K. B. Dixon – A Painter’s Life

Portland writer K. B. Dixon‘s new novel, A Painter’s Life,
is unwieldy but precise. It reads as if it’s a journal kept by the (fictional) painter Christopher Freeze, but unlike a journal, this sack
of asides, hopes, press clippings, musings on friendships, work, other
artists, critics, dealers, paint and the point of paint adds up to a
life.

What’s more, it’s a life in Portland.  We in Seattle
imagine Portland artists constantly having dinner. Even a resolute
outsider such as Freeze would have plenty of friends in Portland, more
than his narrative can keep track of. His friendships are the cushion
he leans on to keep his solitary occupation in motion.

When
Seattle artists look up from their work and realize they haven’t talked
to anybody in a month, Portland’s collective comfort
zone looks good.

Below, a few quotes from the book for its flavor, with images of paintings from a few of Portland’s nonfictional finest.

David
Andres was saying if he could just get the right people to object to
something of his, to insist that it be removed from wherever it had
been placed, it would be the making of him. It would mean a reputation,
which is money in the bank. It would mean a better bottle of wine with
dinner, a car with more horsepower, a house with more square feet, a
girlfriend with fewer cats.

James Lavadour, Blue Back

I
like my pictures to look crowded – sort of stuffed into the fame. The
canvas should be full like your plate when you sit down to dinner –
suggestive of emotional and/or metaphysical abundance.

Judy Cooke, Ice Melt

I
don’t want to be part of the perpetual revolution, the chasing after
novelty. The freedom to go where you want is one thing, but the
obligation to move on, move on – that is the demand made by a
policeman. You are never saying anything; you are trying to say it. You
never get to finish or to amplify a thought.

Anna Fidler, Correspondences

I hate watching people look at my pictures. I never like anything about the way they do it.

Adam Sorensen, Squall

My
father claimed he could smell electricity, and my mother was always
telling us how many hours it had been (plus or minus a quarter) since
this or that person had bathed or showered. I myself am similarly
sensitive. The stench of the studio is one of the things I like best
about being  a painter.

Storm Tharp, Approaching Thunderhead

I don’t think of my pictures as small – I think of them as efficient.