Christopher Wool, 'Minor Mishap', 2001

 

Christopher Wool's Minor Mishap is a huge, abstract work (274.3 x 182.9cm) made up of only two colours, yet it joins a long lineage of Abstract Expressionist producers, which harks all the way back to 1950s New York. Wool's recent, impressive performance on the art market further proves that this movement has not really waned in popularity with collectors, and continues to be a source of artistic inspiration globally. 

The messiness, harshness and perhaps even violence of Wool's work may reference de Kooning, whilst the simplicity yet vibrancy of colours recalls Rothko's abstract canvases - admittedly, however, Rothko's linearity is most definitely abandoned by Wool. The artist's ink application, meanwhile, can be connected to the art of splash painting, perfected by Pollock and to a lesser extent, Krasner. However, this twenty-first century work is not a complete copy of that style, for Wool is working with silkscreen on linen, where the ink seeps into the fabric. It is therefore a slower, more controlled process than splash painting, witnessed in the bleeding oranges of Wool's work, particularly towards the lower end, as gravity takes control and the orange collects in thick, heavy, downward-moving globules, threatening to push beyond the support completely. Wool does not imitate Pollock and other Abstract Expressionists, but he updates painterly forms and suggests an alternative to splash painting in the modern age. 

Created in 2001, this was a period in Wool's career where he did choose to name works, before he started to settle for the Untitled approach more recently. The alliteration of Minor Mishap makes the title instantly memorable and perhaps even the repeated 'M' sound reflects the merging together of colour, almost mimicking the spilling of ink which Wool illustrates. There is a certain comedy to his title as well: it is only a 'minor' issue that the ink has spilled over the pristine white support. Most importantly, however, the choice of title references the ambiguities of abstract painting generally, and the key paragone at the heart of automatic works, fluctuating between accident and intention. 

Certainly, the artist's abilities (or the movement of the ink itself) threaten to break out of the confines of the linen support, despite the work's all-encompassing size. Its dimensions give a freshness to the ink and added vibrancy, as if the orange might drip down onto an unsuspecting viewer. However, the question remains as to what Wool is exactly trying to convey. There is a certain sense of violence to the work as mentioned, despite the smoothness of his processes. The orange percolates into the support, disrupting its pristine background. Yet, there is also excitement, particularly evident in the smaller splashes, out of control pinpricks of colour. Perhaps this reflects the uncontrollable nature of Wool's practice, the untameable nature of automatic painting. Or perhaps, Glen O'Brien was more accurate in 2012 when he compared Minor Mishap to an acheiropoietic image, one created miraculously not by human hand: 'If you can see Mother Theresa's face in a raisin, then you could see an agonised Christ in this dark orange drip of silkscreen ink. You could see a lot of things'.