Burton Dickerson, A Blog

In art conversation we often hear the word “self ” repeated over and over again. How much of ourselves is contained in our own work ? Our paintings. The most obvious example of this would be Van Gogh. We have so closely identified him to his work, it is inseparable. In the presence of a Van Gogh painting an eerie companion is with us. There is very little distance between the artist and his work in most of the great pieces we are familiar with.

An exception to the ” self ” image existed a few years ago in “Op Art ” and hard edge painting. The artist removed himself,deliberately from his work, denying human activity. The painting appeared to be a work of technology.

In the student paintings from Cranbrook as well as all struggling young artists…. self is missing. In time it will probably appear. In the words of Gertrude Stein “there is no there, there.”

Our very good friend Richard Kline died today after a long courageous bout with cancer. We started together in the art department at Central Michigan University in 1964, We took absolute opposite views in art for most of our careers, recently we had both moved toward the center.
Richard was part of that dubous clan at the lunch table and we all encouraged him to stay with the group during the last trying weeks. And now its over and we will all miss him.
Richard had also encouraged me to bring my wife, Charlotte to the same table each day, right along with her ongoing struggle with Alzthiemers. It was a strange group but I looked forward to the gathering each day. Burton Dickerson

Days of pessimism! Since Sept I have turned out three good paintings. The rest are “iffy” to failures. the present ones are experimental and precarious. Occassionally, I am struck with the notion that I am drifting; cause and effect takes over; for effort expended, rewards are conferred in the form of money, praise, or acknowledgement. but now, the carrot is missing so that motivation has to be self generated…personal satisfaction from a job well done, only because I said it was well done! I should remain grateful for all the free time that retirement brings. There is very little likelihood that my paintings will bring me rewards that I so richly deserve. Mired in this predicament (state of mind) I tend to curse the environment that I dwell in. . . . This ugly little locality, this uncaring populous, this Mt. Pleasant! Then again, in a more receptive community competition increases, others persue the same goals. . .painting becomes quite another activity. The blessings are mixed.

Bits and pieces from my old journal-
In Eugene Delacroix’s journal, an entry mentions that: ” I gathered with a small group of friends for an evening of good tea and puns.” How romantic !
Read an article this morning about Frank Stella, N Y artist. Stella strongly believes in abstraction. However, he sees painting as a total, separate object., representative of no external meaning or reference.

….. gallery dealers are such fools ! But we should not be so harsh. Yesterday they were selling carpeting; today, paintings. and they really can’t tell the difference. perhaps there is none.

Sept ‘84- I looked thru a bunch of rolled up canvases lying on the studio floor. The dated back to 1975- 76-77 . Some hold up rather well… crude but still vital. Others don’t deserve to survive. I ripped up several large one’s and used them for floor covering in front on of my painting area. I get exasperated to realize that I once considered these paintings passable… at a time when I should have known better.

The abstract expressionist era was certainly one of excess. particularly the emotional element. We referred to our painting in military terms, attack ! retreat ! agressive., thrust. Other times, in religious terms. almost a religious experience.: faithful, honor. truth, etc. We tried to stay out of the dialog, but failed. D

“Spoiler” definition: To corrupt, mar, or render useless. I dropped into our local art gallery recently to view a painting exhibit. About, 30 abstracts, done in the usual tasteful, dashing manner. The artist had skillfully mastered all the tricks of painting. A dab of Motherwell, a dash of Kline, a bit of DeKooning - color was a bit muted, carefully chosen. The artist was what we call a “Spoiler” because at first glance he makes other work look amateurish, clumsy. But, linger a bit longer, we find there is nothing there, just the usual repetitive cliches that sell. So watch it! We could all stray into that.

It concerns me sometimes when I at last discover the greatness of a work of art. Am I not really proclaiming my own “greatness’ for having recognized that greatness? Something like cannibalism. We feed off greatness.