Living with Donald Judd

In Marfa, Texas, the legacy of Donald Judd extends far beyond the minimalist sculptures that secured his place in art history. It lives in the adobe walls, the restored warehouses, and the everyday structures he transformed with precision and restraint. In this conversation with Beatrice Galilee, Rainer and Flavin Judd reflect on their father’s architectural philosophy and the work of the Judd Foundation today. Speaking from the very spaces where Judd’s experiments in form, light, and function continue to unfold, the siblings trace his evolution from artist to builder; from critic of modern America’s urban sprawl to steward of Marfa’s small-town fabric. 

Beatrice Galilee: Can you begin by giving us some background about Donald Judd and your upbringing with him?

Rainer Judd: [Our] family—and many of the people whose names appear on the windows of his office—were from a part of Missouri with very beautiful, intact small towns. Some are less preserved now, but towns like Excelsior Springs still have that charm.

He used to drive us around those towns, showing us how the downtown commercial areas had been abandoned in favor of supermarkets and shopping malls on the outskirts. He had a deep appreciation for small towns with main streets that remained intact.

BG: You grew up [in Marfa], in a house your father transformed, and have since built structures yourself. What do you remember from that time, and how did it influence your approach to architecture?

Flavin Judd: We started out in a tiny rental house for the first couple of years. Then we moved to a small house on the edge of town—where Rainer lives now—that we stayed in a bit longer. Don made a few architectural alterations to that house, but it was a rental, so eventually we had to leave it behind.

Around 1977, we moved to what’s now known as “the Block.” One of the buildings there—the two-story one—Don set aside as a domestic space. We each had our own rooms. He had a bedroom and a kitchen; it was a simple, functional setup.

RJ: He really thought a lot about that two-story building. He carved out a large section in the center of the second floor to create a wide stairway, added bathrooms along the exterior, and designed an adobe structure. He was smart about the layout. He made separate bathrooms for the kids and for himself, a shared bath and shower room, and even built a parallel adobe office within the same complex.

BG: Here in Marfa, that same sensibility carries through. You can see it in the land, the architecture, the drawings, and the models around us. I have been to the library at the Block, which holds an extraordinary archive with a museum-quality architectural history. How would you describe your father’s philosophy of architecture?

FJ: As Rainer mentioned, our ancestors’ names are on the windows. It says things like “Clarence Judd, Architect.” Clarence was Don’s grandfather. He wasn’t a licensed architect, but everyone in the family built their own homes. They came from a part of the country where there simply weren’t architects. You built your own house, your own barn, whatever you needed.

They were farmers, and even before that, their families were farmers elsewhere in the world. That bred a certain simplicity and a do-it-yourself mentality, very practical, no-nonsense. If something isn’t broken, you don’t fix it. If something plain works, that’s good enough. There was a real aversion to anything overly decorative.

So Don’s philosophy came out of that and paired with his voracious reading and his deep desire to understand space. That combination shaped the kind of work he wanted to do, especially here in Marfa, where the architecture and landscape are inseparable. You don’t demolish buildings here, you use them.

RJ: I think one of the things he really appreciated about the buildings he worked on and restored was quite basic but fundamental: a building needs to function for the people who use it. He often said and wrote that being an artist and being an architect are very different things. It’s not that there’s no room for individual expression, but function has to come first.

He also believed deeply in the importance of materials. Don was very interested in engineering and in urban planning, which is evident in his library here. I think what’s striking is how he distilled architecture down to its most basic, essential elements and clarified exactly what makes it work.

BG: I think that connection to history shows up in the adobe brick structures here. The walls you were referring to and the vernacular architecture of this region, which includes the post-industrial landscape, such as the gas stations, the utilitarian forms. There is a certain beauty in that, too. How did he see that kind of post-industrial legacy, or the found objects of architecture around here?

FJ: The adobe [construction] was simply what was available. That was the local skill, so that’s what you use. You don’t bring in something from elsewhere just to be fancy or “creative.” What Don was always interested in was honesty and clarity.

For instance, in his artworks, he used clear plexiglass on the sides so you could see that the boxes were hollow. There’s no illusion of weight because that isn’t part of the experience. The color and space do the work.

“[Judd] came from a part of the country where you built your own house, your own barn, whatever you needed. That bred a certain do-it-yourself mentality.”

When we moved here in 1971, there were no new buildings—everything was built before 1965. The town had been in economic decline since World War II, so nothing new was going up. Don lived through the very period he later criticized. He was born in 1928, grew up across the Midwest, and by the time he was 60, he’d seen the changes in places like Dallas firsthand. For him, it was a disaster.

This wasn’t abstract theory; it was lived experience. So it’s not hard to understand why he looked to Alberti, Bernini, or Palladio for alternatives—architects who represented an integrity of form and structure that he found missing in modern construction.

He went all the way back to the Greeks, too, which he studied seriously. Don was a voracious learner. He always wanted to know why and how things worked, and how they could be made better, but without imposing something unnecessary or new just for the sake of novelty.

BG: Could you tell me a bit about the Judd Foundation and how you extend those same principles here, and how you manage such an extensive portfolio?

RJ: Well, Don was just one person. But one of the things he definitely communicated was that it’s up to each generation—whether you’re an artist, an architect, or anyone doing meaningful work—to carry good ideas forward. You can’t just throw up your hands and say, “It’s a bad situation, there’s nothing to be done.”

That’s really what education is, in the broadest sense. You don’t have to go to school to be educated; you can follow your interests, find mentors, and become truly skilled at something simply by doing it.

So, the Judd Foundation is, in many ways, about sharing what one man did with his life so that others—even people not yet born—can be inspired to hang in there, to do better for others, and for the land and dark skies, all that Don was interested in.

FJ: “Dark skies,” by the way, refers to reducing light pollution.

RJ: Marfa, Texas, is now part of the largest dark sky reserve in the world, which we’re incredibly proud of. That effort connects directly to the Judd Foundation as well. Don served on the Board of Visitors at McDonald Observatory, and we now run programs where astronomers come out and we host “Star Parties.” So we are deeply invested in preserving the dark skies and continuing that legacy of care, for art, for land, and for community.

BG: We are here this weekend for the reopening of the Architecture Office, one of the first major restoration projects the Judd Foundation undertook in Marfa. Can you tell us about the occasion and what it means for the community?

RJ: On the night of June 2nd and the morning of June 3rd, 2021, there was a major fire in this building. We were only a few weeks away from completing the restoration, and that fire really set us back.

But it also became an opportunity to engage with the community, who were deeply concerned about what had happened. We heard from people who had lived upstairs back in the ’70s, apparently, there were a lot of parties here! During that period after the fire, we were camped out across the street, and people brought us coffee every morning. There was so much care and solidarity; it was really moving.

That sense of connection inspired us to plan an event that included everyone who had supported us. So tomorrow, we’ll be shutting down Oak Street and serving barbecue to about 500 community members to celebrate the reopening together.

BG: Will these offices now be open and available for visitors as part of the foundation’s public spaces?

FJ: Yes, they will now be open to the public.

RJ: This is actually the first time people can formally see this space. Before, if someone reached out, we would show them around, but it wasn’t organized. Now we have a proper system of guided tours and online booking.

In terms of restoration, Flavin and our board member Ralph Meyer were both deeply involved in the restoration of 101 Spring Street, which opened in June 2013. That project started back in 2009, so much of our focus was there for a while. We turned to this building as soon as we could after that.

The foundation has 22 buildings in total, and most of them need restoration; roofs don’t last forever, and Marfa’s weather is harsh. So the work never really ends. But it’s rewarding to have this building sealed and complete, especially in such a dusty town. This space also includes some fascinating climate experiments with systems that allow cool night air to circulate through the building in summer and warm air during the day in winter. We are very grateful to the Helen Frankenthaler Foundation for supporting our climate initiatives here in Marfa.

BG: Judd’s art is so central to his legacy, but the architecture side feels newer to many people. What do you think about that?

FJ: Don was always working with space. While he was primarily an artist, nobody wants to live in a miserable house, so you end up fixing your own. That’s really how it started.

RJ: There’s also something conceptual in the way he approached it. You have to be a licensed architect to use the title “architect,” he playfully created “an architectural firm” using the names of his relatives. He wasn’t licensed himself, so to complete architectural projects, he had to collaborate with licensed architects. That in itself was a commentary on labor systems, academic hierarchies, and professional barriers.

FJ: He was against the semiotics of architecture. Buildings don’t need to represent ideas. They just need to solve real problems, not create new ones.

“[Judd] was against the semiotics of architecture. Buildings don’t need to represent ideas. They just need to solve real problems, not create new ones.”

RJ: Don came from people connected to the land—farmers in Missouri—and he deeply respected indigenous and manual craft cultures. He bridged those worlds with intellectual rigor but always stayed grounded.

He believed academia shouldn’t be the only authority. Regular people—craftspeople, makers, communities—should question those systems. He valued the specificity of culture, materials, and place. Preservation, for him, wasn’t just about buildings but about respecting the histories and gifts of distinct cultures.

All images © Judd Foundation.