Plants I'm Growing: Aloe Polyphylla

The comparatively rare Aloe polyphylla in the garden, with its spirals of leaves, bloomed this year for the first time. The seed pods are now mature and I've been able to collect hundreds of seeds. I'm looking forward to raising some babies.

Art I'm Making: Untitled Collage No. 292 (Santa Rosa)

This is Untitled Collage No. 292 (Santa Rosa), among the first pieces I completed in 2024. It dates from May 11 this year. It uses one of my favorite colors "Chinese Orange," made by the French paint and ink brand Sennelier, offset by a copper-patina green. Acrylic on paper, acrylic monotype, collage. Image size: 40.2cm x 27.9cm (15.9in x 11.0in). Matted to 24 x 20 inches. Signed on the mat. Signed and dated on the reverse. 

Click on the image for a larger view. For more of my abstract monotype collage work, visit my website at http://ctalcroft.wix.com/collage-site/ or you can purchase my recently published book commemorating ten years of working in the collage medium – Colin Talcroft: Abstract Monotype Collage: 2103–2023 (ISBN 979-8-218-37717-5). Available on the website. 

In person, my work can be seen at Calabi Gallery in Santa Rosa, Hammerfriar Gallery in Healdsburg, and at the Ren Brown Collection in Bodega Bay. Or, you can visit me during Art Trails, Sonoma County's premier juried open studios event, which will be October 19–20 and October 26–27 this year. This year, I'll be Studio 40. Hope to see you in the studio! See less 

Books I'm Reading: The Collected Works of Robert Motherwell

I've been on a reading spree lately – reading focused on New York in the 1950s, the abstract expressionists, and, in particular, the women that were associated with the New York School – that was my starting point at least. One book has led to another, most recently to The Collected Writings of Robert Motherwell (Oxford University Press, 1992, edited by Stephanie Terenzio). It's been on a bookshelf in the living room for years. I don't recall when or where I purchased it. I saw it somewhere used and thought it might be interesting to read. I finally started it a couple of weeks ago as it suddenly seemed particularly appropriate to do so in the context of the other reading I'd been doing and I've just finished it. As it's a collection of shortish pieces, it's ideal for dipping into for short spells as time allows, but I found myself reading it for long stretches. 

This recent reading has been educational. Most of the artists I've been reading about have long been familiar to me and I've seen their work in person numerous times in museums all over the world, but I realize that, until now, I've known little about their personal lives, about who they associated with, about their views on making art or what they thought about the art of others. Motherwell, it turns out, was an erudite man who, over a long career, wrote quite a lot about making art and about the art of others. For the most part, he writes very clearly, although his use of a few terms took some getting used to (more about that below). The book includes writings from 1941 through 1988 (he died in 1991). It includes essays, contributions to exhibition catalogs, scripts for and transcripts of public talks, introductions to volumes that he was involved in publishing, miscellaneous notes, and letters. Each selection is introduced by editor Stephanie Terenzio to give context and these introductions are often detailed and as enlightening as the writings they precede.

I didn't know that Motherwell had been a philosophy student at Harvard before becoming a painter, that early in his career he associated closely with the surrealists that fled Europe in the lead-up to Word War II, that he was active as a teacher and an editor, or that he is such an excellent source of information and deep thought about the early years of the abstract expressionist movement (he came to be seen as the intellectual of the movement, although he doesn't appear to have liked that label). 

Throughout his writings he emphasizes how important the ideas of the surrealists were in the early days of abstract expressionism and focuses on the concept of "psychic automatism," which he sees as the seed from which abstract expressionism grew. In his famous manifesto of 1924, André Breton coined the word "surreal" (above real, or beyond real) and first articulated the idea of psychic automatism, if my understanding is correct. He defined surrealism in terms of psychic automatism, saying surrealism is "pure psychic automatism through which it is intended to express, either verbally or in writing, or in any other manner, the true functioning of thought," the idea here being that the surreal emerges directly from some pre-conscious realm and the idea of "action painting," a term that came to be used as a synonym for abstract expressionism, developed out of this kind of idea. Action painting emphasized the physical act of painting itself from which the art that emerged was understood to be primarily a record of the action. Jackson Pollack's drip paintings were the quintessential action paintings. Abstract expressionism developed ultimately in many directions, but, reading Motherwell, I've understood for the first time this early connection between surrealism and abstract expressionism. Motherwell notes, importantly, that surrealism itself was anti-abstract art. 

Another idea Motherwell repeatedly emphasizes is that modern art (he is speaking in the 1950s here) is international and historically inclusive. He says the modern artist stands apart from community and tries to connect directly to the universe in contrast with the traditional artist; traditionally, he says, the artist has been part of the community and expressed the values of the community from within. He says in one piece that modern art is universal, drawing on the entire history of art and that it seems radical (that is, it seemed radical at the time of its emergence) only because most people know only the tradition of realism handed down "from Greece and Rome and the Renaissance and modern modes of illustration." Much of his early writing is aimed at trying to help a baffled public understand what modern (= non-representational) painting was.  

Several terms, I must admit, I had a little trouble with. I lacked confidence at first (and to some extent still do) that I was precisely understanding his intended meanings. "Plastic" is one of these. As an adjective, "plastic" has always meant to me something close to "formable" or "malleable" (aside from the more obvious meanings "made of plastic" or, figuratively, "cheap.") By the time I had finished the book, I decided he was using it more or less to mean "creative" and I am somewhat relieved to see that the Oxford English Dictionary lists that as among the meanings of the word when used as an adjective – a usage that first appears in 1662 – although it was unfamiliar to me.  

Another of these is "feeling." Naturally, I know the word, but Motherwell uses it in a specific way, to mean "sensitivity" or "ability to feel" and he goes to some trouble in one of the selections collected in this volume to contrast it with "emotion" and to say the two are not synonymous, although they commonly are used interchangeably.  He says feeling is "the objective response to what externally is" (his training in philosophy is frequently evident in his writing), while "emotion" is something internal. His view is that most surrealist work is emotional as is the work of German expressionists like Ludwig Kirchner. He seems to think "felt work" is superior to "emotional work" while admitting at the same time that he loves the emotional work of Goya. 

In addition, his writing has adjusted my understanding of the word "abstract." I see now that when I have used it, I probably really meant "non-representational." He points out that "to abstract" means "to select" and that that implies referencing reality; an abstraction is a selection from and simplification of the real. If we say "non-representational" we can eliminate the idea of starting with an image (a mental image) of reality and arriving at a simplified form of that image that emphasizes its essence. A non-representational work bypasses the selection and simplification – the selective emphasizing of aspects of – a reality-based image. There's a great deal of confusion even among artists about the meaning of words. I imagine that's why visual artists are visual artists and not writers. 

In a nutshell, The Collected Writing of Robert Motherwell is a rich collection of primary source material related to the world of art in the US, particularly New York, between the 1940s and the 1980s and of thinking about art. There's really too much here to absorb in a single reading. This is a book I may have to re-read in a year or two. Before I do, however, I have several others to read on the subject of modern art – books I've become aware of through reading the present volume. The first of these is The Dada Painters and Poets, an anthology edited by Motherwell himself. Then there's The Imagery of the Surreal (by J. H. Matthews) and  Abstract Expressionist Painting in America (by William C. Seitz and Dore Ashton with contributions also from Motherwell). By the time I finish those, I'll probably need a break to try to digest it all.

Art I'm Looking At – "Woodcut: Primary Printmaking" at the Legion of Honor

On a recent visit to The Legion of Honor in San Francisco, I saw two good shows – "Japanese Prints in Transition: From the Floating World to the Modern World" (which closed August 18) and "Woodcut: Primary Printmaking" (which runs through October 20). I recently posted some comments about the first of these. Here are some highlights of the Woodcut show. 

On the basement floor at the Legion of Honor there are a couple of small side galleries that are easy to miss, but they are almost always rewarding. One of these often presents works owned by the Achenbach Foundation for Graphic Arts (originally independent but now part of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco), which has a fabulous collection of more than 90,000 works on paper. The Woodcut show is one such show.

The current show focuses on one printmaking process, the woodcut. "Woodcut" refers to a specific type of relief printing. A relief print is made from a surface from which the non-printing areas have been removed with a sharp tool leaving the original surface to carry the ink that forms the image (in this case the surface is a block of wood). The Japanese prints in the show mentioned above are an example of relief printing that uses multiple blocks, one each for each different color in the final image, but a woodcut may be made from any number of blocks or just one. 

This show now on at the Legion of Honor is not extensive but it draws on the Achenbach Foundation collection to give some idea of the range of expression woodcut allows. Here I post a few of my favorites from the show, but several others that I liked very much were virtually impossible to photograph because of the way they are framed – in particular, what is perhaps my favorite piece in the show, a large print by Carol Summers in rich, deep blues and blacks (at the bottom here I've added an image of the piece, entitled "Stromboli Dark" that I found on a Smithsonian website). 

As noted above, Woodcut: Primary Printmaking runs through October 20 at the Legion of Honor. The Legion of Honor is at 100 34th Avenue (at Clement St.), San Francisco, CA 94121, generally open from 9:30 to 5:15, closed on Mondays.

Art I'm Looking At: Japanese Prints in Transition, at the Legion of Honor

I recently visited The Legion of Honor in San Francisco and saw a couple of worthwhile shows – "Japanese Prints in Transition: From the Floating World to the Modern World" (through August 18) and "Woodcut: Primary Printmaking" (through October 20) I'll write more about the latter in a separate post. 

The first of these two shows, As its title suggests, is a survey of Ukiyoe with an emphasis on how the medium responded to the very rapid changes that occurred in Japan with the opening of the country after about 250 years of self-imposed isolation and the Meiji Restoration in 1868. Visually, the most obvious change is from the use of natural pigments to the harsh reds, greens, and purples that suddenly appear with the introduction of synthetic aniline dyes. These garish colors became available with the opening of the country in the early 1860s and had become widely used within a decade or two. They were popular because they were inexpensive and vibrant, but I find it hard to avoid feeling that prints using these dyes are mostly inferior to the subtler work of earlier periods, although they are of historical interest. That said, the show has many examples of prints of this period depicting "modern" subjects, which to a large extent meant foreigners and the foreign artifacts and inventions that began to stream into the country along with the aniline dyes. In a complete reversal, the newest prints in the show, by Masami Teraoka (made starting in the 1970s) revert to the more subtle palate typical of the Edo Period, which is being parodied in his work. 

The aniline dyes were at least color-fast. An interesting earlier print shows a scene with an odd olive-yellow sky. The accompanying label notes that the sky would originally have been blue, but, printed with a fugitive, naturally-derived pigment made from Asiatic Dayflower (露草 Commelina communisa), the blue has completely faded away. 

There are some nice early prints, including two by Sharaku, whose work is scarce, although one of the two is not in very good condition. The best examples of his work I have seen have been in shows in Japan – although not necessarily from Japanese collections. The best-preserved examples of Ukiyo-e of any kind I've seen in Japan have been on loan from the collection of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. 

The Legion of Honor Show includes examples of some of the most recognized Ukiyo-e images – notably The Great Wave, by Hokusai, which has been called the second-most famous work of art in the world after the Mona Lisa. The show also includes two prints that appear in paintings made by Vincent Van Gogh. Also of interest are  prints depicting places and events far from Japan that the wall labels point out were known to the print designers only from newspaper reproductions that were coming into the country. Exposure to foreign images is also evident in the way that Western perspective creeps into some of the later prints. 

At the end, I was a bit surprised to see that shunga (erotic prints) had been completely neglected until I exited through the inevitable gift shop to see that there was an entire, separate room devoted to these, including top-notch examples by Utamaro and Hokusai.  

As noted above, the show continues until this Sunday, August 18. The Legion of Honor is at 100 34th Avenue (at Clement St.), San Francisco, CA 94121, generally open from 9:30 to 5:15, closed on Mondays.

Miscellaneous: Goodbye to Eric the cat

Over this past weekend (August 12), we said goodbye to our cat Eric (also known as Gon), who expired  after an illness. We still don't know what happened, but he wasted away over the course of about eight weeks until he was so weak he could no longer walk. He was only eight years old. It's a mystery.  

We gave him a grand send-off, buried in the garden, his lifeless body set in the ground on a bed of flowers. We'll miss him. Here are some photos of him in happier days. (Yes, he was born with no tail).

Places I'm visiting: Mendocino (July 2024)

A couple weeks ago, we made a short trip up the coast to always-photogenic Mendocino for an overnight stay at the Agate Cove Inn. It was my first visit to the town since well before the pandemic. After checking in at Agate Cove Inn, had an excellent evening meal at Italian restaurant Luna (grilled prawns and smoked salmon penne were the highlights along with live music in the gardens). 

The following day had an equally good lunch at Trillium Café (on Kasten St., at what used to be The Mousse Café) where the pumpkin seed pesto and vegetable gnocchi were outstanding, as were the crab cakes (washed down with a local  Gewürztraminer). 

We spent the morning kayaking on the ocean, which afforded good close-up views of oystercatchers and loons. I'm always surprised by how alive the plants look in Mendocino. The coastal weather is so much milder than the weather in Santa Rosa, about two hours to the south and considerably further inland. Plants that struggle in Santa Rosa (either because of frost in the winter or the dry heat during our summers) grow luxuriantly in Mendocino. The whole place looks alive. 

Before heading home, we made a stop at the Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens (much more extensive than I remembered) just north of the town where the heaths and heathers in bloom were particularly beautiful. 

Art I'm Making: Untitled Collage No. 290 (Santa Rosa)

Still trying to catch up with 2024, this is Untitled Collage No. 290 (Santa Rosa), the last piece I finished in 2023 (before a fallow period of several months). Dated October 7, 2023. Acrylic on paper, acrylic monotype, collage. Image size: 41.1cm x 32.3cm (16.3in x 12.7in). Matted to 24 x 20 inches. Signed on the mat. Signed and dated on the reverse.

Click on the image for a larger view. For more of my abstract monotype collage work, visit my website at http://ctalcroft.wix.com/collage-site/ or you can purchase my recently published book commemorating ten years of working in the collage medium – Colin Talcroft: Abstract Monotype Collage: 2103–2023 (ISBN 979-8-218-37717-5). Available on the website. 

 

In person, my work can be seen at Calabi Gallery in Santa Rosa, Hammerfriar Gallery in Healdsburg, and at the Ren Brown Collection in Bodega Bay. Or, you can visit me during Art Trails, Sonoma County's premier juried open studios event, which will be October 19–20 and October 26–27 this year. This year, I'll be Studio 40. Hope to see you in the studio!

Art I'm Looking At: Palo Alto

Last month, I went to Palo Alto to see the big glass and ceramics show they do there every year in the summer. It's always a pleasant way to spend a couple of hours outdoors. Didn't buy anything this year, but there were some interesting pieces. 

A visit to Palo Alto wouldn't be complete without a stop at the two excellent art museums on the Stanford Campus, The Cantor Center for the Arts and The Anderson Collection. The Cantor has a diverse collection. The Anderson Collection is mostly 20th century art with a good core of abstract expressionist works. I always enjoy seeing a few favorites in each of the collections. The Cantor has a good Sargent portrait and a good Hopper, among others. The Anderson Collection has a Louis Morris, a De Kooning, a Motherwell, and a Frankenthaler that I like and both collections have good examples from Diebenkorn's Ocean Park series. 

On the way home, dinner at La Salette, the Portuguese restaurant of long standing in the town of Sonoma. I particularly enjoyed the cold cucumber soup with shrimp and doing one of the Portuguese wine flights they offer. 

Art I'm Making: Untitled Collage No. 289 (Santa Rosa)

This is the last piece I did before the end of Art Trails 2023 (Sonoma County's annual juried open studios event). This is Untitled Collage No. 289 (Santa Rosa). October 1, 2023. Acrylic on paper, acrylic monotype, collage. Image size: 32.4cm x 41.1cm (12.7in x 16.2in). Matted to 20 x 24 inches. Signed on the mat. Signed and dated on the reverse. 

Click on the image for a larger view. For more of my abstract monotype collage work, visit my website at http://ctalcroft.wix.com/collage-site/ or you can purchase my recently published book commemorating ten years of working in the collage medium – Colin Talcroft: Abstract Monotype Collage: 2103–2023 (ISBN 979-8-218-37717-5). Available on the website. In person, my work can be seen at Calabi Gallery in Santa Rosa, Hammerfriar Gallery in Healdsburg, and at the Ren Brown Collection in Bodega Bay. 

Books I'm Reading: Lee Krasner: Living Colour

I've just finished reading Lee Krasner: Living Colour, edited by Elaine Niarne (US paperback edition, Thames & Hudson, 2024), a monograph accompanying a 2019 exhibition of Krasner's work that showed first at the Barbican Art Gallery in London (later traveling to Germany, Switzerland, and Spain) – a continuation of my recent deep dive into the history of the women painters among the Abstract Expressionists. This is a richly illustrated show catalog but it also includes a number of essays about Krasner's work, a 1970 interview with her, and a chronology. An excellent overview. 

Music I'm Listening To: Esa-Pekka Salonen conducting Mahler's 3rd Symphony

I attended the Friday, June 28 performance at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco. The San Francisco Symphony played Mahler's Symphony No. 3. Esa-Pekka Salonen conducted. The soloist was mezzo-soprano Kelley O'Connor. The San Francisco Symphony Chorus was led by Jenny Wong. The Pacific Boychoir Academy was led by Kevin Fox or Andrew Brown – I'm not quite sure which from the program. The symphony was the only thing on the program and it was played straight through with no intermission. 

This is my favorite of all the Mahler symphonies. If I were to play the game of ranking them in order of preference my top three would probably be No. 3, No. 1, and No. 6, followed by No. 4 and No.5, and then by No. 9, and then No. 7 and No. 8 (which I don't know well). No. 2 has never appealed to me. I do, however, like what we have of No. 10. It was a treat to hear Symphony No. 3 live. I think this is the first time, unless I'm forgetting a performance.

Salonen was his usual reliable self and I really liked O'Connor's voice, although she had a habit of slightly over-emphasizing the final syllables of the German she was singing. A weak soloist can ruin the whole thing, but, overall, this was a very enjoyable performance. The audience was very appreciative giving the ensemble an extended standing ovation. Salonen looked exhausted at the end but touched by the outpouring of support, including calls for him to re-think his decision to leave at the end of next season. After the last notes had died away, the conductor walked back to the brass section and gave the principal trombone a big hug before returning to the podium to acknowledge other brass players, the woodwinds, the percussion, the harps, and others. Afterwards, dinner at Monsieur Benjamin, which, sadly is closing down. The following night was the last service. I guess it's back to Absinthe for after-concert dining. 

Art I'm Making: Untitled Collage No. 288 (Santa Rosa)

Here's a collage from last autumn: Untitled Collage No. 288 (Santa Rosa). September 30, 2023. Acrylic on paper, acrylic monotype, collage. Image size: 32.1cm x 41.3cm (12.6in x 16.3in). Matted to 20 x 24 inches. Signed on the mat. Signed and dated on the reverse. This was in my recent show at Hammerfriar Gallery. 

Click on the image for a larger view. For more of my abstract monotype collage work, visit my website at http://ctalcroft.wix.com/collage-site/ or you can purchase my recently published book commemorating ten years of working in the collage medium Colin Talcroft: Abstract Monotype Collage: 2103–2023 (ISBN 979-8-218-37717-5). Available on the website. In person, my work can be seen at Calabi Gallery in Santa Rosa, Hammerfriar Gallery in Healdsburg, and at the Ren Brown Collection in Bodega Bay. 

Miscellaneous: Fountain restored

The fountain in our garden was designed by me and made from a basalt column into which I had a bowl carved and a bore hole drilled to allow a hose to pass through to a pump that sits in a depressed reservoir below the pump. We set it up in 2001 or so with the help of my wife's father, who has years of experience handling stone in Japan. The drilled column was delivered to our driveway. We had to transport it about 70 yards to the back of the house, a move we accomplished with a skid and rollers, likening ourselves to ancient pyramid builders. Using levers, we then raised it into its upright position and secured it to its base. It functioned without problems until last autumn when the pump finally failed. I have no complaints, the pump lasted a good 22 years, but I missed the fountain immediately. 

The problem of reviving it has been on my mind many months. The thought of exposing the reservoir (hidden by a wire mesh covered with rocks), cleaning out the reservoir (which had an eight-inch layer of muck in the bottom from 20+ years of decaying plant debris falling into it), replacing the pump (which required disconnecting the old pump and hard-wiring in its replacement), and then putting the whole thing back together again was enough to keep me procrastinating.

I'm happy to say that, with a great deal of help from my friend David (always willing to lend a hand), it's up and running again. Sitting on the back deck is much more pleasant with the burbling fountain there. Also, in very hot weather the bees from our beehive like to collect water from the side of the stone pillar to cool the hive with. As a heat wave is supposed to descend on us from tomorrow for a week or ten days, the repair was completed just in time.
 

Comparative tasting: Wines from Clos d'Argentine

Yesterday I compared three inexpensive wines from Clos d'Argentine purchased at Grocery Outlet. I had had all three before and liked them but thought one better than the other two. I was going to stock up but, by the time I thought about it again, I'd forgotten which of the three I had preferred. So, I bought one of each and determined to compare them. I tasted them not quite blind. I knew what the wines were, but I covered the labels and tasted them in random order. Tasting notes and some conclusions follow.

Wine 1: 

Color: Medium ruby, tending toward magenta. Looks young. Color quite thin at the edges. Nose: Hints of raspberries but also something darker. Not smoky. A suggestion of cocoa perhaps. Later leather. Palate: Fruity. Light tannins. Distinct vanilla flavor, but not oaky. Moderate length. Seems fairly high in alcohol, but not excessive. Easy, appealing, everyday wine. Not especially complex, but seems well made and, although I would rank this third among these three wines, this is nevertheless tasty.  

Wine 2:

Color: Medium ruby, but deeper in color than Wine 1 and without the magenta tint. Nose: Immediately fruitier than Wine 1. Appealing red fruit scents, but also something suggestive of peaches, which is a bit of a surprise in a red wine. Vaguely floral as well. Nose most open and appealing of the three wines, at least at first. With a little time, began to suggest dark cherries.  Palate: Less overtly fruity than Wine 1. Seems light at first, but has more tannin than Wine 1. Seems younger. Has good body, and the finish is considerably longer than that of Wine 1. Surprisingly closed on the palate at first considering how expressive it is on the nose. Suggests it will develop nicely with time, and, during the tasting the wine opened up to reveal riper, slightly jammy fruit flavors, again with hints of vanilla and leather. It reminded me (in a good way) of those old-fashioned cookies with a disc of jam in the middle. Later began to vaguely suggest cassis and cocoa. My favorite of the three wines. 

Wine 3:

Color: Deep ruby. Almost opaque. Nose: Seems fairly closed at first. Less fruity on the nose than the first two wines. Attractive but hard to pin down. As it opens up, hints of dark cherries. Later vanilla, but not oaky. Palate: Rich and round. More concentrated fruit than either of the other two wines. Seems more mature, but also has good (soft, milky) acidity, suggesting it will continue to improve with time. Nicely fruity, ripe, round, and immediately appealing with delicate tannins coming to the forefront on the mid-palate before fading on a long finish. My second-favorite of the three wines.

Wine 1: 2020 Clos D’Argentine "Winemaker's Selection" Malbec Gran Reserva (Mendoza, Argentina, 13.5% alcohol, $9.99)

Wine 2: 2021 Clos D’Argentine “Winemaker’s Selection” Malbec Reserva (Mendoza, Argentina, 13% alcohol, $6.99)

Wine 3: 2017 Clos D’Argentine “Winemaker’s Selection” Cabernet Sauvignon Reserva (Mendoza, Argentina, 13% alcohol, $6.99)

Some thoughts after the reveal: I thought it interesting that Wine 3, a Cabernet Sauvignon, didn’t seem typical of that variety. The three wines gave the impression of all being made from the same grape. In this case, the producer and the land seem to have had a greater impact on the result than the grape variety, which is unusual; grape variety usually is the single most important factor determining the general taste of a wine. The Cabernet is seven years old. That's not especially old, but, as wines age, their flavor profiles tend to converge to some extent – perhaps a minor factor here as well? 

The terms “reserva” and “gran reserva” are most familiar from Spanish wines. In Spain, a wine designated “reserva” has spent at least three years aging with a minimum of one year in barrel. A “gran reserva” has been aged at least five years with at least two years in oak. The rules are less restrictive in Argentina where a red “reserva” need spend only 12 months or more in barrel and a red “gran reserva” need spend only 24 months or more in barrel (six months and 12 months for white wines). In theory, a gran reserva should be superior to a reserva, but, in this case, the reverse was true (at least in my opinion). That said, all three wines are tasty and a good value at my local (Santa Rosa, California) Grocery Outlet, ranging in price from $6.99 to $9.99. I can recommend all three.

Music I'm Listening to: Sheku Kanneh-Mason plays Shostakovich

I attended the Friday, June 14, concert at Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco. Esa-Pekka Salonen conducted the San Francisco Symphony doing Shostakovich's Cello Concerto No. 1 in E-flat Major, Op. 107. Sheku Kanneh-Mason was the soloist. After intermission, the program continued with a short piece by Sofia Gubaidulina called Fairytale Poem for Orchestra and then Tchaikovsky's Francesca da Rimini. 

Kanneh-Mason was interesting to watch. He seemed almost to be in a trance as he played, but he projected confidence and played with great precision that did not sacrifice expressiveness. He finished seemingly exhausted, but played a short encore that I didn't recognize and he didn't say anything about it from the stage. 

On the other hand, Salonen spoke quite extensively after intermission, telling the story behind the Gubaidulina piece, which was written as the score for a children's TV show broadcast in 1971 in the Soviet Union. The protagonist of the story is a piece of chalk bored with the grammar and mathematics it's used for and longing to be used to draw gardens and flowers and castles and the like. Eventually, the chalk is worn down to a stub and thrown away. The chalk stub is picked up and plunged into darkness and the chalk thinks its fate is sealed, but it turns out that it is in the pocket of a young boy, and soon the boy takes the chalk out into the light and starts using it to draw the fanciful scenes the chalk has dreamed of. The chalk is so happy, that it doesn't mind being used up entirely and disappearing. The music was interesting, using a great deal of percussion and of varied textures. I rather enjoyed it. 

In contrast, Francesca da Rimini was an unfamiliar piece that didn't leave much of an impression on me. The Shostakovich, although played at the beginning, was the centerpiece of this concert. In the upper balcony, behind the orchestra, a couple of people in the audience brought signs. One said "We love Salonen." Another simply said "STAY!" Many are hoping Salonen with reconsider his apparent decision to leave as music director at the end of next season. 

Art I'm Looking At: Arthur Monroe at Sonoma Valley Museum of Art

Arthur Monroe, Untitled, circa 1980

I recently visited the Sonoma Valley Museum of Art (551 Broadway, Sonoma, CA 95476 (707.939.7862)). Currently showing is "Arthur Monroe: A Tow to Carry," a retrospective look at the work of the late Oakland-based artist Arthur Monroe – an artist I had never heard of. Apparently he had a long career, first in New York, later in the Bay Area. He worked mainly in an Abstract Expressionist style strongly influenced by jazz. According to the wall text, among his friends in New York were saxophonist Charlie Parker, drummer Max Roach, and Thelonius Monk. He studied with Hans Hoffman – as so many advanced abstract painters In New York did (and it's hard to overemphasize the influence of Hofmann on an entire generation of painters in New York). Monroe was among those who frequented the famous Cedar Bar and he is known to have visited the studios of some of the most prominent Abstract Expressionists, including Willem de Kooning, and Franz Kline. The exhibition raises the question of why there weren't more black artists associated with the movement, particularly considering the affinities between jazz and action painting, both improvisational forms of art.

Arthur Monroe, Cluster, 1980

After a stint in the service during the Korean War, he moved to San Francisco, eventually settling in Oakland, working at what became the Oakland Cannery, a live-in studio building that he converted from an industrial warehouse. He also worked for 30 years as the registrar at The Oakland Museum of California. He thus became a kind of bridge between the New York School and the West Coast Abstract Expressionists. The show, which  runs through September 8, 2024, includes 23 works, mostly large canvases characterized by the use of patches of bright colors that seem to hover over underlying layers. There's some very strong work here. Well worth a visit.   

Arthur Monroe, Untitled, 1990-1995
Arthur Monroe, Untitled, 1990-1995

Books I'm Reading: Ninth St. Women and Women of Abstract Expressionism

A show I saw in September 2022 at Modern Art West, in the town of Sonoma, that focused on female Abstract Expressionist painters working on the West Coast in the 1950s and 1960s was my introduction to quite a few artists I'd never heard of at the time. Among women associated with Abstract Expressionism, I was aware of a few names like Jay DeFeo, Lee Krasner, Helen Frankenthaler, and Joan Mitchell, but didn't know a great deal about the work of the first three of these and it was only by seeing an extensive Joan Mitchell retrospective at SF MOMA in October of 2021 that I gained any familiarity with her work. The show in Sonoma piqued my curiosity about other women abstract painters and prompted me to do some reading. A small show of work by Bernice Bing at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco shortly after the Sonoma show further stimulated my interest in these artists. 

Recently, I've read New Art City (Jed Perl, Vintage 2007) and Fierce Poise (By Alexander Nemerov, Penguin, 2021), the latter about Helen Frankenthaler, and have just finished Ninth St. Women (Mary Gabriel, Back Bay Books, 2018) with the very long subtitle Lee Krasner, Elaine de Kooning, Grace Hartigan, Joan Mitchell, and Helen Frankenthaler: Five Painters and the Movement that Changed Modern Art. I've also just finished Women of Abstract Expressionism (Edited by Joan Marter, Denver Art Museum and Yale University, 2016,  the catalog for a show of the same name at the Denver Art Museum from June to September, 2016, traveling then to the Mint Museum, in Charlotte, North Carolina (October 2016–January 2017) and the Palm Springs Art Museum (February–May 2017)).

This latter, being an exhibition catalog, is mostly reproductions of work by the artists included in the show –  three to five pieces each by 12 artists (Mary Abbott, Jay DeFeo, Elaine de Kooning, Perle Fine, Helen Frankenthaler, Sonia Gechtoff, Judith Godwin, Grace Hartigan, Lee Krasner, Joan Mitchell, Deborah Remington, and Ethel Schwabacher) supplemented by a handful of essays, a brief interview with Irving Sandler, a chronology, and short biographies of the women in the show and of other women that were active at the time and working in the Abstract Expressionist style. Among these other women are Bernice Bing,  Zoe Longfield, whose work I was particularly impressed by at the Modern West show, Betty Parsons (who I knew from Ninth St. Women more as a gallerist, but I see that she was a painter as well), and Gertrude Greene. 

I was surprised when I read the short Gertrude Greene biography. I had never heard of her, but then it dawned on me as I read that she was the wife of John Wesley Greene (known as Balcomb Greene). Balcolmb Greene is a name I did know because my parents were acquaintances of the Greenes, having visited them at their home in Montauk on Long Island on at least one occasion in the company of Joseph W. and Marjorie Groell and Philip Pearlstein. Marjorie was my mother's best friend from college. They both attended Carnegie Tech (today Carnegie Mellon University) at the same time as Andy Warhol and Pearlstein (although they were a few years younger). Both Joseph W. Groell and Pearlstein later taught art at Brooklyn College. Jospeh W. Groell is the brother of the painter Theophil Groell (who also went by the name Theophil Repke early in his career and who my mother and the Groells I knew always referred to as "Teddy"). My mother told me that I occasionally played with one of Pearlstein's daughters (although I was too young to remember) and that she (the daughter) once gave me the flu. Among things my father, Stuart Talcroft, left behind after his death is a set of photographs he took of Balcomb Greene and others at Greene's home during that visit, with the Groells, Pearlstein, and my mother present. In the photo here, Balcomb Greene is at right and Pearlstein (center left) sits sideways to the table. The woman at left may be Philip Pearlstein's wife, Dorothy (Cantor) Pearlstein. The younger man (center right) I have not been able to identify (photo © Stuart Talcroft). This was September 1957.

The essays include an "Introduction to the Exhibition," by Gwen F. Chanzit, "Missing in Action," by Joan Marter, that addresses the question of why the women painters have been neglected in histories of Abstract Expressionism, "Biographies and Bodies: Self and Other in Portraits by Elaine and Bill de Kooning," by Ellen G. Landau, "The Advantages of Obscurity: Women Abstract Expressionists in San Francisco," by Susan Landauer, which points out that attention focused on the New York painters and the comparative neglect of the West Coast painters (and women in particular) allowed the latter a great deal of freedom to explore, and "Krasner, Mitchell, and Frankenthaler: Nature as Metonym," which suggested that the male painters tended to use metaphor, while the women used metonym, but the writing was rather hard to follow in this last essay. Despite that, Women of Abstract Expressionism is a useful and attractive reference work. 

Ninth St. Women focuses on the five artists in its subtitle (Krasner, de Kooning, Hartigan, Mitchell, and Frankenthaler), but, perhaps inevitably, the book takes in the whole scene; it runs to over 700 pages, nearly 900 with notes and bibliography. There is much about the men who were painting at the same time, about the critics, the teachers, the poets, and the gallerists associated with what came to be known as the New York School. The conditions advanced painters in New York worked under at the time, often in barely furnished, unheated spaces with no hot water, were as rough as the lives they lived which, until some of them began to find commercial success, were characterized by artistic struggle, dealing with misogyny in the case of the women (who felt compelled to adopt an approach to life perceived as masculine in order to be taken seriously), poverty, hard drinking, raucous partying, and unconventional romantic relationships (although it should be noted that both Joan Mitchell and Helen Frankenthaler came from well-to-do families and had resources most painters didn't). 

The book traces the early influence of Hans Hoffman as a teacher and the appearance on the scene of European surrealists and others as they fled Nazi Germany in the late 1930s (mostly older, conservative men that appear to have been particularly misogynistic), the sudden fame of Jackson Pollock and the destructive alcoholism that eventually led to his artistic impotence and  death (and how that affected Krasner and others), the shift in the mood of conversation at places like the Cedar Bar and the Five Spot as recognition and wealth accrued to painters like Pollock and De Kooning, with the talk in the bars going from "art over beers to galleries over bourbon". The book makes it clear that it was a spectacular but surprisingly short-lived rise to fame for Abstract Expressionism (at least for the men), lasting from about 1950 to about 1965; by the mid-sixties, attention had shifted toward painters like Rauschenberg and Johns and later Warhol as Pop Art emerged. 

I had never understood that Frankenthaler is arguably the mother of color field painting. While that's entirely logical once it's pointed it out, I had never made the connection between her work and the work of painters like Kenneth Noland and Morris Louis, who apparently were emboldened to pour thinned paint onto unprimed canvas after seeing the work of Frankenthaler, just as Frankenthaler felt freed to experiment by seeing the work of Pollock, which vastly altered her conception of what painting could be (Frankenthaler was not alone). I hadn't understood how small and tight the core group of painters was. Everyone seems to have known everyone, they visited each other's studios, they met nightly in the bars, they talked, they painted, they wrote and read about each others work, they drank, they arranged shows, they went to openings, they had parties, they had sex, and they painted. The cross-fertilization appears to have been broad and intense. I hadn't known that Elaine de Kooning became an influential writer about art, mostly in the pages of Art News or that she did a great deal of portraiture and had a period during which she focused on canvases inspired by watching sporting events. I wasn't aware of Krasner's central role in trying to keep Pollock from his violent, alcohol-fueled excesses and to keep him productive (to the detriment of her own work) – or really anything about their relationship, or her career. I hadn't known that she later turned very successfully to collage. The book was an introduction to dozens of lesser-known peripheral characters and even a small lesson in the geography of Long Island. The detail is vivid. The pages are overflowing with insights not only about how the woman made their way as painters in a style that has long been seen as quintessentially masculine, but about what it is to be an artist at all. There's an entire course in advanced abstract American painting at mid-century in these pages. Ninth St. Women, is a remarkable bit of scholarship, deeply researched, meticulously notated, rich in detail, and engagingly written. Highly recommended. 

 

Serendipitous Art: Crown Point Press

I visited Crown Point Press in San Francisco for the first time on Friday, June 14. As I stepped into the second-floor space, the famous printer and founder of the place, Kathan Brown, strolled by. She smiled, said hello, and suggested to one of the staff that I be given a tour, as a week-long workshop was just winding down. I noticed a beautiful print by Anne Appleby behind the desk in her office – a sort of diptych in two shades of green. There was a a small show of prints in the lobby, and a group of prints published at Crown Point Press for sale in a more formal gallery space. In the lobby area, one wall was lined with books published by the press. I learned that the summer workshops for this year are all full, but I'm thinking about trying to get into one next summer. Walking around the spaces I noted some scribbling on the walls that looked like art to me. Serendipitous art. 

Miscellaneous: I am Mr. Peabody?

Recently I was approached on the street in San Francisco by a youngish woman, maybe in her late twenties, who asked me "Have you ever seen Mr. Peabody and Sherman?" I was a bit surprised at this unexpected question from a stranger, but, mentally whisked back to my childhood and episodes of "The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle," I said "yes" (although I think she was referring to the 2014 film "Mr. Peabody and Sherman"). She seemed a little embarrassed as she said "I wanted to tell you that you look like Mr. Peabody" and then hastened to add "And I mean that in the best possible way." She said she thought I looked smart and sophisticated. 

I got new glasses when I was in Japan in March. They have dark, nearly round frames. I suspect it was mostly the glasses. She seemed to mean it sincerely, though, and to mean it as a compliment, but I didn't know whether to feel flattered, as she was comparing me to an anthropomorphized dog – albeit a smart and sophisticated anthropomorphized dog.

Music I'm Listening to: Recent concerts

I attended the Friday, May 10 performance of the San Francisco Symphony at Davies Symphony Hall. Guest conductor Marta Gardlolinska had to cancel at the last minute. She was replaced by Gemma New (currently music director of the Hamilton Philharmonic Orchestra and principal conductor of the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra). I had heard of neither conductor, but I rather liked New. She was interesting to watch on the podium, her movements short and sharp, and slightly stiff, but she made the music flow. The concert opened with a piece called Overture, written in 1943 by Grazyna Bacewicz. It was not particularly memorable, but it was interesting to hear as I'm a fan of Bacewicz's chamber music. I have several recordings of her string quartets and other pieces for small ensembles. I was under the impression that she was a contemporary composer. I had no idea that the she was born in 1909 and died in 1969. Her music sounds more modern than her birth and death years might suggest. 

That was followed by Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Minor. The soloist was a Spanish cellist, Pablo Ferrandez. I had never heard of him either, but the San Francisco Symphony always brings in good guest conductors and soloists, and it was an excellent performance, although taken rather more slowly than I'm used to, particularly in the opening of the first movement. The Elgar was followed after intermission by Mendelssohn's Symphony No. 3, also nicely done. Just as impressive as the conducting was the way Ms. New acknowledged various members of the orchestra during the applause at the close of the concert. Often orchestra members hesitate to stand up and take a bow when pointed at by the conductor after a performance, but usually it's not out of modesty but because they aren't always sure who the conductor is indicating for recognition. New, with precise hand gestures, had them standing and taking the applause quickly and efficiently in what amounted to an entirely independent conducting performance. I was quite impressed. 

Dinner at Monsieur Benjamin after the concert. I've abandoned Absinthe, which for more than a decade was my go-to after-concert restaurant. Absinthe has raised its wine-by-the-glass prices to absurd levels. It just ruins the whole experience. Monsieur Benjamin is not cheap, but it now seems a better value. New and Ferrandez came into the restaurant shortly after we settled in and they happened to be seated at the table next to us. I resisted the temptation to do anything more than to quickly say that I'd enjoyed the concert – until shortly before we were leaving. I leaned over  to ask the conductor about the tempo of the Elgar and she agreed that they had taken some parts comparatively slowly but pointed out that she had taken other parts quite quickly, which was true. "Rubato," I said. "Exactly" she answered. She's one I'll look out for in the future. 

The following day, I attended the Santa Rosa Symphony concert at the Green Music Center. The jazz-focused program comprised four pieces: George Gershwin's Catfish Row: Symphonic Suite from Porgy and Bess, Gershwin's well known Rhapsody in Blue for Piano and Orchestra (but in the original jazz band version), Conrad Tao's Flung Out for Piano and Orchestra (a world premiere) and Edward "Duke" Ellington's Black, Brown and Beige – Suite for Orchestra. Conrad Tao was the piano soloist in both the performance of Rhapsody in Blue (played from memory) and Flung Out (during which he used a score on an iPad), conceived as a companion piece to the Gershwin but it was rather more abstract. Rhapsody in Blue was the highlight of the evening. Tao was exciting to listen to – fast, precise, and expressive all at the same time.  

Art I'm Making: Untitled Collage No. 287 (Santa Rosa)

Here's a collage from last autumn. This is Untitled Collage No. 287 (Santa Rosa). September 25, 2023. Acrylic on paper, acrylic monotype, collage. Image size: 24.6cm x 11.4cm (9.7in x 4.5in). Matted to 20 x 16 inches. Signed on the mat. Signed and dated on the reverse.

Click on the image for a larger view. For more of my abstract monotype collages, see my website at http://ctalcroft.wix.com/collage-site/

 

My book Colin Talcroft: Abstract Monotype Collage 2013–2023, published in February 2024 (ISBN: 979-8-218-37717-5) is available on the website.

Music I'm Listening to: San Francisco Symphony

While away in Japan, I missed two concerts to which I had tickets, one by the Santa Rosa Symphony and one by the San Francisco Symphony, but I attended the Friday April 26 concert in San Francisco, which featured a short piece by Shostakovich at the top of the bill and ended with Prokofiev's Symphony No. 3 after intermission, with the Walton Viola Concerto as the centerpiece before the break. Gustavo Gimeno, music director of the Luxembourg Philharmonic and of the Toronto Symphony, was the guest conductor. The San Francisco Symphony's own Jonathan Vinocour was the viola soloist. 

I had never heard the Shostakovich before – Funeral March from The Great Citizen, Op. 55 and I can't say it was especially memorable, but both the Walton and Prokofiev pieces were familiar. Whenever a member of the Symphony appears as a soloist I'm reminded of just how high the overall level of musicianship is on the stage at every concert in San Francisco. Off hand, I can remember concerts over the years featuring soloists from among the Symphony's own ranks including Alexander Barantschick (violin), Peter Wyrick (cello), Mark Inouye (trumpet), and Scott Pingel (bass) – and now Jonathan Vinocour– all top notch. The Prokofiev symphony is not among my favorites. It's rather abstract and, despite some comparatively accessible sections that are quite fun, I'm not surprised that it's not often performed. Still, it's always interesting to hear pieces familiar from recording live for the first time.
  

Rain: Late Spring Storm

A short but intense storm passed through on May 4. On the following (very sunny) day, my rain gauge showed 1.10 inches of new rain at my location in northeast Santa Rosa. It's unusual to get such concentrated showers this late in the rain year, but late rain is welcome. It pushes back fire danger a little and relieves me from having to water the garden for a few days at least. 

I've been a bit lazy about noting rainfall this year. Since last reporting, we have had about three inches of rain I never recorded. That and this new 1.10 inches, a total of 4.10 inches, brings our total for the 2023-2024 rain year to 30.30 inches, which is quite respectable, although below the historical average of about 36 inches. Recently, I've been wondering about that average. I suspect that the average in the past ten years has been lower than that, which suggests this has been a fairly normal rain year relative to what is now normal.