I didn’t know Philip Pearlstein long enough for him to be a true mentor, but even so he made a powerful and long-lasting impression on me. During the 80’s Philip was on the staff of Brooklyn College. His presence was the main reason Brooklyn College’s graduate fine arts department was ranked #2 in the country behind only Yale. He left for–if memory serves–a two-year sabbatical after my first semester in the graduate fine arts program.
He visited my personal studio (really just a room in my Brooklyn apartment) several times, The space assigned to me on campus was in an old theater building. I shared the stage–literally–with another grad student. Philip made weekly visits to the campus ‘studios.’
Many people I’ve met with international reputations have disappointed but not Philip. He fulfilled my expectations–and then some! His love for teaching and his heart-felt interest in his students was natural and unaffected. He was completely free of the arrogance that many lesser-talented artists display.
Philip was curious. He had the rare ability to engage students’ work which made his critiques memorable. He was a serious man and serious about art and expected you to be the same. He was blunt and delivered his views without self-serving cant. If you have been around a graduate art department then you know how unusual this is.
Philip Pearlstein
I considered Philip one of America’s great artist, which was why I went to BC. Time has done nothing to diminish that opinion. I’ve written about his Female Model on African Stool which is one of favorite paintings at the Cleveland Museum of Art.
Pearlstein’s Female Model on African Stool
The last time he visited my home studio–the last time I saw him–we had a long discussion about the art world. He was very encouraging, saying, among other things, “You are ready. Don’t listen to anyone; don’t let anyone dissuade you from your path.” I think that was advice he followed himself.
We spent the remainder of the afternoon pouring over the New York Gallery Guide (this was 1985–no internet). He would say, “Don’t bother with that one,” putting an X next the gallery.
Or, “Go to this one and tell them I sent you,” putting another mark next to that one.
Frequently he said, “Go to this one but don’t tell them I sent you or they’ll kick you out–they hate my guts,” and he’d put a mark next to that one too.
The New York Gallery Guide had hundreds of listings and we went through them all, marking each one.
The next day I was dismayed to discover that the Guide was so marked up that it was impossible to decipher. I couldn’t distinguish the “tell them I sent yous” from the ” do not mention my names.” I was never able to use the information. Every fight he had with the galleries since arriving in New York with Andy Warhol (a friend from Pittsburgh) in the 50’s remained fresh in Philip’s mind.
Philip was a beacon for young artists: a figurative artist interested in life and nature. When I was young and before I knew him, his work pulled me through many dark nights. It still does. I still learn a lot from him.