Why I am not a painter [by Emma Trelles]

                                                                     "Sardines," by Michael Goldberg, 1955

1. I can't draw.

2. I am already a  dilettante on the bass guitar.

3. I prefer mulling to doing.

4. I hope never to attend Art Basel Miami Beach again. Okay, maybe the more intriguing satellite fairs, but that is absolutely it.

5. Chemicals make me sneeze. A lot.

 

Why I Am Not a Painter

by Frank O'Hara

I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is

and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.

 

Hold up: I just discovered this love letter that Joan Mitchell wrote to Michael Goldberg while he was in Rockland State Hospital, Orangeburg, N.Y., "in lieu of serving prison time for writing bad checks on her husband's account." Thank you Washington Post, for feeding my lust for all that was Mitchell.

Wednesday

Hey beautiful,

Just got your letter . . . -- God you mean a lot to me -- it's never been like this before in my life. I cleaned the studio -- made the bed . . . -- I'm using the paint off your palette -- I feel so close to you . . . -- I'm drinking the beer you left on the windowsill -- & I'm kissing you -- this I do all the time . . .

Back to the O'Hara poem: It's not only one of my many faves by him, but it also inspired the title of Oranges and Sardines, a visual art and literature magazine that's as delicious to look at as it is to read. Do both for free at the link above, or buy the hard body here.

Below, from the current issue of O&S,  is "Fashionstar," an oil on board by Jason John. It's followed up by an excerpt from

Jay Snodgrass'  "Cadaver as Readymade,"  which I suggest you eat before it eats you.

There is only the idea of seeing. The body,

field-dumped, framed in grass and road side.

See her turn over, minotaur to the grain?

 

This is the poem getting up, coming through

black and white history, her two halves

tortured by memory, the same way love

 

goes on, if we remember. It is not

you looking through the peephole, but

the poem, posed for the show. See?

 

It is the poem who is eating you.

Comments

[Laura Orem]

Terrific.

[Bernadette Geyer]

"Why I am Not a Painter" has always been one of my favorite poems... I didn't realize (though now it seems quite obvious) it was the inspiration for the name of the journal Oranges & Sardines.

[DL]

Perfect. Great to see Mike Goldberg's "Sardines." Did you know that July 14, 1959 was -- like today -- a Tuesday?

[Pris Campbell]

Way to go, Emma. Great blog!

[Denise]

Emma,

Great post! You are also not a painter because you are such a good reviewer of art!!

Dense (Frank's illegitimate daughter)

[Emma Trelles]

Thanks to all for your visits and comments; please keep 'em coming! It's great to hear your insights and feedback.

Bernadette- that little backstory was told to me by O&S publisher, Didi Menendez, who has also blogged for BAP.

David - I did not know that about 07-14-59. Could greater poetic forces be at work?

[Grace Cavalieri]

This Emma is the woman of all seasons. She can write, she can curate, she can poet around.She can critique art and literature. She is cute. A born BAP blogger. I love her