De Kooning
The Louvre may be my Tiffany’s, but the Pompidou is my coffee. Whenever I need a slight jolt, a little kick in the pants, I run off to the Pompidou and wander. The beauty of living in a city where there is just so much art is that you can treat it like your own private collection, picking what to see and not being bothered with everything. So, privileged with the Pantagruel of hangovers, I dressed up chic and went to the Pompidou.
Usually, I hunt out the Matisses, the Rothkos, and then just whatevers, but today I was floored. Floored with seconds of entering the gallery. There was simply this stunning painting and I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It was Untitled XX by Willem de Kooning. De Kooning is maligned in art history for his brutal and some say misogynistic depictions of women. I really don’t care. This painting is raw, powerful, the type of image that halts you with its magnificence, its boldness, it sheer play on colour, composition, all pointing to a rare rare gift in pure image making. This has nothing to do with irony, or wit, or borrowed power. This painting is its own source of power. This is why painting exists in the first place. Because it is something unbreakable into words. It is an essential knowing.
“This is why painting exists in the first place. Because it is something unbreakable into words. It is an essential knowing.”
Yes.
I often feel that way even about poetry. Writing about it in prose– academic or otherwise– kills that something in it.
maitresse said
DeKooning is the master, and that’s a good one. Ravishing. More than anyone else he showed me that art is unnecessary and eternal.
somewherejoe said
He is the master. His aggressiveness and balance in his art is unique!
Nathan said
Nathan Bodek said