Artist: Willem de Kooning by Richard Schulman
Fictional Truths
There was someone who saw a life for me, a special place that, in hindsight, became a temporary habitat. It became a map of places where I would discover like minded-people, like minded-explorers. I felt like I was being transported into a series of odes by Shelley or Byron. It was a professional romance I had not anticipated. With new heights ahead I believed I was stepping into my own cinematic Blade Runner, where artists were more human than human up above, with a lilt in the skies.
My mind often waded in zones linking the White Nile to the Blue Nile. It was a simple ripple effect that not an eye of any genus sees. The moon’s gravitational pull forced the ocean’s ripples to multiply. I pretended to watch. Then I was almost where I needed to be. Years before, I was reminded to peek at the face of my timepiece. Then and maybe only the, I would know how to stir my gait to elevate my stride to a faster pace. I was told life is short: “Run!”
I often take leave of my senses. Stories advance ahead of my steps through the years; that is my dream.
It can become a delicious moment of the extraordinary. ‘Lend me your mind for a triple second of time.’
I have never understood the photograph of “God’s eyes.” There is nothing to see unless for another fraction of time Aldous Huxley makes an appearance. It is slightly unnerving to share how many times I have stood side by side with my subconscious speaking to my reality.
I was traveling on a train as a professional photographer for the very first time. I had not a clue what was expected of me. I was only told that the artist Bill (Willem) de Kooning the lyrical master of Abstract Expressionism, knew of my intentions to shoot his portrait. At the time, I was not aware of how big and significant the moment would be for me and my archives.
The moment felt like a bit of espionage. His ex-wife, Elaine, was the sentinel of the palace. It was supposed that she would not be there. (There is a much longer and Woody Allen-esque, mixed with Peter Sellers The Party like story of my arrival to de Kooning’s home. I will save the episode for another time.)
I have owned Argus eyes since I was two years of age. Every day was and is a moment for my camera’s wonderment. I imagine the tricks my eyes still believe. The art world to be discovered should be experienced like pulling open the curtain to a giant male Argus preening in erotic happiness. I have frequently stepped into an artist’s studio, like a darkened den only to be surprised by the magic of the artists’ mind.
Entering de Kooning’s cathedral detonated my heart’s pulse. A “wow factor” could not even be close to my thrill of being with and spending a few hirs with almost the Pope of the art world. It was just me and Bill, and the question on everyone’s mind…what about his Alzheimer’s?
Willem de Kooning was closer to a hundred than I was to my teens. For a few hours we were old friends chatting about his earliest memories of New York, the art world. Yet, we traded stories and hit it off (his phrase) like palsy-wowsys. I have never figured out why meeting with people who were rumored to have Alzheimer’s revealed the greater truths to me. It was like my first visit to a nude beach: the reveals were honest, straightforward and naked. Yet, the question of why remains.
De Kooning placed so much trust in our moment together. He shared what it was like to land in America, drinking and carousing at the Cedar Bar, his friendship with Arshile Gorky, and much more. Why me? Why then? It seemed that every artist I met following my sensational day had the same questions: “How was Bill?” Beginning with Lee Krasner, Noguchi, Frankenthaler, Motherwell, Diebenkorn, Sam Francis and more.
We shook hands. I strolled slowly to the end, or was it the beginning of his property. I turned to see him waving. He looked like an old seafaring friend off on a mission, I returned the salute.
Back on the train I tried to account for every minute with the legendary artist.
I saw de Kooning as a link to two worlds; The one he brought to America, the one he left behind in Europe. In one body and one spirit he represented the past and the future of Western art. That farewell wave from the gentle giant had a taste of the monarchy in it. And there I said goodbye to a friend.
