"I always thought, bluntly, that I was a glamorous, goddamn exciting woman,” artist Louise Nevelson once said. “I wanted to have a ball on earth."

I wouldn’t argue with the lady. Born in Czarist Russia in 1899, the enigmatic American sculptor, who died in New York in 1988, is one of the most memorable characters in the history of modern art. Her shadow box-y, abstract expressionist sculptures (frequently charcoal in color) were a perfect manifestation of her uncompromising personal style – intimidating, but remarkable.

Decked out in her trademark head wraps and double sets of false eyelashes, Nevelson would rummage through the trash in Little Italy, junk picking items for her elaborate assemblages. Her partner on some of these excursions was her friend of 25 years, American playwright Edward Albee (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?). An admirer of Nevelson’s unstoppable will, Albee saw the artist as a committed, though imperfect, crusader for her own life and work.

“She made lots of mistakes along the way -- a marriage she shouldn't have made, kids she didn't want,” Albee, now 80, told Interview in 2002. “Then she abandoned all of that and went to Europe, living a hand-to-mouth bohemian existence, going to art schools and being rejected for 35 years or so until finally she became one of the most famous sculptors in America.''

In 2001, Albee composed a play about Nevelson called Occupant. Starring actors Mercedes Ruehl and Larry Bryggman, Occupant is currently selling out its two-month-long run at Signature Theatre Company’s Peter Norton Space in New York City.

It’s not surprising that Albee, who was adopted at 18 weeks old and has spent his lifetime exploring themes of identity, would zero in on Nevelson. Born Leah Berliawsky, the artist crafted a persona that mimicked the grandeur and intensity of her vision. “I think most artists create out of despair,” Nevelson said. “The very nature of creation is not a performing glory on the outside, it's a painful, difficult search within.”

Albee found an agreeable subject in his friend, claiming that the writing process, which took a scant two months, “flowed beautifully.”

“She was convinced that every piece of sculpture is part of one large sculpture,” the playwright told the Guardian UK. “I suspect that every play I write is part of one large play. But you don't know the large play till you've written the last one."

Find out more about “La Nevelson,” as Albee liked to call her, by visiting the Louise Nevelson Foundation online. Also check out the new documentary, Nevelson: Awareness in the Fourth Dimension by filmmaker Dale Schierholt.

Wendy Case is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Arts & Entertainment.