In its silence, the flow had little discernible content or logic, but that never bothered him. "I have a particular kind of concentration," he said in 1958. "I tend to see everything in sight."
At that time, Robert Rauschenberg lived in New York and was working on “Combines” – large multimedia assemblages that churned with two- and three-dimensional visual noise. (In the 1959 Canyon, for example, there are scraps of cloth, a photo of the artist's son, a stuffed bald eagle looming.) But in 1970, when he moved south of Captiva Island, just off the coast of Florida, the artist has begun to thin out his work, cutting it in density and weight. The “Cardboards” (1971-72) are made of salvaged boxes; the “Jammers” (1975-6), fabrics from an Indian journey.
Rauschenberg's next series was "Spreads" (1975-83), now on view at the Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac in London. They recapture old ground, somewhere between East Coast float and Gulf Coast ease. To take Clipper (1979), one of the liveliest: the immediate extraction are the newspaper pages, transferred with solvent on large wooden panels and united by images of surfboards, skater boys, piles of ripe fruit. But here there are also areas of whitish emptiness, contented empty spaces where the "Combini" should have wanted to paint. Meanwhile, in the left panel of the composition, large pieces of brightly colored fabric are arranged in a parallel order.
Rauschenberg told Leo Steinberg he would use a certain fabric just because it was 'lovely', but the "Spreads" were treated with a professional eye. Overlays between photos are delicate, transfers are crisp and clear, and you're welcome to inspect each individual universe as you wish (or not). Watching Half Stand (1978), I finally figured out which Pioneer and Voyager missions took the pictures of Jupiter and Saturn; on the other hand, the 'Fish 'n' Find Chart' in the middle of Untitled (1982) is still a fun little mystery to me.
The title of the series, 'Spreads', suggests various types of expansions. In 1977, Rauschenberg defined both large tracts of agricultural land and the act of extending a thing offshore. (He added, less plausibly, "even the stuff you put on the bread.") Given the presence of newspaper and magazine clippings, a more technical sense might be that of a “diffused” print: two facing pages to be flattened and read in tandem, their local visual rhythms simultaneously forming parts of a larger drawing.
Here's how a work like Clipper, different moods on a single board, exemplifies Steinberg's concept of the "flat frame", where Rauschenberg's large assemblages are "work surfaces", with their elements studiedly arranged informally. “Spreads” can be seen as perpetual drafts, imaginary schemes with the luxury of never having to justify themselves to anyone else.
In the 50s, the "Combines" had the quality of novelty, but the "Spreads", I think, are richer. They combine the previous series with the supreme sign of maturity: being curious but equanimous. Rauschenberg's works are big Florida daydreams, images of thoughts left unresolved and much happier with irresolution. Tackling an image like Palladian Xmas (1980), with its pale electric light, trailing cable, cheap cloths and chalkboards and back-to-front clock photos, I found a glorious mix, full-minded and all-American. Not only did I like him, but I think I know how Rauschenberg felt.
Cover image: Robert Rauschenberg, Clipper (Spread), 1977, solvent transfer, fabric, mirrored panel on wood panels with objects, 213 × 457 × 23 cm. Courtesy: Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac, London/Paris/Salzburg © Robert Rauschenberg/DACS; Photograph: Glenn Steigelman
