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When artists speak of their peers, they reveal something about their own practices and aspirations: the longing for a kindred spirit or for what they are not and maybe wish to be.
Before I really knew Eilshemius’s work, there were always two questions that personally intrigued me: Why was Duchamp so interested in his oeuvre that he was ready, along with Katherine S. Dreier, to organize his first two public solo exhibitions at the legendary Société Anonyme, and whether Duchamp might even have been influenced by Eilshemius’s work?
One could say the seed of my interest in Henry Darger goes back to my youth in Northwest Indiana, watching the thunder storm skies gathering.
This past year I have had the opportunity to live with a small landscape painting—Earthen Spirits, circa 1880s, by Ralph Albert Blakelock (1847 – 1919). It is 11” x 17”, mostly umber, sienna, and Naples yellow oil paint, with a thick, scarred surface.
I first discovered Tura in London at the National Gallery so many years ago. The colors alone, this palette of pink and brightest of green, and then the three blues. Tura is a genius as far as color and unusual combinations.
Perhaps because they can seem somewhat old-fashioned or politely pretty, and are neither as elegantly austere nor as tastefully modern as the work of her contemporaries Georgia O’Keeffe and Arthur Dove, it is all the more surprising that Pelton’s paintings veer into an esoteric/ecstatic zone of expansive reverence.
It was as a graduate student in an art history class taught by Irving Sandler that I became familiar with 10th Street painting. Bob Thompson’s work stood out—it was vibrant and immediate.
Brush securely lashed to his hand, cigarette lit, palette spread and close. Renoir loads his brush and begins touching the canvas, poking it really. Eye trained on model. Pause. Load Brush. Pause. Touch canvas . . . repeat.
Marino Marini is not my master. I was not that fortunate, but he is for me an exemplary artist.
Years back, when we were living in the mountains just above the Pacific Ocean at the north end of Malibu, California I saw a beautiful pool of light shimmering on the ocean’s surface as I was heading into town driving south along Pacific Coast Highway.
To put it simply, “there are idiots who have seen the Madonna and there are idiots who haven’t seen the Madonna”…“it all depends on this having seen the Madonna or not having seen her
How do you make a painting when it is not about paint?
New York City is the place where Duane used to dress like a cowboy. He had been one, back then, in Oklahoma.
There have been maybe millions of crucifixion paintings made, and so few of them clearly and convincingly communicate that feeling of deep tragedy that generations keep responding to.