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Kingfisher
Summer
2002 page two |
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| Say Goodnight Poetry Northwest—long the exclusive property of Poet David Wagoner—is folding its tent, and stealing away, largely because of lack of subscriber support and money from the English Department, Graduate School¸ and Arts and Sciences at the University of Washington. John Marshall, Seattle P-I book reporter, aptly describes Wagoner (an important poet in his own right and editor of the magazine for 34 years) as both its strength and weakness. He turned aside many suggestions for improving it. Though its circulation was only about a thousand, the magazine received around 15,000 submissions each year and published 150-160 poems that the editor liked. Wagoner drew a half-time salary from the English Department equal to about the magazine’s annual deficit. The magazine’s managing editor was Wagoner’s wife, who also drew a salary until 1998. Financial problems had plagued the magazine for decades and it was not uncommon for the English Department to feed it $15 to $20,000 to keep it going. But enough is enough, the University decided. The magazine will be missed, but not by many.
Arthur Greeno Reports (in his own Inimitable Style) on Happenings at the Skagit River Poetry Festival, with special emphasis on continuing efforts to collect and publish the poetry of Robert Sund, who you will remember was featured in the initial issue of Kingfisher Journal. It was wonderful
being back in the Skagit once again.......my skin suddenly softens, the
heart beats easier, and there is soooooooo much air..........then,
everywhere i turn, a friendly face with warm the opening night
poet, Naomi Shihab, moved me with poems of Palestine and Israel.....real
people on both sides loving, laughing, and suffering "the sins of
the fathers"...... she also visited our table in the Sam Greene paid
homage to Robert at the first reading on Saturday morning to a packed
hall..... he read several of Robert's poems......and paid kind
tribute.......the audience response was warm and receptive.
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Foster-White
Sale of NW Favorites
On its Webpage, Foster-White Gallery (Pioneer Square) is pushing some nice paintings by Guy Anderson, Richard Gilkey, and Rosalyn Gale Powell. Of course they are for sale, but it is fun to visit them online or in person. http://fosterwhite.com/exhibits/index.cgi?id=36 Anderson and Gilkey were prolific painters and produced numerous paintings over long careers. Not all of them sold originally and many others come onto the secondary market from time to time. These are proven artists whose work remains popular. Not everybody realizes that a few are for sale at almost all times. At F-W, there are huge Andersons that sell un to $40,000, but there are also small monoprints and woodblocks that can be bought for as little as $400, if you don't mind others owning the same print. Alas, some of them are crudely and poorly framed; too bad F-W or Darrell Wall (Anderson's friend and estate administrator) didn't see fit to remount them more respectfully and attractively. They could be priced much higher. Powell paints mainly flower arrangement and many people like them greatly. She never achieved major artist status but has long been an admired and successful painter. Thus her prices are lower than paintings by some of the others in what now might be termed The Iridescent Light School. They might even be considered bargains. Back
Azimuth: Matthew Kangas on the Book, Iridescent Light And what is wrong about it? Isn't art criticism a wide-open field that can be practiced by anyone with a pencil and someone dumb enough to publish what he's written? Yes and no. Mary Randlett "the most powerful person in the history of Pacific Northwest art?" Hardly. What she is is a documentary photographer of no special talent who, because of birth and inclination, was present at so many gatherings in which the Big Four Luminaries were present, her Rolleflex snapping away, or whatever it is a leaf shutter does. And she added to her repertoire by getting to know and photographing many other local artist. Her portraits of them are wooden and lifeless, for the most part, caught up in some terrible timeless frieze. The artist among them I knew were hardly this. They were vital, dynamic persons, often a blurred motion. As for portraiture, see the photo of Ken Callahan by Marsha Burns in the previous issue. For that matter, see any of the portraits on that page. Kangas takes a series of potshots at artists he doesn't like because of their work or his personality conflicts with them. Such dislikes are numerous and intellectually unjustified. Here's how you dismiss a number of artists with one blast of birdshot from your gun: Jovonen, Washington Jr., Philip McCracken, and Wehr were "so wrapped up in their own derivative styles that they get separate treatment away from the shadow of the "mystics" they idolized." This doesn't make sense. They got separate treatment because they didn't fit the mold, not that there is any. This might be seen as an argument for each's originality. All named are very different. I especially resent McCracken being included in the toady list. Influences on him include Everett DuPen, with whom he studied at the UW, and of course Henry Moore, another teacher. But the pupil's work is original and the only thing I can think to say about him is that he likes birds excessively, particularly owls, which seems to come with living in the northwest. Tony Angel is equally guilty. James is a mediocre artist, dealing in stone sculpture and now exclusively in oil paint, who is in the book chiefly because of politics. His wife is Barbara Starker James, curator of MONA, and one-time friend of Morris Graves. (These old friendships, I've notice, are carried individually into the long, unverifiable future.) There is one other point that badly needs to be acknowledged, and that is the sad fact that MONA raised about $40,000 in contributions to fund Ament while she wrote the book. She could hardly bite the hand that was feeding her. With a blast from the
second barrel of his shotgun, Kangas disposes of another group of
artists, whom he says "respond to local landscapes and waterfalls
in ways that now appear turgid and dated, eons away from Tobey's
delicate brushwork." These include Koenig, "recluses"
Richard Gilkey and Clayton James," What? This is odd indeed. You can be a recluse and not be turgid and dated; being a recluse has nothing to do with the matter at hand, which is talent. Now, Gilkey is a favorite of mine, so I am resentful. Landscape painters such as Constable and Turner, not to mention Cezzane and Van Gogh, could be excused for the same reasons. We all live in a particular place and at a particular time, yet we are all special. And, really now, how can a landscape be dated? Only the technique can. And what is that but canvas, brush or palate knife, and oil paint? All artists, talented or otherwise, have this much in common. Admittedly Iridescent Light lumps artists of talent with those who, ahem, barely make the grade and have small skills. Wehr is one of them, a miniaturist with a talent to match, but to indulge in a public catfight, and one in print, is hardly the matter that is at stake. Kangas degrades himself to belatedly return a volley that never had any substance, in the first place. Worse, by dismissing the book as being of little or no value, and elevating two museum catalogs to be read in its place, he does a disservice to those of us who love Northwest art and want to see it gets its long-awaited due. Ament's book does that, and does it well. Kangas'
few good points in the review (which appears hastily written and dyspeptic
in nature) are easily overlooked because of his venom, and thus he does
himself considerable harm as both an art critic and a person. Shortly. Photomontage Gallery in LaConner has moved to Bellevue in hope that more people there will buy its large-format photos. The fine corner house location has been taken over by Amenities Gallery, which has a lot of stuff, most of it unexciting, but photos by William Schumm are excellent and a good buy at $275, nicely framed in the prevalent style of wide white mat and silver frame. Say it! "Anna Sophie Mutter." Remember, Mutter is pronounced Moo-ter. Say it again. Louder. Fun, isn't it? Even more fun than the chant, YoYo Ma. Or isn't this your koan today?
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