RUDIMENTS, pt. 614
(had I lost my way?)
I guessed right off I knew
what those ladies felt, in
the atmosphere of the Art
Students League. I could tell
they got their thrill from the
sense of Freedom that their
'Art' afforded them, and I was
real glad for them, for that. It
wasn't just anyone who would
go and do that - otherwise,
by appearances, perfectly
normal women, out staking
territories of their own -
in this context they were
eccentric, daring, funny,
wise, and - I bet to myself,
had they wished to be, a
little risque too. That kind
of surface disinfectant, to
my mind, was just what
this crummy old world
and culture needed. All the
wound-down and shucked
out types I'd always lived
amongst took their ideals
from work and shopping,
morals and money. These
ladies - on the other hand -
seemed to be saying 'up yours'
to the rest of the old world
and all that. It was pretty
cool. What today's equivalent
of that seems to be - from
what I can see on the endless
small-town dying-window
walk-up stores, is ladies'
night out wine and painting
fiascos - advertised and sold
not for the furtherance of art
or education, by any means,
but for the furtherance of :
1. the proprietor making a
profit from ripping off
unsaddled ladies, and,
2. those same obtuse,
off-the-reservation ladies
out for group frolic and
lady-bonding. Look at the
results as displayed on
any of those art/wine
windows, and then come
talk to me.
-
While it wasn't exactly easy
dealing with that bunch, it
went well, and I decided
a lot of it had to do with
the 'flow' of the moment,
sort of river-like, along
which I decided to float.
Accidents happen, you
know, and sometimes they're
good. I'd been up there, and
across the street (Lee's Art)
any number of times. Lee's
Art Supply was pretty famous,
and it was a large art-supply
store, in this case conveniently
located near this art school. It
was run by some imperious
Asian lady manager with the
Steinberg Family, who owned
the building. She'd become sort
of famous in her own right for
the store and the manner in
which she ran it and prospered
with it. A bit high-toned and
arty even. Then some latter day
sorts of real estate conflicts
began (57th street right there
is like a Gold-mine Miracle
Mile street) over rents and
valuations and all that. It got
contentious, hit the newspapers,
became one of this 'Save Lee's
movements for a bit, and then,
alas, they closed up anyway.
The Steinbergs themselves
probably made a bushel full of
money and the real estate buyers,
(some big NY developer name)
probably made out too - trading
the space and new construction
for what will probably be a
new, strong, stream of income
to them and to Hell with art.
-
Back in my Studio School days,
if I remember right, on Fourth
Ave. at 9th was a large Utrecht
store - art supplies, and everything
ales, canvas, stretcher bars, books,
sketchpads. The word Utrecht
was, to me in 1967, one of the
weirdest words I'd run into; for
commercial purpose. it was almost
exotic and other worldly, which
is where my head was at about all
this stuff anyway. There was
Grumbacher, and there was
Windsor-Newton; but they
weren't Utrecht - which was
Dutch or Holland or something.
Utrecht University used to be,
with the city, second to none
there, until Amsterdam ran
it all over.
-
Back to the Art Students
League itself - the building
was grand - not in the sense of
'grand' that the Studio School
had been in my days there -
those three old brownstones
grafted together and somehow
fused, with shared staircases,
grand entries and strange
cubbyhole places and sections
that tunneled into one another.
Instead of all that, the Art
Students League building had
apparently built built for that
purpose - it was imposing, it
was an edifice, and had a
presence. Once you walked in,
actually, things all seemed a
little sideways. I'll admit that
what ruined it for me in
this later-day visit with these
ladies was that everyone -
that's every ONE, not every
THING was modern. It was
disconcerting for me to see
that. The kids were all chubby
sort of, in an up-to-date, 'I
watch my hip fashion' way.
Aware of themselves, but
in only that manner. No one
seemed improper or pointed,
or even ideological about
themselves or what they
intended to be. All that
vagueness ruined it for me.
-
In the previous chapter I made
mention of Romare Beardon.
The Art Students League
building and location had even
a further, deeper, and more
important meaning for me.
About 1930, upon first arriving
into NYC, before some study
of art with Thomas Hart Benton,
(that always in and of itself
surprised me) Paul Pollock, later
to find fame as Jackson Pollock,
enrolled in the League but he
was so intimidated that he was
left speechless, and could not
draw. Using his usual, regular
crutch - alcohol - he retreated
to a speakeasy behind the building
in search of a voice and the
'courage'to be himself. Benton's
studio was back there too in
the street area of the bar, etc.
Through Benton, Pollock learned
about art some more, but, also
through Benton, he learned
too about Benton's approach to
life as an artist - which was a
'macho to the core' approach:
all of a fighting, cursing,
woman-abusing drunk. He
then was able to overcome his
fear of the League and its
students, and started to work
again, though in a style
derivative of Benton. It was
after Benton announced he'd
be leaving New York that
Pollock's drinking turned
destructive - arrested for
assaulting a policeman, he
entered into a real problematic
period. It being obvious he
could not live alone he moved
in with his brother Charles,
fifth-floor, Eighth Street (the
future Abstract-Expressionists'
Main Street) : nightclubs,
jazz clubs, music and clouds
of smoky air. This was all
before the days of Pollock
being the Pollock of fame
and the one we know; but it
was a grungy tale of the sort
of thing I loved and was
always on the hunt for. I
doubted that any of those
ladies in Olga's circle would
have been aware of it, but,
who knows. Do they even
know about speakeasies
anymore?
-
Like a flipped coin, all my
small change somehow kept
up ending right, when it came
to these kinds of things. I was
always able to dig out some
needed info about the what
and what-had-happened-here
of most any place I'd step. To
me that became of the utmost
importance and - especially as
it was New York City - I was
soon chest-deep in information
and distraction. And I loved
it all - had I lost my way?
No, I never thought that;
To me I had just found
another to work on.
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