Along with Richard Serra, Sol Lewitt, and Carl Andre, Donald Judd (among others) is known as one of the defining pillars of minimalist sculptors of his generation (1928–1994). Although originally New York City-based, he began looking elsewhere in the 1970s, principally to expand the scale of his work independent of the incumbrancers of a more traditional gallery or museum setting. Beginning in 1973, Judd started buying properties in the little-known West Texas town of Marfa, and by the time of his death, owned 300,000 acres there as well as numerous buildings, including a massive former army artillery shed. Several of these buildings also house monumental installations by his contemporaries, including Dan Flavin, Richard Irwin, John Chamberlain, and others. Initially funded by the Dia Art Foundation, current Judd administration at Marfa is supported by both the Judd and Chinati Foundations. Collectively, they are the caretakers that oversee both the exterior landscape and buildings that encompass Judd’s studio, home, workshop, and outdoor and indoor installations. A complete overview on Judd’s work in Marfa would be more suited for a book, as his sculptures and properties are one of our countries most massive permanent installations devoted largely to the work of one single artist.

        Marfa’s inconvenient location is equally its charm (getting there is half the fun), as it is a rite of passage. At best, it is a three-hour drive from El Paso, which also includes going through a U.S. border patrol. The topography has a lunar quality—bleak and desolate—but with a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western charm. Another significant landmark within proximity would include Big Bend National Park. Marfa is also known for the Marfa lights, flickering orbs that hover over the nighttime landscape about nine miles out of town—their origins unknown. Earlier claims to fame include the 1956 filming of Giant, with James Dean and Elizabeth Taylor, as well as more recently There Will be Blood and the Coen brother’s movie No Country for Old Men.

        I was always curious about Marfa, although my interest in Judd was more historical—as a textbook page turner on the long chapter of contemporary art. I found Judd’s boxes rather monotonous, and if they reflected the period, they seemed quite unable to transcend it. They were the personification of serious art, and as rigid and emotionless as the material they were made of. Growing up in Northwest Indiana, stacked steel boxes were part and parcel to the landscape, hence the Judd boxes seemed right at home with me, yet of limited aesthetic interest. They were of their time, and unlike the work of Richard Serra, seemed unable to surpass their generation.

        First thoughts are not always second thoughts, and if I was initially tepid concerning Judd’s work, the impact of walking into his massive indoor installation was a quick game changer. Housed in a large, vaulted, glass-encased pavilion (formerly an artillery shed), it consisted of one hundred fabricated aluminum boxes, each 41 by 51 by 72 inches. The sculptures were at once dimensionally consistent, yet subtly distinct, as they were bisected by slight shifts of internal planes diagonally, horizontally and vertically. If they first seemed identical, they were far from it—as their differences counterbalanced their similarities and time spent among them amplified their uniqueness. The spacing between the boxes was equally considered, and the distance from each other was measurable, repeatable and consistent. Paralleling the pleasure of looking was walking through the massive installation, as you were always near and far, close to each box, yet incrementally further from others. Light from the massive windows created another dimension, as sculptures, depending on their position and time of day, could be either brightly illuminated or enveloped in shadows. The exterior landscape was a vital partner in the experience of the sculptures, as you were always looking out and in, and the flat desolate west Texas landscape was the quintessential counterpoint to the enormous installation.

        If the Chinati installation was the realization of a complete and succinct vision, the “Block” at the Judd Foundation showed a much broader picture of Judd’s work and domestic life. Located in what was once a two-story house with two large hangers (a former office of the U.S. Army) and surrounding grounds, Judd’s sculptural opus is represented through early, middle, and late works. The culmination of the “Block” is a breath-taking installation of several of the wall-mounted vertical boxes juxtaposed with aluminum floor cubes. If they had seemed overly familiar in museum settings over the years, they are reinvigorated in this context and, in my view, a perfect pairing of his life’s work. The compound also contains Judd’s massive library with his collection of more than 13,000 books. The spartan yet considered living quarters are a revealing snapshot of Judd’s domestic life and the objects and artifacts that he both collected and lived with. Equally, the relationship between buildings and courtyards is clearly thought out and creates a symmetry between interior and exterior space. As with any comprehensive body of work, some sculptures are preferred over others. Yet taken in mass, the “Block” powerfully clarifies my understanding of his work and the ideas which generated his sculptures.

        Paralleling this accomplishment are corollary questions regarding a project as massive and enormous as Judd’s in Marfa. Can smaller more succinct installations or objects communicate with power, or is bigger always better? Secondly, what is the responsibility of passing forward one artist’s work to the next generation for eternal care and maintenance? Although these questions remain just that, they are easily applicable to many of today’s most prominent contemporary artists as well as the generational future of Judd’s work at Marfa.

        Although one can hold differing thoughts simultaneously, there is something about going to Marfa that conjoins them. It is a realization of ambition and the human spirit, and to see what is possible in a place that others had forgotten. Judd’s vision was as expansive as west Texas itself, and, like the frontier, open with an endless horizon. Judd is an anomaly—an artist that had the ways and means to realize his vision in the scale that he intended. He was the right artist for the right time with the right space to do it. This is a rarity, and Marfa is the embodiment of a complete and sustaining artistic vision where form and thought have a perfect confluence.

Neil Goodman is a sculptor formerly based in Chicago with an extensive exhibition history. Presently living on the central coast of California, he retired from Indiana University Northwest as Professor Emeritus of Fine Arts. He is currently represented by Zolla Lieberman and serving as the South-Central California Region Editor for the New Art Examiner.