Donald Judd's Pickup, Rick Ross at Checkers and Fran Lebowitz
I Know Where Donald Judd’s Truck Lives
Jealousy, like everything else, didn’t have a good 2020. We were all pretty much on the same level: stuck inside our homes on countless Zoom calls, taking good fit pics and posting them on Instagram so somebody, anybody, could see we got dressed. It was hard to do anything that interesting that could be flaunted without looking tacky.
Yet, there was one person I was extremely jealous of. My friend Stephen Billick, a filmmaker living in Texas, pulled off the rare 2020 flex when he texted me to tell me that he had purchased a pickup truck once owned by Donald Judd.
Judd was on my mind a lot throughout 2020, definitely kicked off by Kyle Chayka’s The Longing for Less: Living with Minimalism, a book that ended up sticking with me throughout the entire year. Chayka’s book gave way to anticipation for the Judd exhibition at MoMA, an experience I prepared myself for by reading plenty of Judd, but also took for granted as it was the last big museum exhibit I could go to before everything locked down (I’m still kicking myself for not checking out Gerhard Richter: Painting After All when I had the chance). So Judd’s “boxy objects,” as Peter Schjeldahl put it in his New Yorker review, stuck around in my mind for months. I also found myself reading a lot of Judd’s written works. One thing in particular that stood out to me were his thoughts on self-isolation from 1970. Reading it 50 years later as I sat isolated from everybody and everything I knew felt especially jarring given how long I’d wanted a little space from other humans so I could try to get some work done. Yet as America’s political institutions fumbled through the pandemic, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and returned to it more than a few times.
“Part of the reason for my isolation was the incapacity to deal with it all, in any way, and also work. Part was that recent art had occurred outside of most of the society. Unlike now, very few people were opposed to anything, none my age that I knew. The most important reason for isolation was that I couldn’t think about the country in a general way. Most of the general statements I read seemed doctrinaire and sloppy, both typical of general statements. Most of the advice seemed utopian, impractical, or rather fascistic itself; I couldn’t think of any great explanations and gradually came to the conclusion that there weren’t any. All the institutions and their actions seemed like the explanations, overblown and insubstantial. So my work didn’t have anything to do with the society, the institutions, and grand theories. It was one person’s work and interests; its main political conclusion, negative but basic, was that it, myself, anyone shouldn’t serve any of these things, that they should be considered very skeptically and practically. A person shouldn’t be used by an organization of two on up. Most of the emotions and beliefs given to institutions should be forgotten; the bigger the institution the less it should get; I never understood how anyone could love the United States, or hate it for that matter; I’ve never understood the feelings of nationalism. Ask what your country can do for you.”
Anyway, Donald Judd. Love his work. I also really appreciate a good “I bought some well-known person’s car” like that episode of Seinfeld where George buys a Chrysler LeBaron that he bought after the salesman told him Jon Voight was the previous owner. George thinks this fact makes him a little better as a person for a bit — until he finds out it was owned by some guy named John Voight and not the actor. But knowing my friend, his interests and his work, I knew he’d probably done his research and that purchasing Judd’s truck could serve as a bit of inspiration or a talisman. Or, at the very least, it could make a great conversation piece. That’s why I reached out to learn a little more about Donald Judd’s pickup.
Tell me the details about the truck.
The truck is white a 1990 Dodge Ram D250. Which in itself is pretty goddamn cool if you're into trucks. But of course the fact that it was purchased new in Midland, Texas by Donald Judd is what makes this one really special.
I know you like trucks, you've had a few, from an older American pickup to a Range Rover, right? And you're working on an old Ramcharger 4x4 if I recall. Where does this one stack up?
Yeah, I'm definitely a bit of a truck guy. Always turning a wrench on something. I worked in construction in my 20s so it was born out of necessity. But then I became a filmmaker in my 30s and just couldn't kick it. Especially the older stuff. ‘80s and early 90's. The "square bodies" as they're now called. I guess it's also a bit of a Texas thing. For better or for worse. But, man, it's hard to compare this truck to the other trucks I've owned. It's just infused with all that Judd Marfa magic. Really hard to quantify.
How did you first hear about the truck?
I've actually been well aware of the truck since 2009. I moved out to Marfa that winter to work as a builder for Liz Lambert, the great Austin hotelier. I was working on her El Cosmico project, which has since become a very hip Marfa destination. At that point the truck was owned by the Judd foundation. I guess after he died in '94 it just sort of became the work truck for them. It made a cameo in a film by his daughter, Ranier Judd. But mostly it served as a maintenance vehicle. A gentleman who worked for the Foundation would drive it from Marfa to Judd's ranch, Ayala de Chinati, which is like 33,000 acres or something like that south of Marfa near the Chinati Mountains. Anyway, I would see it around town, often parked behind one of the Judd buildings. The truck is a bit of a show stopper in its own right, but what really caught my eye was the Ayala de Chinati ranch brand on the doors. It sort of typifies Judd's aesthetic — utilitarianism and art blending in a really unique way. I took a dozen pictures of that truck at the time. Every time I'd pass it I'd snap a shot. I always just lusted after it. It radiated a certain inspiration. But it was still just being worked, you know? Judd worked it and then the foundation worked it. And, to be honest, just last week I went and picked up 30 sheets of pine plywood in it for a little house I'm building myself. Which seemed pretty apropos, you know? All those great Judd pieces in plywood. She's a workhorse. That's what she was built for.
Were you a fan of Judd's work before you bought the truck?
Oh man, so much so. During that time living in Marfa Judd just sort of became a guru to me. I got to know a lot of folks from the Judd Foundation and the Chinati Foundation, which he set up in town when he started making art out there. So I'd visit the aluminum boxes and Judd's house, "The Block" as it's called, every week. I was sort of in constant communication with that stuff and it really informed my sensibility in a lot of ways.
Judd's connection to Texas is pretty well-known, although he is originally a Midwestern guy like yourself, but I think those two regional cultures share a similar use and appreciation for pickups. What draws you to look for a pickup?
Yeah, Judd is another one of those people who came to Texas from somewhere else & then came to typify the state in a lot of ways. Richard King of King Ranch. Stephen F. Austin. Shit, even Jerry Jeff Walker who died a few months ago. They all came from the north and became the ultimate Texans. Although Anne Richards is from McLennan County, can't forget that. But yeah, I was born in Michigan and moved to Texas with my family as a kid. So I grew up with all the inherited love for big Detroit automobiles. My dad's dad was a Ford man. My mom's dad was a Chevy man.
There's certainly an overlap between the Midwest and Texas in a certain working class mentality. But at this point the appeal of these trucks is universal. Square body pickups are getting bought up at a premium by people in L.A. now, you know? I think all of us who are into them, which is men and women, are all drawn to that elusive thing we call authenticity. There was no pretension to these trucks. They were built to get work done. And if you'll allow me to slip into the mystic for a moment, they've got a real soul. You can feel it. And cars and trucks just don't anymore. You can call that nostalgic, but I think there's some objective truth in it.
If you had to guess, and I'm making you do that, what do you think drew Judd to the truck?
You know, I almost feel like I don't have to guess. When I sat down behind the wheel for the first time, it was sort of obvious to me. Knowing his work so well. Knowing his Marfa home so well. & you've got to get into American auto history a bit here. But if you were driving into Midland, Texas in 1990 to buy yourself a new truck for your ranch, the most utilitarian one you could get, the most sort of bare bones and essential truck you could get, a truck that was brand spanking new but looked like it had existed for 20 years, was the Dodge Ram. Because Dodge hadn't changed their truck line for 20 years at that point. Which is incredible to consider now in the realm of contemporary economics. But I have a shop manual for this truck and, kid you not, the cover says "Dodge Trucks from 1974 to 1991." Judd was all about things being sort of paired to the absolute essential. That was his brand of "minimalism", which I know is a word he didn't exactly agree with. A white Dodge Ram D250 in 1990 is just essential. There's no better way to put it. I have a Ford F250 that is a year older, my daily driver, & feels 15 years newer. When I'm in the Judd, as we like to call her, and I'm out in ranch land west of Austin going to the hardware store, some Hank on the radio, you feel like you're in The Last Picture Show. The truck is timeless. And bare bones. And built as a machine for work. But you're sitting on a sort of grey-blue tuck and roll bench seat that feels a mile wide. I know exactly why he bought it.
Most importantly: how are you liking the truck?
Well, I love her the same way I did when I was 20-something and couldn't have her. She's a remarkable vehicle. And to my mind an incredible part of art history. Of Texas history. You visit Judd's house and every single pencil, every rock he picked up in the desert, every last book is just where it was left. And yet somehow this truck was cut loose. It's sort of hard to believe. But when she got too old to depend on they let her go, to a builder in Marfa whom we got her from. But the sad truth is that she's been worked her whole life. & maybe didn't get the love she needed after Judd died. I had to spend a lot of time rehabbing the truck when it was trailed here from West Texas. And I think it's time for this workhorse to go to pasture. And it saddens me to say that. Because it wants work, you know? You can feel it.
I bought the truck along with my good buddy Blake Quinn who has a very cool company based out of Phoenix called Found Objects. I told him I wanted to bring her back to life as best as I could. And have some personal time with her, just as a way to connect with Judd on some level. To tap into that. To connect with the myth he established out there in the desert. But in due time I think Found Objects will put the truck on display. And others will be able to come and check it out. It'll finally have been turned into a piece of art. An object to inspire others. It's surely inspired the hell out of me.
Burgers and Sunshine
In theory, Checkers could be my favorite fast food chain. I mean, have you ever seen one with the South Florida sun bouncing off of it? Glorious. They look great, but the food doesn’t always hold up.
But this isn’t about burgers and fries. Instead, I want to focus on Rick Ross standing in front of the Checkers he owns in Miami, wearing a Firstport “Paris Tennis” sweatshirt. I’m a really big fan of this whole thing, but especially like the sweatshirt. I’ve been a fan of Firstport for a little bit now, and generally like the whole “fictional country club” thing that they do really well. It’s cheeky and fun and the fact that they teamed up with Rowing Blazers made perfect sense.
Anyway, the pic made me miss walking to a burger spot in the sunshine and felt like I should mention it.
The Queen Mother
Finally, this week sees the premier of Pretend It’s A City, which, according to the trailer and the few things I’ve read, is a Martin Scorsese documentary that’s basically about Fran Lebowitz just walking around New York City and kvetching about things. Basically, this is as close to perfection as we’re going to get so I had to at least mention it since some people seem to not know this is a thing.