The Diary of Brooke Stauffer:
January ’75
I have long intended to begin this diary, if that indeed be the proper designation for a casual and probably not daily record of what I consider important thoughts.
With luck these thoughts will concern art in my life, and while I would hope that they will be faithfully preserved as they occur, I know that most of my writing will be done, as is this, in the waste spaces of life – car trips, bus rides. At home I would sooner make art play music, or simply be with Sharon than spend time in such self-conscious service of my ego. As a determined non-collector of knickknacks and memorabilia (I periodically search through my bookshelves and record racks disposing of those volumes and discs which I know I shall never again wish to read or hear) the undertaking of my written self has been put off time and time again. As a habitual non-writer, I find myself laboring over these words so that these pages wily be lucid and expressive (how I shy away from the self-important honest), for I shall seldom revise them. The year-long intention of this diary (which was inspired by reading David Smith by David Smith) was finally ended and the writing itself begun by my re-reading of the same book. I only hope that I may discover myself as he did. I doubt that these ratiocinations will y as useful or necessary to another as smith’s writing were to me.
I would rather create interest than beauty. I cannot define beauty, and on the whole reject it as the measure of art. Interest is, to me, much more self-evident, as is the lack of interest. I can respect and appreciate a great deal of art that I do not “like” because I can understand in the part the process of the artist. There are so many choices and options which the artist considers and rejects in the search for interest? Meaning? Self? That he can appreciate the choices made by other, even though he may have rejected them in his own work.
6 February '75
I find that my stripe paintings are more interesting in the doing than in the appreciating, at least for me. The process feels intellectually honest, but as finished objects they are not as interesting or "attracting" as the work of my "classical" period.
Also, of course, stripe paintings are very much in the Washington contemporary tradition - I suffer minor qualms about the honesty of selling out to a popular mainstream, but I quash those misgivings as best I can. In fact, 15 or 20 narrow stripes of color and texture react more interestingly together than do 8 or 10 color-textures in my more traditional types of composition.
I am still (most self-consciously) fighting with myself about art-as-process versus art-as-object, doing what I think important vs. doing "modern art," etc.
Things Going For Me:
1. Unfailing conviction that I am the most important person in the world, in the sense that all I have is my life. If I do not do as I wish with it, I shall have no second chance and no one else to blame for my choices.
2. Complete self-confidence and a cheerful disposition. Thick skin. Other people's doubts and misgivings about my work, while they hold interest, do not inspire dismay.
3. Good health. Sick abed 1-2 days per year, hung over and/or indigested 3-4 times per year. Headaches of short duration 4-5 times per year.
4. More love and encouragement then I previously expected the existence of in this world - thank you, Sherry.
13 February '75
I have long photographed my paintings against the wall of my brick apartment building; it was conveniently nearby. However my stripe paintings, which are very busy and strongly linear in orientation did not look good against the red-brown grid. Accordingly, I slipped over to the nearby 7-11 tonight and drove 3 nails into their back wall of white-painted concrete block.
15 February '75
It is an excellent background - everything comes alive on the white wall, and I even like the large texture of the concrete blocks.
18 February '75
I love the way the world looks on overcast days. The colors are subdued and distinct, and certain shades (particularly the new green of spring leaves) stand out in extraordinary (I do not use the word in its modern connotation of fantastic or unbelievable) contrast to the surroundings. Paintings are best photographed by cloud light; direct sunlight can wash out the colors, create highlights, and overemphasize the white wall against which they hang.
Cloudy days are excellent work days. Time passes unperceived, the lure of the world outside the studio is diminished. I love to paint on cloudy days. Stripe paintings have a certain intellectual validity (how those artforum words keep cropping up) and attractiveness to the aspiring serious painter who had begun to question (and have questioned) his "traditional" compositions. In fact, they are the most sensual paintings that I have ever done - the many thin curves of color and texture react together so strongly that the number of my subjective and arbitrary choices was never greater. I am having the time of my life, cloaked within they respectable egotism of modern art.
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