Scott Gutterman

While they clearly move in different circles of the art world, poets and painters have much in common when it comes to their quest to capture what is essential about an event, an encounter, or a momentary feeling. It should not be surprising then that these artists might occasionally draw inspiration from each other’s work. In fact, sometimes that inspiration rises to the point where a poet composes a verse based on a particular canvas or an influential poem becomes the motivation for a new painting. To chronicle this connection, Scott Gutterman’s Sunlight on the River collects 56 examples of, as the author puts it, “poems about paintings, paintings about poems” in a well-edited and beautifully illustrated volume.

Following a brief introductory essay, the format of the book is straightforward and effective. On facing pages, Gutterman reproduces some or all of a poem alongside a print of the painting that inspired it (or, in far fewer cases, vice versa). This makes for a fascinating and enlightening contrast, especially since I found that I was a lot more familiar with the work of the visual artists—such as Picasso, Van Gogh, Chagall, Vermeer, Titian, Brueghel, Seurat, and Matisse—than I was with the poets who were represented (including Dante, Rilke, Ginsberg, Keats, and Stevens, among several others). If I had one complaint, it would be that some of the poems were excerpted a little too extensively, as for example in the case of Inferno, which was reduced to just three stanzas of the first canto. Still, in light of the bigger goal that the author was trying to achieve, that is a minor complaint. This is one gift book that is actually likely to be read rather than just gathering dust on a coffee table.… (meer)

I looked through this book on a whim last night, as Miles is a bit of an idol of mine, and was astounded at how great the paintings were. I'm talking, way better than the majority of famous or "important" modern artists of the 20th century. His usage and understanding of color is just amazing. The bright, liquid-y lines just leap off the pages, especially when contrasted against the usually-dark backgrounds. And despite this main tactic, the paintings are quite varied, so it's not like he was just doing the same thing over and over. If he had never picked up a trumpet, I'm convinced he would've become a world superstar via his art. Suffice it to say my admiration for him has reached a new level.
Miles shares a funny anecdote about a young painter who lived with him (as a housekeeper, I think), and collaborated with him on a few paintings. One time after Miles asked him what he thought of his works, the guy said something like "I always like them the most a few brushstrokes before you finish them," to which Miles said he responded with three consecutive shouts of "Motherfucker!", but later grudgingly admitted the guy was right. If you know anything about Miles' infamously mercurial temperament, this story will ring true.… (meer)