Frank Stella and the Move from Structure to Intuition
At first glance, these forms feel electric: muscular, spiralling, and unpredictable. But what’s unfolding here is more than visual impact; it’s a shift in mindset, a creative unravelling, a letting-go of logic, and an invitation to intuition.
This is Frank Stella letting go of Euclid, and in that letting go, the very essence of creative evolution is revealed.
Euclidean Geometry: Control, Clarity, and the Age of Reason
In contrast to Yellow Journal on the left, his early works, especially the Protractor Series, Stella’s visual language was mathematical, tight, and symmetrical: circles, arcs, grids, and the kind of geometry typical of a draftsman.
These forms are rooted in Euclidean geometry: the clean logic of Enlightenment thinking. In these paintings, there’s no room for interpretation. As Stella famously said:
“What you see is what you see.”
In the 1960s, this stripped-down, objectless clarity aligned with the rise of Minimalism; a movement rejecting illusion, emotion, or metaphor. The artwork became its own reality: rational, self-contained, and free of narrative.
Frank Stella, Yellow Journal, 1982.
Offset lithograph in colors on Arches paper, 133.5 × 97.8 cm (52 ½ × 38 ½ in).
Signed and dated in pencil; one of 16 artist’s proofs aside from an edition of 50.
Published by Tyler Graphics Ltd., Bedford Village, NY.
Frank Stella, Harran II, 1967.
Polymer and fluorescent polymer paint on canvas, 304.8 × 609.6 cm. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York. Gift of Mr. Irving Blum, 1982. © Frank Stella / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.
The French Curve: Movement, Embodiment, and Inner Flow
But by the 1980s and 90s, something shifted. Stella began introducing new shapes that were not drawn by compass, but by hand. These irregular, sweeping, almost baroque forms were inspired by French curves: drafting tools used by 20th-century architects and designers to create fluid, non-repeating lines.
No longer flat or symmetrical, his works began to swell off the canvas. They became reliefs – sculptural, gestural, alive. He had reached the limits of control, and Minimalism’s silence was no longer enough.
This was Stella opening himself to movement, emotion, and the chaotic vitality of the unconscious. His later works are wild and layered, bursting with velocity and tension. They reject passive viewing, demanding presence and navigation.
Frank Stella, The Pequod Meets the Jeroboam. Her Story, 1991.
Mixed media relief from the Moby Dick series. © Frank Stella / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.
A Jungian Reading: From Rational Ego to Creative Psyche
From a Jungian perspective, Stella’s transformation mirrors the journey from the conscious self to the unconscious psyche.
His Euclidean phase represents the world of logos: reason, precision, ego control.
His French curve phase taps into eros: the instinctual, emotional, and intuitive.
More than decorative, these curves carry a kind of psychic looseness, a willingness to enter unknown territory.
As Jung wrote:
“The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.” — Carl G. Jung, Psychological Types, CW 6 (Psychology and Literature), Chap. 1
Through this lens that the creative process comes from the unconscious rather than the intellect, Stella’s later works become threshold pieces: artworks that mediate between inner and outer worlds, between structure and mystery.
TRY THIS: From Precision to Flow
This is exactly the kind of inquiry we explore in Inquiry Thread 1 of the Art Practice Hub https://art-edhub.com/art-practice-hub/explore-projects/identity-and-self/
Try this:
- Draw using only rulers and compasses. Let the geometry take the lead.
- Then draw with French curves, or let your hand move freely, tracing arcs and waves through your whole arm rather than just through your wrist.
- Reflect: What changed in your energy? Where did your body feel different? Which marks felt instinctive? Which felt imposed?
It’s not just about visual contrast, but about how your whole system shifts.
Project: A Two-Artist Conversation
Mehretu: Structure as Ghost, Gesture as Voice
Julie Mehretu’s paintings often begin with precise, technical underdrawings: architectural blueprints, city plans, mapping systems. These are her foundations, but they rarely remain visible.
Over time, these structured lines are layered over, obscured, and broken apart. She adds gestural marks, swarms of ink, erasures, and bursts of colour. Her process becomes an act of unbuilding: not rejecting structure, but letting it dissolve so that new meaning can arise.
You can still sense the original logic underneath, but it’s ghost-like and barely there. What rises to the surface is something far more emotional, messy, and unresolved.
Mehretu says that, for her, the act of making the mark, and then unmaking it, is political, personal, and psychological.
This speaks powerfully to the idea of giving voice to the work, of starting with a framework, but staying open enough for that framework to be undone. Her paintings are conversations between order and instinct, silence and noise, structure and rupture.
If Stella’s curves broke the Euclidean mould, Mehretu takes it further, showing that even in the ruins of structure, there’s still rhythm, memory, and meaning.
Julie Mehretu, Mogamma (Part 3), 2012.
Ink and acrylic on canvas, 304.8 × 426.7 cm. Tate Collection, London.
© Julie Mehretu. Courtesy of Marian Goodman Gallery.
Your Response
This is a conversation between control and intuition, and you’ll be moving between the two.
You don’t need specific tools to do this. What matters is how you engage with the process: intentionally, then instinctively. Use what you have or let this be a chance to explore something new.
Suggested materials:
- Paper: A3 or larger is ideal – the bigger the surface, the more your body can get involved.
(Newsprint, cartridge paper, kraft paper, even the back of old posters work well.) - Structured tools: Ruler, compass, stencil, set square, protractor, masking tape
- Expressive tools: Charcoal, oil pastel, chalk pastel, soft graphite, ink with brushes, gouache, collage materials, even fabric or string
- Optional extras: Eraser, palette knife, masking fluid, glue stick, cutting blade.
Step 1: Build a structure
Choose one of the following starting points:
- Create a grid using a ruler and equal spacing
- Fill the surface with a repeated shape (circle, triangle, square, etc.)
- Use mathematical logic (like symmetry or radial balance) to plan your layout
- Work with a single tool, like a compass or protractor, to build the whole image
Stay consistent. Be intentional. Allow the structure to feel calm and controlled.
Step 2: Break the structure
Now it’s time to interrupt what you’ve made. You could:
- Draw or paint loose, gestural lines over the top
- Use your non-dominant hand to make fast, imperfect marks
- Smudge, tear, erase, or cover part of the structure
- Introduce new materials: wet over dry, soft over hard
- Collage something into the image that doesn’t “belong”
You’re not ruining it, you’re opening it.
Let instinct lead, even if it feels strange.
Step 3: Repeat
Try this more than once. Each time, you’ll learn something new.
Don’t worry if the first attempt feels hesitant or overworked.
Start again.
This time let the structure be different and the interruption, bolder.
This isn’t about getting it “right” but about developing your ability to respond.
Step 4: Know when to stop
You don’t need to finish. You just need to notice.
Pause when:
- The piece begins to surprise you
- You stop trying to fix it
- You feel like something new has surfaced
Rest. Step back. Write a note to yourself about what happened.
The end point isn’t a polished piece, but a moment of connection.
This process mirrors Stella’s own evolution: from structure towards movement, from precision towards release. You’re not imitating his work, but responding to the same call:
What happens when you let go of the ruler, and let the line take over?
Final Thought
Frank Stella’s shift from clean geometry to swirling gesture shows what can happen when we stop trying to control the image and start letting the image shape us.
This isn’t just about a style change, but about an artist allowing his work to evolve, to loosen, and breathe.
Consider that’s what this exercise is for, too: far more than a task, it’s a way of learning how to listen to the work itself, and to what wants to emerge, if you allow it.
It’s easy to fall into patterns, repeating what feels safe, or what looks good. But this exercise asks you to build something carefully, and then to break it open. It invites you to notice what happens when you stop steering, and to stay with that.
This is how a real shift begins, not through mastering a technique, but through building trust in the process and in what the work might be saying back to you.
If this resonates, you might want to explore some of the Insight Cards https://art-edhub.com/art-practice-hub/insight-cards/
This isn’t a one-off task, but rather a threshold. Let it influence how you start, how you continue, and how you respond when something unexpected shows up.
Let the work speak.