Glenn Ligon
Untitled (America/Me)
Glenn Ligon’s ‘Untitled (America/Me)’ (2022) builds on his AMERICA neon works, which are held in renowned collections around the world, including the Tate Modern in London and the National Gallery in Washington DC. ‘Untitled (America/Me)’ exemplifies the artist’s ingenious use of text and light as well as his discerning inquiry into America—its democracy, perceived stability and underlying dichotomies.
Intrigued by the ambivalence of a country at both ‘its apex and its nadir,’ Ligon first began executing the word ‘America’ in bright neon tubes in 2005. [1] In ‘Untitled (America/Me),’ the word is rendered in American Typewriter script, with each letter comprised of a single neon tube. Some letters are crossed out by X-shaped forms, which are dipped face first in black paint, casting a shadow over the installation. A halo of neon light escapes from behind, casting a soft glow on the wall and inverting the relationship between light and dark that one expects to see from a neon sign.
A constantly evolving national portrait, Ligon has created several variations with flickering lights, as well as mirrored and upside-down letters. As the artist formally adapts the word ‘America’, each permutation reveals new readings, like the ambigram letters in ‘Rückenfigur’ (2009) spelling ‘AM I.’ Similarly, in ‘Untitled (America/Me),’ several letters of the word ‘AMERICA’ are crossed out, leaving only the pronoun ‘ME.’ Here, Ligon engages with notions of language, opacity and invisibility, exploring the relationship of the individual—be it the artist or the viewer—to America as a society, country or idea.
‘I started using the word ‘America,’ because I was interested in Charles Dickens’ novel ‘A Tale of Two Cities.’ The novel has a very famous opening paragraph. He says: ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’ And I began thinking about how America was at the same place, that we were living in a society that could elect an African American president but also we’re in the midst of two wars and a crippling recession.’—Glenn Ligon [2]
Ligon’s neon works can be seen as a counter to his earlier text-based paintings, such as the Stranger series, which he began in 1996. In these works, Ligon sought to add physicality to his paintings by using oil stick and coal dust to give the text greater weight, purposefully making them difficult to decipher. In contrast, his neon works are legible and clear, and, as curator Scott Rothkopf noted, ‘represent his search for a route beyond that density, one in which the body and even the notion of blackness might be both literally and figuratively made light.’ [3]
Ligon discussed his interest in light as early as 2004, in his essay ‘Black Light. David Hammons and the Poetics of Emptiness.’ In this piece, he references a quote by Hammons in 1993 about James Turrell's light works. Hammons stated: ‘I would love to do that because that also could be very black. You know, as a Black artist dealing with light... I'm trying to get that, but I am not free yet.’ [4] This resonated with Ligon, driving him to explore ‘making light black and black light.’ [5]
The latest example of Ligon’s iconic neon works, ‘Untitled (America/Me)’ functions as a compelling metaphor for the current political landscape. Through this piece and related installations, Ligon continues his incisive exploration of American history, identity, and society.
About the artist
Born in the Bronx, New York, in 1960, Glenn Ligon received a BA from Wesleyan University in 1982. His early practice was grounded in painting, and his canvases of this period built upon the legacies of such Abstract Expressionist artists as Philip Guston, Cy Twombly, Robert Rauschenberg, and Jasper Johns. In 1984 – 1985, Ligon spent an academic year in the Whitney Museum of American Art’s Independent Study Program, developing a series of representational drawings of iconic sculptures by European artists such as Alberto Giacometti and Constantin Brâncuși, juxtaposed against images of African American hair products rendered in acrylic and ink.