Buddhists in a room

Original poem by Russell Boncey

Clyfford Still

Clyfford Still is a painter I had never heard of before the other day, which is strange since he is considered by those in the know, the father of abstract expressionism. His work was referred to reverentially by his better known, and, in his view, more commercially-oriented contemporaries, like Rothko, Pollock, and De Kooning.

He had a fairly standard career; study, teaching, and an arc that went from figurative to abstract colour field paintings, if it weren't for the fact that he eschewed commercial success. He cut ties with top galleries while at the height of desirability (though, on a personal level, he maintained friendships in these circles) and made it difficult for institutions to purchase or display his work. His conditions included not being shown alongside other painter's work and no loans or sales of purchased paintings. Oh, and also (among other things): no shop or cafe in the museum his work was displayed—ordinarily an important source of income for establishments of the sort.

Early in his career he sent the influential art critic, Emily Genauer, a pair of rubber incontinence pants with the note “'Hoping this will help conceal your Sunday afflictions', yours sincerely Clyfford Still.” Effectively ending any possibility she might help promote his work with favourable reviews.

I have been doing a lot of reading about Still since discovering him, including some of his letters (part of a thirty year correspondence with his friend and admirer, Mark Rothko). An interesting personality, almost self-consciously curmudgeonly; there can be little doubt he did not see himself as another painter struggling to express his inner vision, but as a character of historical importance. I was, however, unable to satisfy a curiosity, did he have private means? Were the obstacles he placed in the way of his admirers and dealers, something he could afford, or a sacrifice?

Although Still died in 1980, it is only now, 2011 to be precise, that the city of Aspen was allowed to raise, privately, $32 million to build a 28,500 square foot museum to house his work exclusively—and according to his exacting specifications—that it became available for viewing. Indeed, Aspen had to fight for the right with eleven other locations that vied for the honour. A Maryland court ruled that four paintings could be sold at auction prior to handing the collection over to Aspen for its planned museum. They fetched $114 million that became the museum's endowment for maintenance and conservation.

Ninety four percent of Still's life oeuvre was donated to the single institution, including 825 paintings, 1575 drawings, three sculptures and piles of archival material. But they, through protracted negotiation with Still's surviving family and legal loopholes in his will, have had to look for ways to turn the collection from mausoleum to active exhibition space. They have, for instance,  shown other artists' work alongside Still's, despite his prohibition, by using digital screens. And they have arranged with a nearby museum to do exhibits in tandem, so that what cannot be shown in Still's space can be taken like a glass of water beside your whiskey, instead of mixing them.

And, of course, with such a large collection of the artist's paintings, they can rotate for years without showing the same pieces twice.

For myself, who grew up seeing the abstract expressionists as the enemy of a long and noble artistic tradition, I like his early, Thomas Hart Bentonish stuff best (last two images, self portrait and  'farm workers'—the latter, closer to the German Expressionists contemporary to that period, than abstract expressionism).

Oil and Acrylic on canvas / Huile et acrylique sur toile

16" X 16" X 1.5"

Title / Titre: Superposition No.1

Montréal, 2014