Philip Guston: Perfect Failures

"The first duty of an artist is to have freedom"

How often are poets, particularly those who have received some sort of schooling for poetry, not in an evaluative mode when reading poems, whether their’s or another’s? Some tendencies become automatic. But can someone engaged in poetry read a poem and not need to judge in what ways they perceive the poem as being “successful”?

Recently I watched a series of conversations with the artist Philip Guston, filmed before the opening of the last retrospective of his work to take place during his lifetime. I was intrigued by a number of things he said, particularly in regards to the history of modern art and its obsession with the act of creating art—and the need, he said, quoting Walter Benjamin, for a corrective through a return to form.

So many of the subliminal messages we receive from childhood, at least in America, no matter what our economic background may be, are meant to establish the importance of “success” and the need to pursue it. Usually the first thing we ask about someone, after finding out their name, and perhaps where they’re from, is the details of their occupation. Then we can evaluate how successful they are.

Guston said, “Successful is not my aim.” We can retort: of course he could say that, he was a successful artist. But much of the intrigue of Guston’s work, like that of many of his abstract contemporaries, is that they were able to liberate themselves from the need to create the perfect painting.

How can we be free of the need to be successful as artists? Of course I want to write great poems—but sometimes I write a poem simply because it allows me to express what I felt compelled to express. It may be that many of those poems will never be published, because the poetry market is ultra-competitive, and editors only need to select, and only wish to select, the most “successful” works. But a poem that made me cry as I write it doesn’t need to be published.

Guston, again: “I got sick and tired of all that Purity. I wanted to tell stories.” I often feel the same.

---

Dinner for six, 5/8/24

Riverdog Farm baby carrots roasted with brown butter and honey, carrot-ginger puree, almond and pink peppercorn dukkah, wildflowers and blossoms

King Salmon slow-roasted in fig leaves, black-eyed pea ragout with asparagus, mustard greens, and black lime

Meyer lemon angel food cake with strawberry-Meyer lemon sorbet

above: wild garlic blossoms

---

Black Lime

A condiment used extensively in Persian cuisine, black lime is simply lime that has been sliced and dehydrated until the flesh is firm and black. The dehydration process brings out the floral qualities of the lime, and adds a wonderful and complex sour note to any dish.

They are extremely easy to prepare, and an excellent addition to your pantry. All I do is slice them into rounds about a centimeter thick, then leave them on the tray of a dehydrator at the lowest setting, or on a baking tray in the oven with the heat turned off, for anywhere from 24 hours to 3 days. Usually I flip them once or twice during that time. The ambient temperature of an oven with the heat turned off is exactly that of a professional dehydrator, 150 degrees F. When ready to use, poke the black flesh out of the slices without getting any of the pith (I like to use a chopstick for this part, which makes the process much easier). You can chop and garnish a fish with the black lime, or add it to a sauce, or anything else that might be helped with sourness. I have also seen whole halves of black lime added to stews.

They look like stained glass windows in the light: