My recollection of Addison Parks will appear in "Provincetown Arts" at the end of this month

Addison Parks

(1953–2018)

WHEN JOYCE CREIGER paired Addison and me

for our inaugural show in 1998 at the Creiger-

Dane Gallery on Newbury Street, little did we

know that she had initiated our twenty-year-long

friendship. Little did I know that my exhibition

partner had already achieved renown in the ’80s

in New York, not long after graduating from the

Rhode Island School of Design as part of the

neo-Expressionists with shows at the Joan Washburn

and Andrew Crispo galleries. He achieved

parallel success as an art critic at ARTS Magazine

and, when he moved to Boston, at the Christian

Science Monitor.

In 1998, Addison drew on his New York and

Boston connections to mount a show of hybrid

abstraction at Creiger-Dane entitled Severed Ear,

which, in retrospect, could only be considered

postmodern anticipating the Provisionalist

painting that Raphael Rubinstein labeled as

such in 2007. It bespoke his ability to befriend

a diverse group of artists and also a highly intuitive

mind that could sense connections unseen

to most people.

For more than a decade, Addison and his

wife, Stacey Parks, ran the Bow Street Gallery

in Cambridge. On occasion, he would host

luncheons with gallery members and other gallerists

where there were vibrant discussions on

art that one gallery member described as Pinteresque.

These are memories of Addison at his

best, a brilliant conversationalist bringing people

together to discuss the topics of art and life that

defined his existence.

People remember him. One evening, I was

conversing with someone at the Milton Resnick

and Pat Pasloff Foundation, telling him about

the death of Larry Deyab, who had been Resnick’s

studio assistant. Somehow the conversation

turned to Addison’s death, and he said

Addison had reviewed his first show in NYC.

Recently, a Boston artist contacted me out of

the blue to tell me what an impact Severed Ear

had on his life and art. Addison was not a happy

camper in Boston, and justifiably so, since a

certain fussbudget mentality reigns in this town

that was not sympathetic to charismatic types

like him. He was an enthusiast in an art scene

defined by doctors and lawyers.

What is most memorable about Addison is

his unbending resistance to those experts who

wished to define him, whether it was the doctors

who set timelines on his illness, or a stockbroker

who thought he should go all tech stock in 2000.

Sometimes I almost wondered if he possessed

the wisdom of a shaman in the way his insights

seemed to transcend the boundaries of practical

knowledge. For all of these things and more, he

will be greatly missed.

— Martin Mugar