By Helen Park Bigelow
―First full-length booklet in 20 years dedicated to the paintings and lifetime of this crucial American artist. comprises greater than ninety plates illustrating Park's improvement and profession ―Park's work have noticeable a resurgence of curiosity between creditors and associations, with 2009 exhibitions at Washington's Phillips assortment and Stanford University's Cantor Arts heart; items lately auctioned for $2.7 million at Christie's and $1.4 million at Sotheby's David Park, Painter: not anything Held again chronicles the short yet remarkably prolific occupation of this American artist, who died in 1960 at age forty nine. He used to be an essential component of the San Francisco Bay paintings neighborhood from the early Thirties on, and is counted as one of many crew of immensely talented artists who made up the Bay quarter Figurative portray circulation in its nascent years of the Nineteen Fifties. A painter deeply dedicated to humanity as an issue in an period that exalted abstraction, Park's paintings may be startling for its intensity of feeling even this present day. Writing approximately him lately, San Francisco critic Kenneth Baker famous: Park's freedom from irony will strike an individual sated by means of postmodernist flippancy as enviable and nearly past fulfillment this present day.
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Extra resources for David Park, Painter: Nothing Held Back
A moment later it was Deedie who stopped, pointing. “Look,” she said. Half hidden by trees just above a massive boulder sat the house, two stories with a porch along the front and a garage underneath. We climbed cracked concrete stairs past terraced flowerbeds crowded with weeds. We’d been told to walk right in. No one had a key to the house because the doors couldn’t shut tightly enough to lock. The door opened with such a screech PAGE 34: Fig. 17. Woman with Child, 1943 Oil on canvas, 19 1⁄2 x 13 1⁄2 in.
My uncle Ted, who was a writer, editor, and Smithsonian Magazine columnist, wrote a stunning memoir of it that appeared in the Fall 1988 issue of Yankee Magazine, commemorating the hurricane’s fiftieth anniversary. Ted experienced the storm on his twenty-first birthday while walking with his father through the woods of Peterborough. Telephone lines were down, so the next day we drove up to Peterborough to see if the house still stood. Along the way, we passed fallen trees everywhere, crashed down with rocks and clumps of earth caught in tangled roots now high in the air.
He’d move close, back off, drop away from the rest of the world. Standing there with him, you couldn’t help but look longer and more deeply. Deedie had only two weeks in San Francisco, during which she must have felt her whole vision expanding. As David’s poison oak faded, in any time they could find when he wasn’t at work, they wandered around town in a feast of buildings and gardens and galleries, looking over to the range of hills in the east, looking down to the deep, surging waters at the mouth of the Bay where the Golden Gate Bridge was about to be built.