to Hauser & Wirth? (The title, written on the wall, was “UNDERSTAND.”) There were drawings that looked like misty Chinese landscapes, made by Hammons bouncing a street-soiled basketball on sheets of paper. Charles White, an African-American artist whose powerful, realistic paintings and prints had not yet been recognized by the white establishment, was teaching at Otis, and he became a mentor to Hammons. He makes his art from refuse and the detritus of African-American life: chicken wings, Thunderbird and Night Train bottles, clippings from dreadlocks, basketball hoops, etc. His expanding career was cut tragically short three years later, when he died of pancreatic cancer at the age of thirty-five. Dancers are always in pain, and she told me the thing to do was relax into the pain. In a big 1960 painting called “Garden of Music,” Bob Thompson takes us to heaven, or Eden, where three nude musicians, each a different color — Coltrane (black), Ornette Coleman (brown), Sonny Rollins (blue) — jam away as the artist listens. The second Tilton show featured used fur coats draped over blocks of ice. Hammons has never had a solo show at MOMA, although several curators have offered to give him one. After that we’re mostly on American turf, with one detour. David Hammons has risen to prominence while at the same time consciously ducking the attention of critics, galleries and … He lived with an older sister, worked at odd jobs, and took classes in commercial art and design. Under it was the pencilled caption “Gordon Matta-Clark Monument Pier 52.”. Motion picture film stills or motion picture footage from films in MoMA’s Film Collection cannot be licensed by MoMA/Scala. Installed against the wall at P.S.1, Kick the Bucket resembled a cairn, an archaic grave marker, but turned the colloquialism kick the bucket (die with a resonant finality) into a solicitation by placing the bucket at its apex. Here, for example, the triangulation of materials and words—“Night Train” and coal—can be combined to form the name Coltrane, a salute to the renowned African American jazz saxophonist and composer, while the Thunderbird bottles allude to another great jazz saxophonist, Charlie “Bird” Parker. This case-by-case way of assembling a show can backfire and produce an unglued mess. In another space, three empty Plexiglas boxes rested on pedestals that stood on the feet of African sculptures—the kind you can buy on the sidewalk outside museums. “I had met David, but I didn’t really know him,” Weinberg told me recently. But he thrives on the freedom of his lone-wolf status. When I asked about his third-eye glasses (which he was wearing), he said, “That’s interrogation,” and we all laughed. Hammons is that rare artist capable of refusing this division, harnessing the poetic force of the material like a medieval alchemist determined to turn base metal into gold. He thinks museums should buy work from artists early, when they need help, not just wait for wealthy collectors to give it to them. No, Hammons said, it should disappear. Two of his street actions, both in 1981, involved Richard Serra’s “T.W.U.,” a massive, steel-plate sculpture that had been installed in Tribeca a year or so earlier. I had heard that he planned to have shows here, of his own work and also work by artists he admires, but right now it feels like a sanctuary, light-years away from the art world. The graceful arching ring of clear and green-tinted bottles is embedded in a circular pile of coal. It was installed in a parking lot across from the National Portrait Gallery, where a group of young black men, incensed by what struck them as a racist insult, attacked it with sledgehammers—an event that drew national news coverage. To revisit this article, select My⁠ ⁠Account, then View saved stories. As he once put it to Robert Sill, “I am going to make stuff with these new materials that doesn't necessarily have to do with my culture. Among the early flashes of family pictures are a young red-haired girl, Mr. Preiss’s daughter. A somewhat mysterious image of a heavily robed man wearing an ecclesiastical headdress, “Black Pope” was one of White’s greatest works, Hammons told him, and the only way to do it justice was to pair it with a drawing by Leonardo da Vinci. It included body prints, hair pieces, the Whitney Museum’s 1992 “Untitled,” a paint-slathered fur coat, an earlier version of his “basketball chandelier,” and many other works borrowed from public and private sources. Berg told me that she was “terrified” when she met Hammons last February. Just before it, though, he came by and made changes—removing some pieces and adding others. That was overly simplistic. But it was how she sang that clinched it: with all of herself, out of her life, with an ache. If you have additional information or spotted an error, please send feedback to [email protected]. Hammons‘ deeply felt political views on race and cultural stereotypes give his witty and elegant sculptures, installations, and body prints an integrity that promises to keep the focus on his art rather than on his career.

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