The Art of Risk: Lessons from Larry Poons and Paula de Luccia
Hey, Art Lover!
This week’s issue is all about the intersection of control and chaos. Through the teachings of two visionary artists, Larry Poons and Paula de Luccia, I’ve come to appreciate the delicate balance between intention and spontaneity. These experiences shaped not only my career as an art advisor but also how I understand the creative process. Let’s dive into the stories that transformed how I see, curate, and appreciate art.
Control vs. Chaos: The Creative Genius of Paula de Luccia
Today, I want to tell you about an artist who had a massive impact on me, both personally and professionally: Paula de Luccia. I’m not saying she’s the reason I became an art advisor, but she certainly helped point me in the right direction. So, let me take you back to where it all started: a color and composition class at the Art Students League of New York.
I signed up for the class, thinking I’d learn a bit about, well, color and composition. Little did I know Paula would drop a gem of knowledge that I still use to this day. Ready for it? Flip a painting upside down. Yep, that’s it. Paula taught me that flipping a work of art helps you see the composition in a fresh way, highlighting balance—or lack thereof. It’s a small thing, but once you start applying it, you see things differently. Literally.
Now, Paula’s work? It’s a reflection of how she approaches life: no fear, just dive in and figure it out along the way. She’s all about the process. I remember students asking her whether they should try this or that and her answer was always the same, “You can try that and see what happens.” That sums her up perfectly—Paula isn’t about rigid outcomes. She’s about allowing the work to develop on its own, letting materials, colors, and textures have their say. It’s an incredibly intuitive way of working, and honestly, it’s something I think we could all learn from.
Here’s a bit of backstory on Paula: she was born in Paterson, New Jersey, in 1953 and was the kind of kid who excelled in art from day one. By the time she moved to New York City in 1974, she was already on the path to becoming the artist we know today. In 1977, she started a long-term relationship with artist Larry Poons, and they’ve been together ever since. Not only are they partners in life, but they’ve also been co-teaching at the Art Students League since 1997. Can you imagine the artistic energy in their household?
One thing that stands out about Paula’s work is how much it’s influenced by her love of gardening. I know, you might be thinking, “What does gardening have to do with painting?” But for Paula, it’s all about control versus letting go. In a garden, you can plant the seeds and water them, but you can’t force them to grow exactly how you want. The same goes for her art. She sets the stage with her materials, but she doesn’t micromanage the outcome. She lets the process unfold and pays as much attention to what’s happening on the canvas as to what’s happening in her head while she works. It’s a fascinating dynamic—one I always keep in mind when advising clients on how to approach art.
Now, here’s where it gets even more interesting. Paula’s art requires a lot of courage. In her studio, she focuses on the internal dialogue—sometimes chaotic, sometimes calm—that plays in the background while she works. It’s like her art is a reflection of everything she’s seen and felt, all wrapped up into one beautiful package.
When you look at Paula’s work, you’re hit with raw, emotional energy. Her manipulation of texture, color, and form is dynamic—there’s a push and pull between smooth, controlled areas and rough, chaotic ones. The duality in her work is striking: control versus chaos, calm versus turbulence. It’s bold, visceral, and layered in a way that invites you to take a deeper look.
Her color palette? Bold. Her textures? Complex. The emotional impact? Huge. Some areas of her paintings feel like they’re in constant motion, while others are grounded and stable. It creates a fascinating tension—constantly shifting, sometimes comfortable, sometimes not, but always interesting. The way her work balances that sense of impermanence with something solid is what makes it so compelling.
And if you’re wondering why she’s the perfect person to teach color and composition, well, there’s your answer. She lives it. She breathes it. She practices it every day in her art, and that’s what makes her such an effective instructor. Paula knows the rules—but, more importantly, she knows how to break them in a way that feels authentic and meaningful.
Larry Poons: Unapologetic Expression
Let’s talk about Larry Poons, an artist whose work is as bold and unapologetic as he is. I know this firsthand because I once took a class with him. In fact, it was the same class his wife Paula de Luccia co-taught. Imagine the dynamic duo of abstract art teaching you how to see color, not just slap it on a canvas. And let me tell you, Larry was not about making anything pretty.
In class, he’d say "Don’t try to make that painting pretty! This isn’t a beauty salon!" And that right there sums up Larry’s approach to art. His work isn’t about surface-level beauty—it’s about expression, movement, and feeling.
Larry has been making waves in the art world since the 1960s, and it all started with what is now known as his “dot paintings”— fields of solid, bright color covered with carefully arranged dots that seem to float and move across the canvas. Creating these paintings, Larry was pushing boundaries, playing with depth and perception, making you question whether those dots were coming toward you or pulling away.
The dot paintings put him on the map, and the art world was hooked. But Larry, being Larry, didn’t stick with the dots for long. He shifted gears and started throwing paint around—literally. His later works are these incredible, chaotic works where paint seems to drip and streak across the canvas. It’s abstract, it’s wild, and it’s full of energy.
What I love about Larry’s work—and what I think a lot of people love—is that it doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is. There’s no pretense, no attempt to be "beautiful." Larry’s paintings aren’t made to sit politely on a wall; they’re made to disrupt, to challenge you, to make you feel something.
Now, I know Larry personally, and trust me, he’s exactly as you’d imagine: direct, no-nonsense, and passionate about his work. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and that attitude shows up in every brushstroke. When you see a Larry Poons painting, you’re seeing the raw, unfiltered expression of an artist who isn’t afraid to take risks. And that’s something I respect, both as an art advisor and as a person who appreciates authenticity.
His later works, which some people call his “pour paintings,” are where things get even more interesting. Instead of meticulously placing dots, Larry lets the paint flow freely—pouring, throwing, and letting gravity do some of the work. The result? Canvases that are alive with movement. The colors blend and clash, creating intense, layered compositions that feel like they’re constantly in motion.
And here’s the thing: these paintings might look spontaneous, but there’s a method to the madness. Larry understands color and composition on such a deep level that even when the paint seems to be going in every direction, it’s still working together to create something cohesive. That’s why his work resonates. It’s not just chaos for chaos’s sake—it’s controlled chaos, where every drip and streak is part of a larger conversation.
What’s also fascinating about Larry’s career is how he never lets himself get too comfortable. The dots? He could’ve stuck with those forever. But no, he switched it up. The pours? Same deal. Even within the pour paintings, you can see an evolution over the years as he experiments with new techniques, new colors, new forms. It’s this constant desire to push forward that keeps his work relevant.
And let’s not forget his connection to music. Larry is also a talented musician, and you can really see that influence in his art. It’s all about rhythm and improvisation. He approaches a canvas the way a jazz musician approaches a performance—there’s a structure, sure, but there’s also a lot of room for spontaneity. That’s why his work feels so alive.
That’s Larry—an artist who has never stopped evolving, never stopped experimenting, and never stopped challenging both himself and the rest of us.
Brutal Honesty and Bold Insights
In 1997, I signed up for a color and composition class at the Art Students League of New York. Why? Well, at the time, I thought I wanted to be an artist. I figured being around artists might unlock some hidden painting talent I had yet to discover. Spoiler: that didn’t happen. What did happen, though, is that I quickly realized I wasn’t meant to make art—I was meant to sell it.
Looking back, that class ended up being a turning point in my career. It wasn’t about color or composition at all (well, not in the way I expected). It was about something much more impactful. And the person responsible for this epiphany? Larry Poons. At the time, I didn’t have a clue who Larry Poons was or the significance of his work. I was blissfully ignorant about much of contemporary art. I signed up for the class because it fit into my schedule. Larry could have been anyone, but oh, was he not just anyone.
Larry Poons is a force. His teaching style? Let’s call it "brutally honest." I remember him pacing around the room, looking at everyone’s work with intensity. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. He’d see a painting and say things like, “Ugh, I told you to stop painting an hour ago. Now you’ve ruined it!” Or, even better, “This is garbage. You know it, and I know it. Throw it away.” To say some people were emotionally scarred by his critiques is an understatement. Tears were shed. I, on the other hand, found it amusing at first, but then I realized something: the man was a genius. He wasn’t just throwing insults around for fun. He was forcing you to really see your work, to get out of your own way. And you couldn’t argue with him—he was always right.
I’ll never forget the compliment Larry paid me, one that sticks with me to this day. I only had black paint (don’t ask why, long story), and he said to me, “You make black look like a color.” It might sound small, but in Larry Poons’ world, that was high praise.
This class was not for the faint of heart. It jolted you into looking at your own work in ways that were uncomfortable but necessary. Larry didn’t just critique your painting; he made you question your entire approach, your assumptions, your very identity as an artist. If you stuck with it, you came out the other side with a thicker skin and a much sharper eye.
Now, Larry wasn’t alone in teaching this class. His wife, Paula de Luccia, co-taught alongside him, and she was a whole different kind of genius. If Larry was the drill sergeant breaking you down, Paula was the guide helping you rebuild. She’s the one who really taught me how to look at art, like really look at it. Not just “Oh, that’s nice” kind of looking. She showed me how to understand composition, how to spot that intangible “it” factor in a great work of art—that thing you can’t quite describe but know it when you see it. Paula’s wisdom transformed my approach to art appreciation.
The class was a studio class, and I loved it so much I took it over and over again. And years later, I took it one more time. By the time I returned, with more experience under my belt, I started to pick up on more sophisticated insights. There’s something to be said for repetition. You hear the same things, but as you grow, the lessons change. What I learned from Paula and Larry in that class has stayed with me forever, and I still use it today.
One of the highlights of my time there was getting to help Paula hang the end-of-the-class shows. She curates like she paints—intuitively, non-judgmentally, and with a sense of ease that’s impossible to fake. Watching her work was like watching a masterclass in curation. She just knew where things should go. That experience planted the seed for my love of curating. It taught me that curation is about more than just arranging art on walls; it’s about creating a dialogue between the pieces, setting a mood, and telling a story.
And let’s not forget the friendships I made in that class. Some of the people I met in that studio are still friends of mine today. We bonded over Larry’s tough critiques, Paula’s calm wisdom, and the collective struggle of trying to make something out of nothing. We supported each other through the highs and lows, and those connections are just as valuable to me as the lessons I learned.
Even though many years have passed since I first stepped into that studio, what I learned from Larry, Paula, and my peers continues to shape the way I work today. In the end, it wasn’t really about color or composition—it was about learning to see art for what it truly is: a reflection of the artist’s inner world. It’s messy, it’s imperfect, and it’s beautiful because of that.
On a Personal Note…
Here’s a nod to Leonardo’s last supper—a picture we took with some of my peers on the last day of that color and composition class.
See you next week!
Pato
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2moI can resonate with this article because it’s what I do as well