Vija Celmins: I used to walk my dog on Venice Beach. And I was hunting for images, you know, like I hunt for the image, and then I put it in another context. That's pretty much what I do.
Tony Berlant: I remember the first time I saw a whole bunch of photographs sitting just inside her front window and saying you know, what, what are these? And she said, oh, those are just some photographs I took from the end of the pier.
Vija Celmins: I wanted to kind of get down to a more specific spatial thing. So I picked up the pencil. I started drawing and I thought of it like a documentation of one surface onto another one.
Gary Garrels: She did not allow herself to erase at any point. This is all just building up the image through a series of different strokes and letting parts of the paper become more apparent. So the lighter sections are where there's more of the paper showing through. And if she made mistakes, then the drawing was destroyed.
In looking at them, they're rather like small miracles that anyone could have this amount of focus and attention and the kind of magic of transforming a very ordinary photograph into this extraordinary object.
Tony Berlant: For decades, I lived with one of these pictures and it feels like the dream not quite remembered. It's almost like these pieces have a scent or a taste to them. Not just what you see visually but a kind of feeling state that's subtle—they're very much outside of category. And what's left is Vija.