Hyman Bloom was a mystic who found transcendence through color. Always an outsider, even when the, then trendy, abstract expressionists tried to adopt him as one of their own he said things like:
“I tried Abstract Expressionism and came as close to it as I wanted to, but I thought that it was mostly emotional cartharsis with no intellectual basis. It had no emotional control. All that thrashing around seemed infantile and beside the point.”
And, even more heretically:
“What I was trying to create was a complex picture in the classical sense; a work with depth and subject matter that was readable and over which I had exerted control. I thought of art as elevating, and I didn’t think Jackson Pollock even had a foot on the ladder.”
I can imagine that pissing off the mid-brow culture vultures. Then and now.
That comment about his pictures of decaying corpses and legs, I might go into that sometime. Maybe after the holidays are over.
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