Vincent Katz
Some Thoughts on the Paintings and Poetics of Basil King
Basil King studied figure drawing with Joe Fiore and Esteban Vicente at Black Mountain College. But the aesthetic there that was being taught was abstraction. So even though, in the classes King took, they drew from the figure, the philosophy was abstract. In 1958, King moved to New York City. At different times he worked as a studio assistant for Adolph Gottlieb, Mark Rothko, and Robert Motherwell. That was a hiatus of about one and a half years, 1964 to 1965, during which King did no painting and drawing at all. In the mid to late 1960s, he started doing work of a more organic nature, using organic forms. And in the 1970s he began to paint and draw the figure.
Who are these figures? They're not literal, realistic, portraits. They're essences, maybe some would use the word ghosts. His paintings affect how we see. We go down into the subway, and we see people who look like Basil Kings.
Here are some questions worth keeping in mind when considering Basil King’s life’s work:
What does it mean to be more than one thing, so that being a writer is not the whole story? Being a witness, a memoirist, is not the whole story. Being a draughtsman and painter is not the whole story.
What are the tools we need to evaluate someone who is outside of traditional categories?
What can we learn by comparing how King puts images into painting versus how he puts images into writing?
How does King's work help us to define or think about the word line both as it functions in a poetic context and in the context of painting or drawing?
Similarly, how does King's work help us think about the concept of color in both poetry and painting?
What are the meanings of space and surface when applied to poetry? How does King's work help us to make these analogies?
What can we gain in our knowledge of King's achievement by thinking about such figures as Jackson Pollock, Franz Kline, Rothko, Gottlieb, and also Charles Olson, Robert Creeley and other poets he knew and worked with?
There is a famous photo from 1956, known as the last photo taken at Black Mountain College. And in it King is sitting there, near the front, smiling. He said that Olson did actually call everyone together for that picture. I'd like to point out that in this photograph of a few people huddled on the floor is everyone who was at Black Mountain at the time, teachers and students. Black Mountain was never large; it had about 1300 students for its whole history of 23 years. But it was getting smaller and smaller, and this is how it ended. Here is the photo, a grouping of seminal figures, who were really trying to forge a new way. In addition to Olson, of course, in the middle, there is the painter Joe Fiore, on the bottom right, who was a painting instructor. To Fiore’s right is the poet Ebbe Borregaard. Dan Rice is there, in the front. He is looking very cool; he was a professional jazz trumpeter, as well as a painter and illustrator.
In Mirage, published in 2003, Basil writes about this photo: "I felt guilty / it is there in the photo / Black Mountain is closing." Which is a really interesting way of looking at it, because he doesn't look like he feels guilty to me, he looks like he's having a great time — he's enjoying this moment, he's enjoying the fact that is the last photograph. But when he looks at it, that's what he feels. And then also in that same poem, a little later on, Charles Olson speaking, says "Go away / and when you are ready / come back / with something / for us".
So now we should go through some of Basil’s books. These are some questions that come to me from reading his book Warp Spasm published in 2001: This idea of writing about artists — how does Basil King write about artists? What kinds of writing does he mix up in his writing about artists? What is the effect of mixing autobiography, and history, and fantasy?
Here is a quote from Warp Spasm: "For a very short time New York City and Black Mountain held the arts in the palms of their hands. But it wasn't my time, it wasn't for me, not then. I saw my commitment." What was that commitment?
Here's another quote, also from Warp Spasm: "Nobody, nobody paints just for themselves, nobody. Oh let there be nobody, paint nobody, paint language. Nobody, nobody paints just for themselves."
So I want to ask: For whom does Basil King paint? And also, a related question: What is the function of repetition in his work, in both writing and painting? He has also said that he does not do individual paintings or drawings, that it's not his manner of working, that he always works serially. So does he do that for himself? Or is there this extended family in mind?
Wait a second, wait a second. So I woke everyone up. I have an observation, which that is that I think that Basil is a feminist artist. Here is a quote from Mirage, and it's interesting because he makes a connection, and here is the quote: "When I was eleven my father changed our name from Cohen to King, conversion hurts. Women must have known this for centuries, they had to take their husband's name, part their legs, and give him a place." And there are numerous occasions in the writing where, to me, there is really a feminist awareness.
*
I first met Basil and Martha King in Madrid, in 2001, where I had been preparing the installation of an exhibition I curated on Black Mountain College. I had an immediate connection to both of them, as if I had known them for a long, long time. And I wrote a short poem then. It's dedicated to them, and it gives a little bit of a sense of that first meeting:
Place
To Basil and Martha King
Maybe my place is here
where no one thinks it strange
to sit on a step
in a large square
made of modern stone
and children run and shout
on one level, below
while above the older ones kick balls
and everyone is all together
and the day is ending
but not yet: brilliant sun
hits the clock atop the train station
yet no one hurries
everyone understands
everyone
I think this idea of understanding, which I got in that meeting, coming from them, is central to the discussion of the humanity, or humanism, of both of them, but in particular the work of Basil King. The best we can do for people is judge them, I once wrote in a poem. How do you do that? Partially, it is as a person. What are his politics? How great is her or his sense of compassion? How is the person as a member of the community? All these matters affect our judgment of someone as an artist. We judge artists partially by how they relate to their time; partially by how they fulfill the tasks they set themselves; also, we judge their technical qualities.
To this end we might ask about Basil King’s use of poetry. I am thinking of how King’s poetry lines are broken, the actual prosody of his poetry, what the effects are of his long thin lines that have maybe just one word per line, versus blocks of prose, how he does that.
I propose that it's useful to judge a hybrid figure not in terms of just one art form but rather as a totality. There are a number of people who fit into that framework, including Rudy Burckhardt, Wallace Berman, and Richard Hell, all of whose work I am very interested in.
A similar observation can be made about King’s use of poetry: it should be judged as part of the totality of his written output, maybe even his entire artistic output. Maybe it is not right to judge King as a poet per se, but rather to consider his poetry as part of a continuum of his expression, in a mix of fiction, memoir, art historical, critical, writing, plus work in paint, ink, chalk, and so on.
Suffice it to say that King is a hybrid figure; he can’t be pinned down to one discipline. To evaluate his output in one area, without taking into context the range of his activities, would be to miss an essential fluctuation in our century’s motion.
Basil King studied figure drawing with Joe Fiore and Esteban Vicente at Black Mountain College. But the aesthetic there that was being taught was abstraction. So even though, in the classes King took, they drew from the figure, the philosophy was abstract. In 1958, King moved to New York City. At different times he worked as a studio assistant for Adolph Gottlieb, Mark Rothko, and Robert Motherwell. That was a hiatus of about one and a half years, 1964 to 1965, during which King did no painting and drawing at all. In the mid to late 1960s, he started doing work of a more organic nature, using organic forms. And in the 1970s he began to paint and draw the figure.
Who are these figures? They're not literal, realistic, portraits. They're essences, maybe some would use the word ghosts. His paintings affect how we see. We go down into the subway, and we see people who look like Basil Kings.
Here are some questions worth keeping in mind when considering Basil King’s life’s work:
What does it mean to be more than one thing, so that being a writer is not the whole story? Being a witness, a memoirist, is not the whole story. Being a draughtsman and painter is not the whole story.
What are the tools we need to evaluate someone who is outside of traditional categories?
What can we learn by comparing how King puts images into painting versus how he puts images into writing?
How does King's work help us to define or think about the word line both as it functions in a poetic context and in the context of painting or drawing?
Similarly, how does King's work help us think about the concept of color in both poetry and painting?
What are the meanings of space and surface when applied to poetry? How does King's work help us to make these analogies?
What can we gain in our knowledge of King's achievement by thinking about such figures as Jackson Pollock, Franz Kline, Rothko, Gottlieb, and also Charles Olson, Robert Creeley and other poets he knew and worked with?
There is a famous photo from 1956, known as the last photo taken at Black Mountain College. And in it King is sitting there, near the front, smiling. He said that Olson did actually call everyone together for that picture. I'd like to point out that in this photograph of a few people huddled on the floor is everyone who was at Black Mountain at the time, teachers and students. Black Mountain was never large; it had about 1300 students for its whole history of 23 years. But it was getting smaller and smaller, and this is how it ended. Here is the photo, a grouping of seminal figures, who were really trying to forge a new way. In addition to Olson, of course, in the middle, there is the painter Joe Fiore, on the bottom right, who was a painting instructor. To Fiore’s right is the poet Ebbe Borregaard. Dan Rice is there, in the front. He is looking very cool; he was a professional jazz trumpeter, as well as a painter and illustrator.
In Mirage, published in 2003, Basil writes about this photo: "I felt guilty / it is there in the photo / Black Mountain is closing." Which is a really interesting way of looking at it, because he doesn't look like he feels guilty to me, he looks like he's having a great time — he's enjoying this moment, he's enjoying the fact that is the last photograph. But when he looks at it, that's what he feels. And then also in that same poem, a little later on, Charles Olson speaking, says "Go away / and when you are ready / come back / with something / for us".
So now we should go through some of Basil’s books. These are some questions that come to me from reading his book Warp Spasm published in 2001: This idea of writing about artists — how does Basil King write about artists? What kinds of writing does he mix up in his writing about artists? What is the effect of mixing autobiography, and history, and fantasy?
Here is a quote from Warp Spasm: "For a very short time New York City and Black Mountain held the arts in the palms of their hands. But it wasn't my time, it wasn't for me, not then. I saw my commitment." What was that commitment?
Here's another quote, also from Warp Spasm: "Nobody, nobody paints just for themselves, nobody. Oh let there be nobody, paint nobody, paint language. Nobody, nobody paints just for themselves."
So I want to ask: For whom does Basil King paint? And also, a related question: What is the function of repetition in his work, in both writing and painting? He has also said that he does not do individual paintings or drawings, that it's not his manner of working, that he always works serially. So does he do that for himself? Or is there this extended family in mind?
Wait a second, wait a second. So I woke everyone up. I have an observation, which that is that I think that Basil is a feminist artist. Here is a quote from Mirage, and it's interesting because he makes a connection, and here is the quote: "When I was eleven my father changed our name from Cohen to King, conversion hurts. Women must have known this for centuries, they had to take their husband's name, part their legs, and give him a place." And there are numerous occasions in the writing where, to me, there is really a feminist awareness.
*
I first met Basil and Martha King in Madrid, in 2001, where I had been preparing the installation of an exhibition I curated on Black Mountain College. I had an immediate connection to both of them, as if I had known them for a long, long time. And I wrote a short poem then. It's dedicated to them, and it gives a little bit of a sense of that first meeting:
Place
To Basil and Martha King
Maybe my place is here
where no one thinks it strange
to sit on a step
in a large square
made of modern stone
and children run and shout
on one level, below
while above the older ones kick balls
and everyone is all together
and the day is ending
but not yet: brilliant sun
hits the clock atop the train station
yet no one hurries
everyone understands
everyone
I think this idea of understanding, which I got in that meeting, coming from them, is central to the discussion of the humanity, or humanism, of both of them, but in particular the work of Basil King. The best we can do for people is judge them, I once wrote in a poem. How do you do that? Partially, it is as a person. What are his politics? How great is her or his sense of compassion? How is the person as a member of the community? All these matters affect our judgment of someone as an artist. We judge artists partially by how they relate to their time; partially by how they fulfill the tasks they set themselves; also, we judge their technical qualities.
To this end we might ask about Basil King’s use of poetry. I am thinking of how King’s poetry lines are broken, the actual prosody of his poetry, what the effects are of his long thin lines that have maybe just one word per line, versus blocks of prose, how he does that.
I propose that it's useful to judge a hybrid figure not in terms of just one art form but rather as a totality. There are a number of people who fit into that framework, including Rudy Burckhardt, Wallace Berman, and Richard Hell, all of whose work I am very interested in.
A similar observation can be made about King’s use of poetry: it should be judged as part of the totality of his written output, maybe even his entire artistic output. Maybe it is not right to judge King as a poet per se, but rather to consider his poetry as part of a continuum of his expression, in a mix of fiction, memoir, art historical, critical, writing, plus work in paint, ink, chalk, and so on.
Suffice it to say that King is a hybrid figure; he can’t be pinned down to one discipline. To evaluate his output in one area, without taking into context the range of his activities, would be to miss an essential fluctuation in our century’s motion.