Willem de Kooning

Abstract

In 1950, in Woodstock, New York, Phillip Guston spoke to me about “some great guys” (fellow artists) in New York City, who had rented a loft and met Friday evenings. He eventually took me to meet them. It was a continuation of their Waldorf Cafeteria Kaffeeklatsch evenings. The loft on Eighth Street, near University Place, was now their new headquarters, where they castigated dealers, museum directors, critics, etc., and bandied about serious discussions relating to art, philosophy, literature, poetry, as well as the paintings they were currently working on. At that time no one was well known, except among the artists, who recognized a good painter when they saw one. Since they felt their case to be hopeless, they damned the “art world” and took odd jobs as carpenters, housepainters, etc., so they could continue painting. It was at “The Club” that I met Bill. He was very unassuming and polite. Bill was not comfortable with strangers: in other words, he shut up. Once he was at ease, he would discuss—in his strong Dutch accent—subjects that interested him. He was not a cocktail-party conversationalist.