I turned the corner in the gallery and a burst of color met my eyes, my breathe stolen for a moment. The artist had already taken me on an operatic journey in my visit to SFMOMA’s Joan Mitchell by the time I had arrived at the back gallery towards the end of the sweeping survey of the artist. I had flown back to San Francisco to see these paintings together, which is most likely the only time in my lifetime that the objects will be together. But, there was one piece that has stuck with me, Salut Tom, meaning “to health” in French, a sense of gratitude, a genuine reflection, and title of care. She painted it in her studio in France. Was it worth it, all that travel, for five canvases side by side? Yellows and greens were strewn about as if I was rolling down a hill in a park. The canvas dances. 

My creative journey begins in the interior. For Joan Mitchell, she was fortunate enough to craft her interior to match the french countryside. She went inside, embodied her emotions and put them on canvas. This painting was dedicated to longtime friend Tom Hess, art critic and curator. As referenced in his NY Times obituary, he “died yesterday in Lenox Hill Hospital after suffering a heart attack and collapsing at his desk in the museum.” He died in the museum, the place he loved. What a way to honor a friendship, quite a grand gesture. Here is to you Tom!, Joan yells in the gallery. Mitchell captures a friendship and used scale to illustrate her own sense of loss and love of a friend. Bridget Quinn nailed the experience of the exhibit in her most recent review. “So, it’s not just about scale, but also color, gesture, balance, and, well, everything.” Everything, Joan. It is my own experience of her work, it is everything. I mean, the paintings are that feeling that it is an answer to your deep questions on life. At least these paintings seem like an answer to something.

It might be apt timing that my reflection of this painting happened at the same time as the art world suddenly lost one of its long-time critics, Kenneth Baker. He was the lead art critic for the SF Chronicle for 30 years and during my tenure in the City. I never once agreed with his evaluation of an exhibit across institutions, as maybe critics intentionally do. I took them personally, especially if I had worked on the exhibit. I thought at times, he was out of touch, ignored curatorial intention, and missed major thematic elements. I admit, it was the typical younger person thinking that the critic was just a grumpy old man. As I gained experience, saw more art, and started writing about art myself, I came to have a deeper respect for Mr. Baker. Particularly, after my own experience of Walter de Maria’s Lightning Field, when I picked up Mr. Baker’s own essays on the sculpture. It is my favorite writing of his and has helped shape my own writing. His essays on the sculpture spanning decades are intimate, wide reaching, and surgical. His writing affirmed my own personal experience of the sculpture and the artist. After my 2018 experience of De Maria’s masterpiece, Kenneth’s writing has profoundly shaped my life. His work accomplished what great writers do sometimes, he built a bridge to a different perspective and deepened my own experience. And all I can come up with is, Salut Kenneth. 

John McMurtrie’s reflection on Kenneth Baker. 

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