Howl

I'm not sure if I should even talk about my favorite painters.  For one thing there are thousands of them and also I wouldn't want to disparage any of them by comparing them by proximity to someone they consider maybe not so good a painter.

Some of them like to paint big and some like to paint small.  The thing about painting is that no matter what you do, how you apply it, what mediums you use or what your intentions are -in the end what you've got is a picture.

And as almost all of them know, it doesn't matter what anyone does or thinks or acts, nothing will make them famous, nothing will provide them money, nothing except genuine friendship will provide them with goodwill and a measure of happiness.  Certainly there are no goals to provide a framework for making good pictures, no intentions or aspirations, no study or lack of study, no opinions, no sales, there is only ones own opinion that the picture is made.

Now two of my favorites are Josh Smith and Christopher Wool. Josh's stuff appeals to me because of it's apparent casualness, as if it is just random scribblings and maybe of piece of today's paper thrown on for good luck.  Of course as much as he might wish, this is not the case. But they also look to me like desperate notes he's leaving for himself to remind himself of something. He used to have the coolest website and on it he had every picture he had ever made, and my god I could weep every time I went through the next five pages, it was like reading Dostoyevsky again.  What a struggle.  God all that wood and plywood and those gory can I say ugly colors and the beautiful painfully delicate ones in bubblegum pink brilliant beautiful.

Christopher (I don't know either of these guys I don't know why I should use their first names like this),
I didn't really "get him" even from his interesting videos until he did what I call the new show.

And I died as they say, I love the clever white one on the lower right, and the pink off balanced one, I adore the lack of image and seeming lack of control which is betrayed by the black ones each of which shows a complex sensibility and individuation. Hell I don't know what I'm talking about.  Help me Laura!

And I love Henry Miller and Kenneth Patchen and Alvin Lustig but they are all dead and don't count just a minute ! judges I ask you where does it say living painters ? nowhere And anyway people are alive today dead tomorrow .  And Robert Motherwell and Marc Rothko.  What the hell, I love Jules Olitski Arthur Dove Julian Schnabel Leon Ferrari Sam Francis and Paul Klee  but most of all Mark Tobey I swear that was a painter who seemed to have discovered peace.  My first dentist had Mark Tobey pieces all over the office and also in the entrance hallway.  I always felt even as a child that this was a testament to his own competence.

But one who is not dead is Phillip Taafe who I met at a cool show a book sale actually on 80th I think on my way to go see Laura and he was introduced to me by Paola Igliori who was there selling that Mohammed Mrabet book of which I bought some four copies but I couldn't afford the one with Phillip's small piece in it and anyway I was tripping out totally because I was standing next to Alan Ginsburg and Peter Orlovsky and Herbert Huncke was slumped on the floor and here I was just a shameful fool and I wanted to run away but Paola was so beautiful and nice and talkative and everyone was so smart and stuff.  I think Michael McClure was there too.  And it was probably him and Phillip, both of whom were calm and silent smiling like happy angels that kept me from screaming and running out.

And I saw Alan the next week again in Chicago.  He was at Waterson's signing his book with Peter there and I stood outside smoking and getting wound up, sick with anxiety but then I went inside and shamefully guiltily got Alan to sign the book and thanked heaven above that Alan didn't remember me or pretended not to but I had a thousand things to say but I didn't say any of them.  I left.

Who I really love is well Turner of course but I mean living and that is these mad book plate illustrators.  You'd think that would be a dead art huh, but these guys are fantastic ruthless and sly with their work well at least one or two of them are.  That Russian guy living in America, I think he's great.

My dad used to take me to the Phillips Collection and in that comfortable building I discovered the "small" artists and I don't mean lesser I mean smaller pieces and I loved it.  Your eyes could take it all in from up close, they were more intimate and inviting more exciting to me.