Journal Series - AH

Dumont didn't keep a journal in the typical sense. Most of his journal stuff was just a mismash of different thoughts, different ideas. But from time to time he would date stuff like a journal only the sequense of events never lasted that long. Sometimes just for several days, sometimes a week, or in this case, for an entire month. This is one of Wesley's longer running journal sequences.

Without giving much away, this stretch was a period of excitement and charm for Wesley. It takes place in the Spring of 1961. He was working for an artist who's name he never mentioned, but based on the descriptions of the work and the activities around the studio he worked in, the artist was a contemporary of Andy Warhol, Robert Raushenberg, and the other New York artists that were hitting their stride in the early 60s. For all I know, "AH" could have been code for one of these very artists. I don't know. Dumont did mention that he had known quite a few of most prolific artists New York had ever known, but I didn't actually take him all that serious at the time. Everyone has a prolific list of fish stories to tell in dive bars on Tuesday afternoons.

Journal Entry #1. April 9, 1961
I met AH at a bar in the Village last week and despite the fact he was as drunk as a sailor when he offered me the job I showed up at his studio on Wednesday morning just has he'd suggested. I even showered.

The door downstairs was cracked a bit so I let myself in and up the stairs to the main studio. It was large and uncluttered. Most of the activity was taking place in one corner by the windows with the most light while the rest of the space was lost in shadow. It was cool and breezy; wind passed through the lazy white curtains in a joyful way. I announced myself with a loud hello that echoed around in his giant chamber.

AH was startled. He came to me and it took a few minutes for him to remember who I was. I got the distinct feeling he was going to throw me out due to shame until I became curious as to what he was working on and made my way over to the canvas in the corner.

It was a shocking mess of greens and blues, pinks and purples. Vague figures moving in unspeakable ways, draped on one another as if Caligula and his horde had invaded a Matisse picnic. I was horrified. He called it "Daffodil" which confused me. But I feigned interest and asked to see more which flattered him just enough to give me the work he'd promised.

I stretched canvases all day. It took me awhile to get used to it but I did, stretching them against wooden frames as taut as drums.

AH and I lunched on peanut butter sandwiches and soda. He was curious about my life and I was candid in my answers. We agreed I'd come back Friday. I left with $10 in my pocket which I quickly turned into beer.