Untitled (in Honor of Leo at the 30th Anniversary of his Gallery), 1987 (All Photos by Gail )

In these uncertain times, I find myself drawn more and more to the comfort of nostalgia — especially the kind tied to art and the people I experienced it with. For me, that means thinking back to when my close friend, artist Geoffrey Dicker, was still living in New York and we were inseparable. For years, Thursdays meant gallery-hopping through Chelsea — sometimes a dozen openings in a night —and weekends were reserved for museums. Art wasn’t just something we looked at. It was everything.

One artist who always brings me back to that time is Dan Flavin. His work has a way of instantly transporting me to those nights of discovery and endless inspiration, so I knew I couldn’t miss Grids, the recent exhibition at David Zwirner. Focused on a body of work Flavin began in 1976, the show offers a rare, concentrated look at his fluorescent light “situations,” including carefully re-created installations that reflect how he originally presented them, alongside works from major collections and the Estate of Dan Flavin.

From as early as 1963, when Flavin first introduced a single diagonal fluorescent tube in homage to Constantin Brancusi, he committed himself to a remarkably consistent practice: using commercially available fluorescent lamps to create environments of light and color. These weren’t simply sculptures. Flavin preferred to call them “situations,” and that feels right—they don’t just occupy space, they redefine it. Light becomes structure. Color becomes atmosphere.

The grid works at the center of this exhibition are among his most concentrated explorations. Installed in the corner of a room, they are composed of equal numbers of vertical and horizontal fluorescent fixtures—one set facing inward, the other outward—creating a layered interplay of color that spills both into the architecture and out toward the viewer. Pink bleeds into green, blue into yellow, with the corner acting almost like a prism. You don’t just look at these works — you stand inside their effects.

There’s a push and pull here between logic and sensation that feels especially compelling. The grids are precise, almost mathematical in their construction, yet the experience of them is anything but rigid. Colors shift depending on where you stand. Shadows from the fixtures create secondary patterns. The light seems to hover, dissolve, and reassemble itself in real time.

Among the highlights are Flavin’s earliest grids from 1976, Untitled (for Mary Ann and Hal with fondest regards) 1 and 2. Each is an eight-foot square construction, pairing pink and green fluorescent tubes in inverse configurations. Installed facing one another—just as they were in their original presentation in Los Angeles—they create a kind of quiet dialogue across the room, one that feels both formal and unexpectedly emotional.

Also included are works dedicated to Flavin’s longtime dealer Leo Castelli, including Untitled (for you, Leo, in long respect and affection) 1 and 2 from 1977. These introduce a more complex palette —yellow, blue, green, and pink — marking an evolution in his use of color and an expansion in scale. Here, the grids feel less contained, more atmospheric, as if the color itself is beginning to break free from the structure.

What’s striking about Grids is how contemporary the work still feels. Despite being rooted in a very specific moment in minimalist art, these installations remain immediate, even immersive in a way that resonates with how we experience space today. They are quiet but powerful, simple in material yet endlessly complex in effect.

Standing in those glowing corners, I was reminded not just of Flavin’s brilliance, but of those earlier days — when discovering work like this felt new and electric. Maybe that’s the real power of his art. It doesn’t just illuminate space. It illuminates memory.