Since 1903, members of Arts and Letters have delivered commemorative tributes to fellow members who have passed away. These remarks celebrate and reflect on the lives and work of the members being honored and acknowledge their contribution to the arts. A selection of tributes is now available in the digital archive below. As we prepared this archive, we were reminded that these tributes reflect their times, and, in some instances, include terminology and social and moral judgments we do not endorse.
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I met Bill around 1935 and even then his painting was highly regarded by many artists. We became friends and remained very close from then on. I often watched him paint. He was always deeply involved in his work. His clothes were paint-splattered and he was surrounded by large numbers of canvases in progress. We talked about art: ancient, modern, and current. We also shared a common interest in music, spending many hours listening to the classics: Bach, Mozart, and many others: not as background noise. It affected us deeply. The artists met in cafeterias in order to talk about art. We would develop our ideas in heated discussion. It was well before the term abstract expressionism was invented. We knew we could rely on our experience in the process of working, that one's instincts and feelings were to be followed. Of course, surrealism and ideas about the unconscious were in the air at the time. Arshile Gorky once exclaimed, “We must confess!" We knew what he meant by that. It was a difficult period for de Kooning. He was not able to stay on the W.P.A. project because he was not a citizen. Bill and I often worried about how to pay our rent.
In the fifties the economic situation began to improve gradually. What a contrast it was for de Kooning: in 1926 he left Holland and jumped ship in the U.S. becoming an illegal alien. In September of 1964, he invited me and my wife, Ernestine, to accompany him to Washington, D.C., where we witnessed President Johnson placing the Freedom Medal around the neck of an honored American.
As the sale of his paintings improved he was able to build his fabulous studio in East Hampton. However, around that time his drinking also increased. The irony is that after years of struggle, when success was finally there, he was not able to really enjoy it.
His art was absolutely central to his life. He rarely talked about anything but art. Even in the declining years he was able to continue to paint and to create new visions. At the last he was looked after by his daughter, Lisa, and round-the-clock nurses. I believe he was one of the most important artists of this century.
Read at the Academy Dinner Meeting on November 5, 1997.