I discovered this painting I did in the 90's on line .It had been in auction in Provincetown last year.

http://www.bakkerart.com/2011_Sampler_Auction.html

Scroll down to the M's.It did not sell according to the text file.It was from a series all of which I regrettably gave away as either birthday gifts or to auctions.I think this may have been from an AIDS auction in Boston at the Cyclorama.I was looking at Howard Hodgkin and Al Held.
Addison Parks and Larry Deyab see a Bess influence but I did not know his work at the time.

Here is another one.They are both small paintings on board.

 

There seems to be a momentary revival of interest in Forrest Bess.Roberta Smith wrote about him in the NY Times.Here is Addison Parks from 1981 in a much more insightful essay

http://www.forrestbess.com/

Compare Parks to Roberta Smith's need to put Bess into the context of the Minimalists.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/23/arts/design/forrest-bess-paintings-at-christies-and-whitney-biennial.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=forrest%20bess&st=cse










Addison's latest essay on Bess on his new and improved blog Artdeal

m/

Elaboration of a recent essay from my blog appears on Berkshire Fine Arts

Berkshire Fine Arts

                                             A work by Don Shambroom in the Met

After Becketts's struggles during WW11,fighting with the resistance and trying to not be caught by the Nazi's,a change came over his work.Some called it a sort of passivity.I think openess would be a better term,closer to Meister Eckhardt's Gelassenheit.This quote points to what happened within him.

At the close of this long, impassioned letter of March 9, 1949, Beckett declares himself “no longer capable of writing in any sustained way about Bram or about anything,” a disclaimer that is almost comical when one considers the dense pages of forensic disquisition that have gone before, as Gunn points out. Yet we must fix on the vital word here, for in the next breath Beckett declares: “I am no longer capable of writing about.” This is far more than—perhaps is not at all—a confession of critical impotence. Years earlier, at the end of the 1920s, in an essay on Finnegans Wake the young Beckett had insisted that Joyce’s final masterpiece is not about something, but is something, a thing-in-itself that is only comprehensible in its own terms. Now, in the controlled frenzy of the composition of L’Innommable, Beckett is aiming at a similar autonomy of the work, by seeking to instill in himself as artist that sense he perceived in Cézanne “of his incommensurability not only with life of such a different order as landscape but even with life of his own order, even with the life…operative in himself.”⁸