domingo, 28 de febrero de 2016

'Holy Grail' Beatles record to be auctioned
'Holy Grail' Beatles record to be auctioned
26 February 2016

First Beatles record
The 78 RPM record was the first Beatles disc to be cut

An extremely rare and valuable Beatles record that was found languishing in a loft is to be auctioned next month.

Described as "a Holy Grail item", the 1962 10-inch record of Till There Was You and Hello Little Girl lay forgotten in the home of Les Maguire for decades.

Maguire, the keyboardist in fellow Liverpool act Gerry and the Pacemakers, said it could be seen as the record "that sparked The Beatles' success".

The acetate bears the handwriting of the Fab Four's manager Brian Epstein.

A conservative estimate is that the 78 RPM record - the first Beatles disc to be cut before the band broke through into the national charts in late 1962 - will fetch upwards of £10,000 when it is auctioned, although it is such a rare item it is difficult to predict what the sale price will be.

The record of Till There was You - mislabelled by Epstein as 'Til There was You and described as being the work of "Paul McCartney & The Beatles" - was made at the HMV store in Oxford Street, London.
It was presented to future Beatles producer George Martin at the EMI record label in a bid to secure the band a recording contract.

Hello Little Girl, on the other side, which was again mislabelled by Epstein - as Hullo Little Girl - was described as being the work of "John Lennon & The Beatles".
Maguire, 74, of Formby, Merseyside, was given the disc by Epstein in 1963 after it had been returned to him by Martin.

Gerry and the Pacemakers
The record was kept in the loft of the home of Les Maguire (far left) for more than 50 years

Maguire described the record as "a special piece" and "a one-off".

"I've never been a big fan of memorabilia, but people seem to like it," he said.

"It's no good to me so I've given it to my granddaughter, who is hoping to buy a house after passing her accountancy exams. I hope it goes for a good price."

The record is being sold for the first time, having been locked away in Maguire's loft, carefully wrapped in paper, for more than 50 years.

The Beatles went on to record 17 UK number one singles

Beatles historian Mark Lewisohn said in his book, Tune In, that the uniqueness of the disc is "enhanced by Brian Epstein's handwriting on the labels, and the recognition of what it led to".

Despite initial reticence from Martin, The Beatles would sign to EMI in 1962 before going on to become one of the most successful and influential bands of all time.

The recording is, Lewisohn wrote, one of the "rarest and most collectable of all Beatles records".

Ian Shirley, editor of Record Collector Rare Record Price Guide, described the disc as a "Holy Grail item".

Beatles' first record
Till There Was You was written by Meredith Willson in 1957

He said it would "fascinate Beatles collectors worldwide" and would "no doubt attract bids from those with deep pockets".

The sale is to take place at Omega Auctions in Warrington on 22 March and will be broadcast live online for worldwide bidding.
The Beatles Auction 2016

Tuesday 22nd March 2016: The Beatles Collection
Venue: Warrington Auction Room 
Viewing: Monday 21st March 11.00am - 6.00pm
Viewing: Tuesday 22nd March 9.00am - 12.00pm
Fianl closing date for entries: 4th March

We have some fabulous items in this sale including the 'holy grail' demo record as reported on BBC:


Rare Beatles Demo Disc

One of the rarest and most collectable of all Beatles records is expected to sell for over £10,000 when it comes up for sale next month. The unique ten-inch 78RPM acetate record featuring ‘Hello Little Girl’ on one side and ‘Till There Was You’ on the other was cut at the HMV record store on Oxford St London before being presented by the group’s manager Brian Epstein to George Martin (EMI) in his desperate attempt to get them a recording contract. This meeting, despite Martin’s initial reticence, was to eventually lead to the breakthrough they were looking for. 

In his book Tune In, the leading Beatles historian Mark Lewisohn said of the disc, ‘Its uniqueness is enhanced by Brian Epstein’s handwriting on the labels, and the recognition of what it led to – making it one of the rarest and most collectable of all Beatles records.’

According to Ian Shirley, Record Collector Rare Record Price Guide Editor “This is one of those Holy Grail items like the original Quarrymen acetate that the band recorded themselves. This acetate is a unique item that, in many respects, helped Brain Epstein to start the ball rolling to musical world domination. It will fascinate Beatles collectors worldwide and no doubt attract bids from those with deep pockets.”

The record is being sold by Omega Auctions of Warrington on behalf of Les Maguire of Gerry and the Pacemakers. He was given it by Brian Epstein in 1963 after the disc had been returned to him by George Martin. This is the first time it has come to the marketplace, having been locked away in Maguire’s loft until now.

Full press release for Beatles acetate :

One of the rarest and most collectable of all Beatles records is expected to sell for over 
£10,000 when it comes up for sale next month. The unique ten-inch 78RPM acetate record 
featuring ‘Hello Little Girl’ on one side and ‘Till There Was You’ on the other was pressed at 
the HMV record store on Oxford St London before being presented by the group’s manager 
Brian Epstein to George Martin (EMI) in his desperate attempt to get them a recording 
contract. This meeting, despite Martin’s initial reticence, was to eventually lead to the 
breakthrough they were looking for.
In his book Tune In, the leading Beatles historian Mark Lewisohn said of the disc, ‘Its 
uniqueness is enhanced by Brian Epstein’s handwriting on the labels, and the recognition of 
what it led to – making it one of the rarest and most collectable of all Beatles records.’
According to Ian Shirley, Record Collector Rare Record Price Guide Editor “This is one 
of those Holy Grail items like the original Quarrymen acetate that the band recorded 
themselves. This acetate is a unique item that, in many respects, helped Brain Epstein to 
start  the ball rolling to musical world domination. It will fascinate Beatles collectors 
worldwide and  no doubt attract bids from those with deep pockets.”
The record is being sold by Omega Auctions of Warrington on behalf of Les Maguire of 
Gerry and the Pacemakers. He was given it by Brian Epstein in 1963 after the disc had 
been  returned to him by George Martin. This is the first time it has come to the 
marketplace, having  been locked away in Maguire’s loft until now.

Background information
Extracted with permission from Tune In by Mark Lewisohn (volume one of The Beatles: All 
These Years), pages 1105–1108. Text © Mark Lewisohn

Brian’s April 1961 visit to Hamburg and Hanover as a guest of Deutsche Grammophon had 
already proven fruitful in getting My Bonnie released in Britain, and now it paid dividends 
a second time.
Another delegate on the course was Robert Boast, manager of His Master’s Voice (HMV), the selfproclaimed world’s largest record store, situated on Oxford Street in the heart of London. 
After Decca’s rejection, Brian took the opportunity to renew Boast’s acquaintance; he had no obvious plan in mind, but Boast was an address-book contact and he was exploring every 
possibility. Brian had with him the Beatles’ Decca tape and sat in Boast’s office saying his 
boys would become very big stars if only someone would take a chance with them.
‘He said he’d had a very wearing two days visiting record companies. It seems they just 
weren’t prepared to listen. I was, though it was beyond my powers to help him. But at that 
time we had a small recording studio on the first floor, where budding artists could make 
78rpm demonstration discs. I took Brian there and introduced him to our disc cutter, Jim 
It made sense for Brian to pitch the Beatles from discs rather than a reel of tape. Every 
recording manager had an office gramophone (as they were still called), not everyone had 
a tape deck. The first floor at HMV included the Personal Recording Department, a smart 
counter beyond which customers could make one-strike records of personal greetings. 
Musicians used it too (the room contained a grand piano) and it was here, in 1958, that 
Cliff Richard recorded Lawdy Miss Clawdy c/w Breathless, which prompted Norrie Paramor 
to sign him to EMI’s Columbia label.
Jim Foy and Brian Epstein chatted while a lathe cut the Beatles’ sound into 78rpm acetate 
discs of heavy black lacquer. As Foy would remember:
‘I remarked that the tape sounded very good, to which he replied, rather proudly, that some 
of the songs were actually written by the group, which was uncommon. I asked whether they 
had been published, and when he said they hadn’t I told him that the office of Ardmore and Beechwood, one of EMI’s music publishing companies, was on the top floor of the shop. 
Should I fetch the general manager, Sid Colman? He said yes, Sid came down, listened to 
the tape and he too expressed interest. When I’d done the cutting, he and Brian went back 
up  to the office.’
It was here that the Beatles’ Decca recording of three Lennon-McCartney Originals turned 
up trumps.
If they hadn’t sung those songs, Brian would not have been sitting in an oak-panelled, 
fourth-floor office over the hum and thrum of Oxford Street, having his first discussion 
about an element of the business still little known to him. He knew record companies and 
enjoyed memorising their catalogue numbers and titles, but music publishers were just 
names on record labels or sheet music, familiar in themselves while their workings, the 
business strategies behind them, were not.
At fifty-six, Sid Colman was a wise old bird of the song trade, in the business since 1937 
and now installed by EMI as general manager of its publishing operation. As Decca had 
Burlington Music and Philips had Flamingo Music so EMI had Ardmore and Beechwood, 
formed in 1958 as an extension of Capitol Records’ publishing businesses. Whatever the 
country, the idea was the same: owning music copyrights reaped a tidy income, and so 
much the better if it was from the company’s own record product and every revenue stream 
flowed into the same pool.
Colman was interested in Ardmore and Beechwood publishing these Lennon-McCartney 
songs, which was good news … except that Brian wanted a Beatles recording contract. A 
publisher would give the songs to someone else to record and he wanted the Beatles to 
have first use of them. Colman understood and told Brian he’d see what he could do to 
help; in return, Brian gave his word that if Colman could assist in obtaining the Beatles 
a recording contract, Ardmore and Beechwood would get the publishing.
Precisely what propelled Brian from here to the office of George Martin may never be known. George would always say, naturally, that Colman picked up the phone, told him about Brian 
and suggested they meet, but Colman’s indispensable right-hand-man throughout this 
period, a music plugger who called himself Kim Bennett, insists this was not the case, 
and that  George was the very last person Colman would have called because he strongly 
disliked him. Whatever the reason, George Martin’s desk diary for 13 February 1962 
includes Judy  Lockhart Smith’s lightly-pencilled untimed entry for ‘Bernard Epstein’.
Brian was chancing his arm at EMI, trying to wrest a Yes where there’d been a No. 
The recording managers had already turned down the Beatles on the basis of their 
appearance  on the Tony Sheridan disc; Brian must have been hoping this wouldn’t be 
remembered,  and that he might score a better result with a personal approach and 
different product. 
It could also be that he was after any appointment at EMI House and George Martin 
was the only man available – two of his three A&R colleagues, Norman Newell and Norrie 
Paramor, were on holiday this week.
George wasn’t there when Brian arrived, so the first person he met was Judy. She would 
always remember appreciating how well-dressed, well-mannered and well-spoken he was, 
not at all like the other managers who came into the office, while Brian would later write, 
genuinely, of how he and Judy developed ‘an instant friendship.’
George’s day was filled with appointments, and when he arrived he wouldn’t have been able 
to give his visitor much time. The two sat across a desk – one man aged thirty-six, the other 
twenty-seven, both in smart suits and ties, and with polite, cultured voices that had 
benefited  from selfimprovement.
Brian was desperate but trying not to seem so, George was tolerant, pleasant and in a
position of power. Brian told him about the Beatles, saying how big they were in Liverpool 
and affecting surprise when George said he hadn’t heard of them. This somewhat riled his 
host: as George would reflect, ‘I almost asked him in reply where Liverpool was – the 
thought of anything coming out of the provinces was extraordinary.’
By interpreting the way Brian remembered the meeting, there was probably time to hear only 
one of his new-cut records – a ten-inch 78 acetate with Hello Little Girl on one side and 
Till There Was You on the other. He’d written the essential details on the labels in blue 
fountain-pen. With limited space, and constantly keen to demonstrate the Beatles had more 
than one singer, he wrote that Hullo Little Girl [sic] was John Lennon & The Beatles – 
adding too the songwriting credit Lennon, McCartney – and that Til There Was You [sic] 
was Paul McCartney & The Beatles. Brian’s recollection two years later was:
‘George liked Hello Little Girl, Till There Was You. Liked George on guitar. Thought Paul 
was the one for discs’.
It would be a long time before anyone else got to hear the Decca recording of Till There 
Was You, and express wonderment first that Brian had selected it – this was the number 
where John said Paul ‘sounded like a woman’ and Pete’s timing was all over the place – 
and second that George Martin, from this, thought Paul best for recording and liked 
George Harrison’s guitar playing. This was perhaps George’s worst guitar work of the 
day. (Hello Little Girl was reasonable, though.)
If this isn’t perplexing enough, George Martin would remember the meeting quite differently. 
In his first lengthy quote on the subject – a Melody Maker interview nine years later – he 
specifically mentioned Your Feet’s Too Big being on the tape [sic] Brian played him, and 
added, ‘I wasn’t knocked out at all – it was a pretty lousy tape, recorded in a back room, 
very badly balanced, not very good songs and a rather raw group.’ This strongly suggests 
he wasn’t listening to the Beatles’ Decca test but a recording of which nothing else is known.
The meeting came to an end with George not ‘knocked out at all.’ He kept the acetate and 
might have said he would get in touch if he was interested in hearing more, but he wasn’t 
and he didn’t. It was just another disappointing encounter for Brian, one of way too many 
for his liking. He was having a far harder job selling the Beatles than expected.

Auction Details
Omega Auctions
Unit 3B Penketh Business Park
66-70 Liverpool Rd
Great Sankey

Karen Fairweather
01925 873040
Auction: The Beatles Collection
Date: 22nd March 2016

Bidding live from the saleroom in Warrington but also broadcast live online worldwide for 
worldwide bidding


by Elliot Mintz
Feb 26 2016

earlier this evening yoko was experiencing 'flu' symptoms and called her doctor. he thought it would be a good idea for her to go to a local hospital to get a 'check-up'. she did. it was determined that she was experiencing dehydration,,,,,and that she has the flu.
in all likelihood she will be home tomorrow.
i spoke with sean who visited with her and have been assured she is doing just fine.
i appreciate the fact that so many of you were concerned about her....

Feb 27 2016

i am happy to let you know that yoko was released from the hospital today.
she is home and recovering from the flu……

by Sean Ono Lennon

Feb 27 2016

Hey guys it was only rumors from press: was NOT a stroke, just dehydration/tired. She is FINE. Thank you everyone for your concern @yokoono

Only stroke @yokoono had was a Stroke of Genius! :-) She's really fine. Thanks for all the well wishes! Big Love, Sean

Thanks again for everyone's concern. She's home and running about as usual. Just the flu in the end. I may go get a flu shot now...

Celebrating healthy mum with a little Sabbath!!!

sábado, 27 de febrero de 2016



Paintings On The Wall - Willem de

 Kooning (1904-1997)

Paintings On The Wall - Willem de Kooning (1904-1997)

‘Pink Angels’, circa 1945, Willem de Kooning
In the 1940s and 50s a Rotterdam born painter helped define the first truly homegrown
 American art movement and put New York at the centre of modern art.  In our latest 
instalment of 'Paintings on the Wall', journalist Adam Jacques introduces us to the 
works of Paul's friend Willem de Kooning.
INTRODUCING WILLEM DE KOONING: How does a penniless young Dutch stowaway 
transform into America’s first art superstar? Forging an incendiary new art movement 
called Abstract Impressionism helps, as does courting notoriety by painting some of the 
most frightening portraits of women in the history of art. Add to this turbulent canvas a 
tumultuous personal life and a wilful disregard for convention, and a revolution in the New 
York art scene emerges. And it not only made Willem a celebrity but, some argue, 
eventually shifted the epicentre of the art world itself, from Paris over to The Big Apple 
(with a little help from fellow genius New Yorkers Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko). 
And then there’s the small matter of the CIA – and how on earth it ended up using his 
work as a secret weapon — but we’ll get to the clandestine spy stuff later.

‘No.5’, 1948, Jackson Pollock

‘No. 61’ (Rust and Blue), 1953, Mark Rothko
WHAT IS ABSTRACT EXPRESSIONISM?: If Cubists break their subjects down into 
geometric fragments and Surrealists conjure up dreamlike scenes, what did the Abstract 
Expressionists do? Well arguably they are the most mind-bending of the lot because 
finding the threads that link the likes of paint-hurler Jackson Pollock, rectangle high 
priest Mark Rothko and ruptured figurative-and-landscape dauber Willem de Kooning,
 is at first glance a total head scratch. But what bound the Abstract Expressionist 
movement together was not what they did, but how they did it: applying ‘abstract’ 
shapes and forms onto a canvas to ‘express’ their emotions — or even inner psyches — 
through their thick daubes or splodges of paint, vigorously applied.
Which would have been fine if having formed a new movement, Willem then stuck to its 
rules – which he didn’t. It’s something that would rankle with the more rigid Pollock until 
his untimely death, once even accusing him of being a sell out. Perhaps that’s why we 
know what a Pollock painting ‘looks’ like, but not a de Kooning: he was way too restless 
or continuity.
EARLY YEARS: Born in Holland, in 1904, the foundations for those ferocious paintings 
of women mentioned earlier may have had their roots in his youth, thanks to an uneasy 
relationship with his terrifying mother, Cornelia. A fierce brawling bar-owner, she treated 
her kids like the rowdy sailors that frequented her raucous bar, terrorising and often 
physically beating Willem. So it’s not surprising that at 12 he jumped at the chance of 
an apprenticeship to a local printmakers — who were impressed enough with his talent 
to enrol him into Rotterdam’s fine art school for four years of evening classes to the learn 
the classics (and spend more time away from mother).

‘Still Life With Bowl, Pitcher and Jug’, 1921, Willem de Kooning
One glance at the painstakingly accurate ‘still life’ above, drawn at 16, and it could pass 
as a vintage black and white photo. But despite his mastery of realism he, like Picasso 
before him, would eventually turn his back on it — revealing something far more 
revolutionary in the process.
NEW YORK, NEW YORK: Lured by the land of opportunity, like countless European 
artists before him, Willem left for America. Well he tried to: cue several poorly executed 
attempts to stowaway on various ships first, before he finally arrived in New York City 
in 1928, with barely a word of English to his name. Eventually settling into the 
Greenwich Village neighbourhood in the late 1920s, de Kooning became immersed in 
an intoxicating mix of buzzing jazz bars, illicit drinking dens and ramshackle art studios, 
as he mixed with the musicians, painters and impoverished artists that filled the lively 
neighbourhood. And it’s where, in 1930, he met his hugely influential mentor, and first 
Manhattan room-mate, the Armenian born artist Arshile Gorky.
Gorky & Guernica: At first, de Kooning was content to dabble, producing low-key 
portraits of male acquaintances while still working on odd jobs sign-making and 
shop-front window dressing. But Gorky lived and breathed art, and their long 
meandering chats on how to transform classical techniques into new forms of abstract 
ainting electrified Willem - and inspired him to commit to canvas full time: well, in 
between the prodigious amount of drinking and partying you’d expect of a young 
bohemian artist.
A trip to see the Guernica in New York — Pablo Picasso’s masterwork depicting the 
barbarity of the Spanish Civil War — hit him like a thunderclap: it showed Willem that 
you could communicate a profound feeling for a subject in a painting, portrait or 
landscape, without the subjects being entirely recognisable.
Elaine de Kooning: Yet another momentous figure entered his life in 1938, in the 
form of the young, gregarious — but volatile — art student, Elaine Fried. His new art 
assistant-turned-muse lit a rocket under his creativity which would explode his canvas 
into colour. “Before I met Elaine I painted quiet men. Then I started to paint wild 
women,” he said. They embarked on a passionate affair and it led to his first major 
portrait of a woman — the lush, vibrant form of 'Seated Woman'. And we also get a 
final glimpse of his old-style classical style before it vanishes, with this tenderly 
composed drawing, a pictorial love letter yet to reveal the turbulent future brewing 
between them.

'Portrait of Elaine', circa 1940-41, Willem de Kooning

'Seated Woman', 1940, Willem de Kooning
Diving deep into his 10th Street studio de Kooning developed a new breed of portraits as 
he stripped realism from his images: with Elaine as his muse, 'Pink Angels' was his 
crackling debut in to what became known as American Abstract Expressionism. Creating 
vivid pink pigments, he used his kinetic brushstrokes to dissemble a seated female 
figure into warped, even anguished contortions — a wholesale nod to the savagery 
seen in Pablo Picasso’s Spanish Civil War landscape.

'Pink Angels', circa 1945, Willem de Kooning
Elaine and Willem got hitched in 1943, but had a decidedly lukewarm start to their marriage 
when Willem busted in on Elaine in bed with her ex-boyfriend. It was the start of a l
egendarily tempestuous, on-off relationship over the next 46 years, fuelled by their 
struggles with alcoholism. Both were to have myriad infidelities. But although they 
separated for 20 years of reflection in the late 1950s, they never divorced.
One tip for becoming a famous portrait artist is not to be the wife of Willem de Kooning. 
Sharing her husband’s penchant for a ferocious brush, Elaine became a renowned art
 teacher, and an excellent portrait artist, with her series on US president, John F. Kennedy 
brilliantly capturing the man’s inner restlessness. But, amid the cacophony surrounding 
Willem’s rise to fame, she remained largely unknown outside of art circles and is 
arguably one of the most underrated female portrait artists of the 20th Century.

'JFK', 1963, Elaine de Kooning
BLACK & WHITE: It’s not often that you can say that being flat broke, and having your wife 
embarking on assorted affairs was the making of you, but these difficulties had a profound 
artistic effect on Willem. In the mid-late 1940s he had yet to be recognised as a painter, 
and most of what he painted he destroyed in fits of creative frustration. But that potent mix 
of estrangement and impoverishment forced Willem’s new, pared-back approach to gather 
pace: too poor to buy proper paint he and fellow painter Franz Kline would stick two fingers 
up at the traditional art establishment and go out and buy cheap black and white enamel 
household paint. “I could get a gallon of black paint and a gallon of white paint, and I 
could go to town,” he said. And so he did, and in an austere, palette-limited way he 
constructed a series of knotty Abstract Expressionist masterpieces. If a Harry Potter fan 
was to take a glance at his 1947 work, 'Dark Pond', they might feel like they’ve just had an 
unnerving encounter with a pack of swirling, otherworldly Dementors straight out of the 
novel. While the throng of distorted piled up body shapes in another work, 'Excavation', 
does what it says on the tin: look hard and you can see a previously buried creation that’s 
partly glimpsed below it — it’s almost archeological. Reworking and rebuilding over old 
efforts was to become a key feature of his art.

'Black Pond', 1947, Willem de Kooning

'Excavation', 1950, Willem de Kooning
FAME: If he was lazy, or keen to cash in, Willem could have stuck with that pared down 
monochrome style for the rest of his career, as the museums flung open their doors and 
magazines showered him with accolades. But de Kooning had an almost pathological 
fear of constriction, of being boxed in, so just when he was getting going, he abandoned 
the series, in 1950. But by then, the word was out: he’d been ‘discovered’.
It wasn’t until Pollock was tragically killed in a car accident, following a heavy night’s 
drinking, that de Kooning was crowned undisputed leader of this hot ‘new’ movement. 
And the pressure mounted. De Kooning wasn’t the sort of chap to enjoy success (except, 
perhaps, for the stream of attractive groupies who came knocking on his studio door). 
Painting, he once commented, “never seems to make me peaceful, or pure." The 
pressures of fame began to devour him physically and creatively: he’d often stare at a 
canvas for hours, before flying into rages of frustration, flinging furniture around or 
destroy whole canvases.
ALCOHOL: As a salve to his demons and anxieties, and to avoid his disdain for, “an 
ordinary existence”, de Kooning became such a heavy drinker that it would have a 
serious impact on his health, with countless admissions to hospital. A good night would 
see him piling into the local Cedar bar with fellow artists, drinking whisky and telling 
tales. Other nights he would roam the city. Blind drunk, he would sleep in the gutter. It 
wasn't until many years later that Elaine, re-joining his life in 1976, helped saved him 
from his demons, and got him sober.
THE CIA CONNECTION: On top of an enthralled art world the globe’s premier spy 
agency took an active interest, too. Along with deadly lipstick guns and covert microdot 
film, America’s CIA saw his stellar work - and that of fellow Abstract Expressionists 
Rothko and Pollock — as a secret weapon in the fight against the Soviets. In the 
propagandas war, their work represented American cultural might and the quintessential 
right of freedom of self-expression. So the CIA went to the trouble of setting up a front 
organisation, the Congress for Cultural Freedom, to promote AbEx works with a touring 
exhibition visiting every big European city in 1958-59, while simultaneously setting up 
magazines for willing art critics to champion the movement: which is a lot of effort to go 
to. Of course, one reason it was all top secret was because the American public at 
large still hated it — along with US president Harry Truman. But you know you’re doing 
something right when an American millionaire runs a full-page advertisement 
condemning your art movement in every major American newspaper as degenerate.
THAT WOMEN SERIES: To appreciate the furore caused by De Kooning’s next 
series it’s worth considering the societal expectations of women in the US at the time, 
as demure, doting, wholesome housewives rather than the sexually avaricious figures 
that came out of de Kooning’s head, and seen in his 'Woman' series. His series of 
six 'woman' portraits, which he painted between 1950 and 1952, is his most disturbing 
work: just look at those rapacious penetrating eyes, fang-like teeth bared in a 
frightening grin and those grotesque gigantic breasts topping off that monstrous 
female form. The longer you look at it, the more unsettled you feel. Once you’ve comes 
to terms with the 'what', then comes the 'who': some say it represented an image of 
Elaine in her most monstrous moments, while an alarmed Elaine, understandably keen 
to distance the monstrosity from herself, pointed the finger at Cornelia, claiming (along 
with several critics) that it was a gurning image of Willem's frightening, dysfunctional 
mother, which had long haunted him. It’s likely a mix of all the above, his series a 
vessel for pouring every repressed sexual emotion and troubled female memory 
onto his canvas. It caused uproar, with critics vehemently attacking him as a misogynist.

'Woman l', 1950-52, Willem de Kooning

'Seated Woman', 1952, Willem de Kooning

de Kooning in his studio in the 1950s
WILLEM THE ACTION PAINTER: Watching Willem at work in the studio fashioning a 
masterpiece such as 'Woman 1' would have been akin to watching a sort of frenzied 
performance art. With his brush, de Kooning could express a relentless stream of inner 
energy, attacking each part of the canvas and often punching holes in it from the violence 
of his brush strokes, before obsessively scraping the paint back off and ferociously 
reworking new forms over the ruins: he was an Action Man painter and those furious 
strokes defined both his work, and his art movement. Yet 'Woman 1' was a gruelling 
experience, and tormented by its perceived inadequacies he abandoned it. Until, 
in "history's luckiest studio visit" (as one critic called it), a chance drop in by friend and 
art historian Meyer Schapiro rescued it from obscurity. When the whole series went on 
display, in 1953, his fame skyrocketed. And when a young artist comes to your door 
asking for one of your paintings, so he can erase it, and then publicly exhibit the 
ghostly remains, infamy is guaranteed.
WILLEM’S OTHER WOMEN: It seems to be a fact of life in creative circles that affairs 
equal creative bursts. And, surrounded by an attractive entourage drawn to his fame and 
genius, de Kooning embarked on a string of affairs over the next 20 years, one tumbling 
into another, each appearing to leave their mark and propel great bursts of invention in 
his work: his relationship with Ruth Kligman, an ostentatious, limelight-hunting artist and 
former girlfriend to the late Pollock appeared to bring on a strident, imperial style, with 
the likes of abstract landscape ‘Ruth’s Zowie’.

'Ruth's Zowie', 1957, Willem de Kooning

'Sag Harbor', 1964, Willem de Kooning
“She really put lead in my pencil,” de Kooning once exclaimed of her. While his 
relationship with the young artist Susan Brockman unleashed a fleshy, ferociously erotic 
direction in his work that briefly moved away from abstract portraits.
A CHANGE OF SCENERY: Having found fame, he now wanted to avoid its constant 
interruption, and promptly moving out of Manhattan to Long Island, in the 1960s, a flat 
vista that held reassuring echoes for Willem, of his native Holland. And in between long 
cycle rides around the island he took the opportunity to switch styles again. Which leads 
to the question, when is a landscape not a landscape? When its vistas such as 
'Rosy-Fingered Dawn at Louse Point' or 'Palisade', works that evoke the feeling of a 
picturesque scene — but without an obvious tree, hill or ocean in sight.

‘Palisade', 1957, Willem de Kooning

'Rosy-Fingered Dawn at Louse Point', 1963, Willem de Kooning
A master of mixing, de Kooning had been in love with the cuisine of painting since his early 
days working in Rotterdam. And even now he was still infusing new paint ingredients into 
his work: he treated pigments as a chef would treat fine ingredients, cooking up novel 
servings of succulent paint from a vast palette of colours that he'd mixed himself. This 
was a man who literally enjoyed watching paint dry.

'La Guardia in a Paper Hat', 1972, Willem de Kooning

'Wah Kee Spare Ribs', 1970, Willem de Kooning

'Clamdigger', 1972, Willem de Kooning
But every art movement has its time in the sun, and as the Andy Warhol-led Pop Art 
extravaganza became the new cutting edge of American art, painting as medium 
seemed passé — and de Kooning found himself fading out of favour with the critics. 
Willem, now wealthy, ploughed on regardless, pursuing an ever-evolving suite of styles.

'UNTITLED 1', 1985, Willem de Kooning
A DIFFICULT JOURNEY INWARD: Bill and Elaine were not destined to be apart forever, 
and, in the late 1970s, Elaine returned to his life to help him get sober and look after his 
East Hampton studio, as his alcoholism ran rampant. It’s also a bittersweet period for the 
artist. As, with a little encouragement from Elaine, a whole new graphic style took route in 
the early 1980s. With canvases such as 'UNTITLED 1', it felt like Willem De Kooning, late 
in life, had finally found some room to breath - physically and emotionally. It may have 
kicked up a fuss amongst his stalwart fans initially: many thought that this new freewheeling 
direction, with its simple thick graphic brushstrokes, was a mistake. But his work, at first 
seen as overly simplistic, was eventually seen a triumph of freeform expression, like 
a Miles Davis Jazz performance. It represented one of his few styles entirely devoid of 
human form, perhaps drawn from an elegant, pared down style picked up from his earlier 
trips to Japan, in the early 1970s.
Sadly, just as De Kooning work began to spring back in vogue, dementia began to make 
steep inroads into his life and art. Yet the act of applying paint was so engrained into his 
psyche, that even with his memory and hands failing, he painted until the last two years of
 his life, finally passing away at 92.
THE McCARTNEY CONNECTION: But could a famous singer-songwriter have kept a 
little piece of Willem tucked away in his soul? It was no coincidence when, back in the 
late 1970s, Paul first met Willem de Kooning, still a sprightly man in his mid 70s. The 
connection goes back years, as Linda McCartney’s father, Lee Eastman, was de 
Kooning’s long-standing lawyer and close family friend, often bringing in special visitors, 
often including Linda and Paul, to see the ageing artist. And it was visiting his studio 
one day, to watch him mix colours and paint, that got McCartney hooked on de 
Kooning's process itself. Unlike music there were no rules in abstract painting, so it 
must have felt liberating for Paul: perhaps, with its luscious colours and strident brush 
strokes, McCartney’s abstract works, such as 'Key of F' and 'Robot and Star' carry 
a little of Willem de Kooning on to this day.

'Key of F', Paul McCartney

'Robot and Star', 1995, Paul McCartney
A PS from PM:
"I was lucky enough to know Willem de Kooning because Linda’s father, Lee Eastman 
Snr., was his lawyer. We would visit his studio in Springs, Long Island and admire his 
works in progress. I once asked him what one of his abstract pictures was and he said 
he didn’t know and that it was open to my interpretation. I thought it looked like a purple 
mountain, he thought it looked like a couch! The point was that his painting was more to 
do with composition, colour and style rather than anything of significant meaning. Once 
he’d said this it was a great inspiration to me to start painting, where as in the past I 
would have been too embarrassed to even buy a canvas and paints. Friends of mine 
had looked at de Kooning’s paintings and said, 'I could do that,' but in fact this is far f
rom true and I consider him to be one of the greatest abstract painters ever."

Paul and Willem de Kooning, East Hampton, 1983. Photo by Linda McCartney.