Meeting Harry Blitzstein
If one takes a walk west on Wilshire Boulevard, and then heads north along Fairfax, one walks past the imposing Los Angeles County Museum of Art, or LACMA. It is fair to say that this building casts a shadow on the artists who choose to exhibit in the immediate area around it. This is especially true of Harry Blitzstein, into whose gallery I happened to walk yesterday.
After the Second World War, in 1949, the art critic Cyril Connolly, writing the editorial for the art journal Horison, wrote: “…from now on an artist will be judged only by the resonance of his solitude or the quality of his despair.” Prophetic words indeed- one could assess all of the post-war art using only these criteria, and arrive at a valid assessment.
I was thinking, vaguely, about this as I stepped into Harry’s space. As I opened the door, my eye caught a small piece of paper in the window- on the paper were words to this effect – “Imagine finding yourself in a painting by Chagall…”
This was going to be interesting.
I ushered my family into the gallery, and spotted a narrow, tall man unwinding himself from his chair. I tried to look quickly at his work before engaging him- and loved what I saw. The walls were covered with clever, humorous, relevant images- full of pathos and charged with a rueful irony. I loved his work instantly, and moved swiftly to a sad-looking overstuffed sofa, to have a chat with him.
There is something special in the despair that characterizes the aging Jewish male, and Harry reeked of it. I felt so comfortable in his gentle presence.
“I find your images wonderful. They are very painterly”
His eyes shone up a little-
“Why thank you….”
“Where did you study?”
“Oh a very good college, right here in California. It’s called Claremont. I did a Masters there”
“And your influences…?”
“Ah, I love Goya, but I always come back to Cezanne…”
I commented that one of his paintings of a man with his mouth open in a scream reminded me of Francis Bacon…
“ I met him, you know” he said
“Oh really, tell me a bit about it…”
He then regaled us with a story of finding Bacon at his club- probably Wheelers, or the Colony, and sharing lunch and a bottle of champagne with him.
“I’ve got something else to show you…”
“Oh, what’s that…?”
“My revenge on street art” he said thinly “just wait, I’ll just phone my wife to get the movie off YouTube, I don’t know how to do it…”
So he called up his wife, who quickly instructed him, whilst we all looked around the gallery a bit more
“Ok, come see this”
We proceeded to see a short clip of Harry, the defiant septugenerian, armed with a can of spray paint, spraying his classic images, at speed, on a painted white wall that surrounded a building site. He looked so pleased with his moment of rebellion- I loved his indignation, his defiance. What a man! The clip finished with him being arrested by the LAPD, and resulted in him getting hours of community service as a punishment.
“Harry- I see this painting is not for sale…”
“Yes, I would sell it to the LACMA, but they won’t make me an offer! Otherwise, it’s not for sale”
I looked at the image- an artist with his fist raised, clutching a paintbrush, victorious and angry. It is dated 1964. Signed “Blitzstein”
I suddenly felt so akin to this man. Fuck them all Harry. Just fuck them.
I feel you solitude. And your despair.
QuietPoet Blog 