Nancy Ungar - Artist



Barnett Newman concerned himself with the cosmos; with the place of a single human, a “zip” of energy, within it. His early work was outer-spacey and not commonly known.


In 1973 I was an art history graduate student. In order to write about Newman’s work I  needed to see his early paintings which were not in public collections but in his wife, Annalee’s, upper west side apartment — leaning against the walls.


The critic Lawrence Alloway, my former teacher, arranged for me to visit Annalee (Barney had died two years earlier) and we spent a pleasant afternoon together. She was sweet, unpretentious and accepting as I told her of my plan to explain Barney’s work by likening it to black holes.

At one point she told me that Barney would have really liked me because I wasn’t coy. How sad to have missed him by just two years.


Suddenly, we heard sirens. The living room window looked out on an alley and the apartment immediately across from hers (perhaps twelve feet away) was ablaze. Annalee ran around shouting, “Oh no! They told me it wasn’t safe to keep his paintings here!”


The flames were doused. It was a memorable afternoon.

BYO Myelin Sheath


A triangle of Reason exists within my brain 

Lizards creep along my nerve cells

Wanting to feed — to 

Extinguish my light 

But I have trapped them. 

They have weakened and disabled my body

But have yet to break my reason, 

Cogency and imagination. 

These remain, 

 And my life continues.


Bring your own myelin sheaths to this party. You will not have mine.



In a world of confusion mathematics

equations, numbers, mystical forms

Something emerges.

A glimmer of green, dim in its nascent power,

feeds and is fed upon by the universe.

Until green becomes the red of a painful birth, 


A Particle of Matter matters.

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