4 August 2024
Eventually, Nicholas de Staal
Chilly, these days!
The other day a painter (and acquaintance) asked me what I thought of some of her paintings. I had looked at them and was at a loss of how to be honest with her without hurting her feelings. A long time ago I learned one of the best lessons of my life. It was to never ask anyone such a thing about my own work. I learned the hard way because once many years ago when I did question a friend about a painting of mine I received a negative response and I got such a resentment that I didn’t eat for a year. I vowed to never again fall into that trap, and I haven’t.
If one can't handle someone else’s opinion, then they should never broach the question. Why didn’t I learn that as a kid? But I’ve since learned to avoid this problem by turning it around on the questioner, by asking them, “what do you think of it?”. This seems to work out and lead to a discussion about what works in a painting, and it usually diverts the discussion elsewhere. In any artistic activity, isn’t this the real question? I’ve learned that the best way to avoid such a question is to shy away from Art, but politics and religion also.
In this case, it had turned out OK, as I waded into a swamp of ideas, ad-libbing like a stand-up comedian the whole way. But to be honest, I’ve become more real in so many aspects of my personal life, that these days I can usually handle most questions, so it’s rarely a big problem. I try to just say what I mean and mean what I say in all things.
I realise that this question of engagement is interesting. What does it mean to be engaged both intellectually and emotionally with something which we collectively assume to be Art? I know that it really doesn’t matter for 99% of the world population, but hey,,,, if you are reading this it must mean something.
Art criticism is an age old pasttime, one which was fairly widespread in the wealthier nations up until the 19th century. All hell broke loose in the 20th century, and now in the first 2 decades of this 21st century, it’s all so contextual that it’s like walking through mine field. But I still love the debate about Art in spite of all these thorny obstacles. I’m just careful about with whom I’m engaging. Today, I generally engage as a painter and much less so as a critic. How I look at a painting is as important for me as it is for a baseball scout looking at young players. I share the same love and devotion of this game of Art.
To be in front of a painting, or any work of art one loves (which is engagement), can evoke the same kinds of visceral feelings to that of an epicurean seated in a three star restaurant. It’s an affair of gluttonous passion. In a work of any sort of Art I want to find a visual intelligence, something which comes out of a wide collection of ideas that one has carefully nurtured through discerning curiosity.
Like with anything, if I can assert that I am engaged, then I must also be judging. When anyone asks me what I think of such and such an artist, I now always respond by asking them of which work by such and such an artist, are they referring? It’s always best to keep it specific; “Which Picasso? "Which Tintoretto” or "which Basquait?”. It’s tidier this way with no ambiguities hanging about.
In fact, a friend in France did recently ask me what I thought of Nicholas de Staal. She had seen a large show of his and was enchanted with him, and his work (all my women friends have a crush on him). And why not? He was a very handsome man with a mysterious past of White Russian lineage and who painted very sensitive landscapes around Provence, La Drôme, Antibes and Paris. Poor guy, after a very productive life of work he killed himself at 41, by jumping out of an apartment in the middle of Antibes. So I told her, I liked many things of his very much, which was true. So yes, not only do I like many of his pictures, but I admire him even more perhaps. He loved Art passionately and though he made a small family, his life revolved around his obsession of capturing the light of Provence. What’s not to like, as my Uncle Phil in the Bronx would ask?
I saw a large show in Aix two years ago when last in France, and I surprised myself by taking lots of photos of his small things with my phone. This tells me I that I liked his work and was indeed engaged with it. I liked the graphic truth in so many images in the show, and though many were probably painted inland, many of them possessed the airiness of the sea. Indeed, many of his pictures exuded luminosity from every pore of the canvas.
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