The artist and writer Joe Brainard and the poet James Schuyler, both central figures in the New York School of poets and painters, met in 1964. The two soon became close friends and confidants. Brainard’s letters to Schuyler included here span the summer of 1964 through 1969 and were written while Brainard was moving from apartment to apartment in New York City and spending summers in Southampton, Long Island, and Calais, Vermont.

You can read an interview between James Schuyler and the critic and poet Peter Schjeldahl in the new Fall issue of The Paris Review, no. 249, here. Schuyler and Schjeldahl were nominally meeting to discuss the poet Frank O’Hara, but the interview became a wide-ranging conversation about poetry, New York in the fifties, and the cast of characters that surrounded them. 

August 1968
Southampton, Long Island

Dear Jimmy,

Wouldn’t you know it? My rose petals didn’t work out. Some of them were not dried enough when I put them into those small Welch’s grape juice bottles and so they mildewed and turned green. So I had to throw them all away. Now, however, I have begun sand bottles. (At night) I don’t waste my time with such stuff in the daytime. At any rate—I have many colors of sand now (food coloring) all in many dishes all waiting for tonight (everyone is leaving tonight) when I’m going to see if it works. I have seen beautiful ones with very intricate designs but for my first one I will only do stripes. A nice size, those Welch’s bottles. I don’t, however care for the juice. When Pat and Wayne [Padgett] were here they would drink it for me (and loved it) but now I’ve nobody. I had (just had) several days of bad painting (sloppy) but today was very good. Today was (is) the most beautiful day I can ever remember: very sunny and very cool. And very quiet: Sunday. Many Sundays seem somehow odd to me, but today was just perfect. I do love it here. It just doesn’t make sense to go back to the city. Except for people. That’s where so many of the best people are, to me. The phone is ringing but I am in the studio. Kenward  is out watching the annual tennis tournaments. John and Scott are at the beach. John and John Scott (I don’t mean John and Scott, I mean John and John) are driving back tonight to the city. John to visit his mother for her seventy-fifth anniversary. I am talking of John Ashbery and John Scott, John’s new colored boy friend. I was afraid that perhaps you would get confused with John Button and Scott Burton. John and Scott, you may not know, have broken up. As I understand it tho, it was a mutual split. I am drinking a rosé wine. It’s about five o’clock. Once everyone gets back together we are going to an opening around the corner of Leon … (can’t remember). He is a very old romantic-realist and slick with lots of birds and fish nets. You know his work I am sure. Very much like Bernard. Morris Golde says that Fairfield [Porter]’s paintings looked terrific at the Biennale. He was very impressed with the number of them: said there were “lots.” I did some yellow pansies this morning with Fairfield’s yellow-black for green. I think that I would have done it anyway (?) but I always think of it as Fairfield’s thing: yellow-black for green. Actually, I have seen it in very few paintings that I have seen it in: one being the one I have. I hate to see today go. Will write more tomorrow, or soon—

Well—they didn’t leave around six as planned but instead we all (except Kenward) went to a queer beach party with Safronis [Sephronus Mundy]  and Jack (know them?) Safronis is from Sodus, like John A[shbery]. At any rate, it got 40 degrees and so we didn’t go to the beach but instead to some terrible interior decorator’s place. His name is Jack. I have never (no exaggeration) met anyone so disgusting in my entire life. Also there was a beautiful Indian boy who has been after me for several years now. I must admit that he turns me on terrifically. There is something fishy tho as he is so beautiful he could do a lot better than me. He is the Gerard Malanga type but he really has what it takes to be that type. He may know him he is quite notorious: Tosh Carrillo. At any rate, I have come to regard him as somewhat of the devil. Anyway, it was upsetting seeing him last night. (Temptation) I think you know me well enough to know that I am rather liberal. I’ve had many affairs since I started going with Kenward and I don’t feel one ounce of guilt. But this Tosh guy, there is really something dangerous about him. I hope you don’t mind my telling you this. It shook me up so much to see him again as, of course, I’m very attracted to him too. I hope by telling you about it I can forget for a while. So—today is another beautiful day: cool and hot. There is (like yesterday) a bit of autumn in the air and yet the sun is shining very brightly. It’s really the best of both seasons and I love it. This morning I got up at seven and picked three pansies and put them into three small bottles. One yellow pansy, one red-purple and yellow, and one solid blue-purple. I did three paintings of them (all three in each) and I am sure that at least one of them will look good in the morning. They are not so loose as before. More like summer before last. When I finish writing you I am going to read “Le Petomane” (about a French farter) And tonight I planned to do my first sand bottle.

Oh—the opening yesterday was paintings by Leonid. They weren’t very good but I rather admired a very details [sic] : details painted with one or two strokes of the brush. Like birds. Gore Vidal was there he looked quite young (35–40). Today is the twelfth. That means we have about two more weeks.

Right? Some of your house plants don’t look too great. I think that at first I watered them too much. They are not dead tho. So far there hasn’t been any serious damage done. A chunk of black linoleum in the laundry room

came up. Too much water was left at various times on the wooden tops in the new kitchen part: a few black streaks in the wood. I am watching it carefully now. I’m going to get this in the mail now. Do write soon. Summer is almost over and winter will not write much. One thing I forgot to tell you is that

I use your bike. I love riding it and I knew that you would not mind. Did I tell you that we are going to give a cocktail party for Jane [Freilicher] for her opening? Not Sunday (the opening), but Saturday before.

Very much love,
Joe

P.S. Did you see our names in the Sunday Times?
About painter poet collaborations by Peter S.

June 1969
Calais, Vermont

Dear Jimmy__

Last night (how nice it is to be writing to you again) I made a real strawberry short cake. I found the recipe in a “Family Circle.” I must say it was awfully good. And very easy. Egg, butter, milk, flour, baking powder, salt, and bake for fifteen minutes. Today is my second day in Vermont and I love being here. I especially love being here because I know I will be here for ten weeks. What to do? That’s what I am thinking about now. Mainly I just want to paint but also I want to get my manuscript together and do an issue of “C” Comics. This is too much to do in ten weeks but I imagine that I will try. If I had any sense in my head I would just paint and forget everything else but I enjoy “everything else” so much that I find this hard to do. So—as usual—I am torn between this or that or both. And—also I will pick both. It is still a bit cool up here. I continually (so far) wear a sweater. This morning (actually, it is still morning) I wrote a bit on a new thing I am writing called “I Remember.” It is just a collection of things I remember. Example:

“I remember the first time I got a letter that said ‘after five days return to’ on the envelope, and I thought that I was supposed to return the letter to the sender after I had kept it for five days.”

Stuff like that. Some funny, some (I hope) interesting, and, some downright boring. These, however, I will probably cut out. Unfortunately, I don’t have a very good memory, so it’s a bit like pulling teeth. I’ve been eating lots. I weighed in at 140 lbs. and I plan to arrive in N.Y.C. weighing at least 150. I plan to do this by eating lots and:

– 2 glasses of milk with Ovaltine everyday
– 1 big spoon of honey everyday
– eat lots of nuts at night
– vitamin B-12 pill every morning

I might even cut down on my smoking, but I doubt it. I am afraid that I don’t really care that much. In Tulsa I picked up some old school photographs of me. Enclosed is one of me in 1951. I also got some old newspaper photos and clippings of me which are very funny and very embarrassing. I’ll send them to you soon but I would like to have them back. Do keep this photo tho, if you want it. I am tempted to draw a line and write more tomorrow but actually I would enjoy this being your first summer letter so I’m going to go ahead and mail it. Do write.

Love, Joe

July 4, 1969
Calais, Vermont

Dear Jimmy__

You can’t know how nice, really, it was to get your letter. You write such nice letters even when you have nothing in particular to say. I am outside sunbathing again, and so are Anne [Waldman] and Lewis [Warsh]. Kenward is at the cabin he is writing, but surely nobody writes that much. Yesterday I sorted out all my oils, lined them up according to colors and stretched two canvases: 18″ x 24″. I thought I would start painting today but the sky is so clear and the sun is so hot, and actually, I didn’t (don’t) especially feel like it: painting. So—perhaps tomorrow. But I refuse to rush myself. No reason to except nervous habit. And nervous habit only produces works like I’ve done before. Which doesn’t have much to do with “painting,” as I see it. Or as I think I see it. (I don’t know what I’m talking about) Anne and Lewis are terrific people to live with. Lewis (so far) remains just as mysterious,  but in a friendly sort of way. Anne is just as nervous as me, which makes me feel not so nervous. We smoke a lot of “you know what.” Talk a lot. Eat a lot. Play cards some. (Pounce and Concentration) Did you ever play that? Concentration. I like it. If you don’t know how to play it, let me know, and I will explain it in my next letter. It’s very simple really. We read a bit every night from a “Woman’s Circle” or a “Woman’s Household” which reminds me: I want to send you some issues. Will soon. I don’t know how much I weigh now as we discovered that the scales are irregular. So—I am just eating a lot, altho it is not as much fun without being able to see (read) my gains. Next time we go into town, however, we are going to get a new pair. This I have never understood. Why scales are called a “pair.” Today is the 4th of July. Happy 4th! We here aren’t going to celebrate much, as far as I know, except that for dinner we are having a Harrington’s ham. There is a 4th of July parade today in East Calais, but I said “no thanks” to that, which put a damper on going. Nothing is more frightening to me than “Elks and Masons” and their children, etc. Besides, I don’t enjoy being an outsider. Did I tell you of a funny dream I had several nights ago? I don’t think so. At any rate—John Ashbery and I were chatting on my parent’s front porch and John said to me, “I think your Mondrian period was even better than Mondrian.” Actually, I never had a “Mondrian period” but in my dream I remember recalling the paintings I had done. They were just like Mondrian except with off-beat colors. Like slip [sic] peach and plum purple. Olive green. Etc. At any rate, I was awfully flattered. Frank O’Hara and J. J. Mitchell were there too, but I won’t go into that. Other people’s dreams are never as interesting as it seems they ought to be: to other people. Your advice is good. I do eat lots of nuts and I have been trying to eat as much as possible. Actually, getting better looking will probably only get me into more trouble, and make life more complicated. If I was wise I wouldn’t even try—but—once again—pardon the oil on this letter. It does help tho. And a warm shower afterwards. I am enclosing for you some “Button Face” note cards I sent away for from the “Woman’s Circle.” They’re very funny I think. Kenward and I have both been sending away for lots of stuff in order to get mail. Kenward has got lots of seeds. I got a “forget-me-not” necklace (“like grandma used to make”) which is somewhat of a disappointment. Also I got some crocheted butterflies which I gave to Kenward in celebration of the 1st day of July. They will be sewn on to curtains. I also got some “music post cards.” (Post cards with music on them) And some stars you glue to the ceiling and they glow in the dark. Like decals. I put them up in Anne and Lewis’s room and they like them. Someday it would be nice to do a whole ceiling. Also available is a friendly moon. I just went in for a Pepsi. It is now one o’clock. This afternoon I think I will get out my Polaroid and see what happens. Maybe we can swap pictures. Like those clubs do. Of a less intimate nature of course.  In your next letter to me would you please sign your name (your autograph) on a piece of white paper. I am beginning to put together my poet’s scrapbook and your autograph would be a big boom [sic] (Or a drawing?) I have drawings already by Ron and Ted and Frank and Kenward. Also I have many photos and clippings and wedding announcements, etc. It will be a nice book that will never end. The sun is really very hot today. Now I am sunning my back. This will be my first all-round tan since I was a kid. Kenward is doing pretty well too, tho his skin doesn’t tan as fast as mine. Obviously I am running out of talk. Will stop now. Do write again when you feel like it.

Love, Joe

P.S. Anne and Lewis city news:

John Giorno and Jasper Johns are back together again.
Pat and Ron leave for Tulsa this Monday for one week. Then three weeks traveling around California.
John Wieners’ parents had him committed but a plan is being worked out to get him out.
Dial-A-Poem will be continued next year from the “St. Marks Church.”
Bill Berkson has moved. His new address is 107 E. 10th St.
D. D. Ryan has been promoted to assistant producer, and now, is actually in the movie.
That’s about it.

(again) Love, Joe

Mid-July 1969
Calais, Vermont

Dear Jimmy:

Flowers not going too well. All the different greens (which seem to change from moment to moment) are driving me up the wall. Also—there is a red-purple I just can’t get. Also my wild flowers are too curvy (Art-Nouveau) and I can’t seem to straighten them out. A line (stem) like this [draws a smooth upward curve] always seems to end up like this [draws an upward curve with kinks in it] and, when I try to straighten them out, they seem flat (life-less) not that I have anything against curves. But my flowers are practically flying out of their bottles, off the canvas, to god only knows where. I never have liked El Greco much. Except for one pope. So—I am not painting today. A break. I am sunning. Today is a beautiful clear day, very blue, with not a cloud in sight. The sun is hot. It is about one o’clock. Kenward is coming back from the city around seven tonight. The whole back of me is peeling, as one day it got too much sun. So—I will have to start all over, little by little, as for several years it has been totally neglected. (Sun-wise) Not much is new. Except that the day lilies are out. The orange ones. In full bloom. All over. There are many more of them this year. And the milkweeds. They are everywhere. Which is O.K. with me. I like them. I read somewhere the other day that during the war they were used for lining coats. (Their fibers, or something, make good insulation.) Army coats. For very cold weather. It also said that their very small top leaves (the top two or three), when cooked taste like asparagus. I would say they taste more like spinach. And not very good spinach at that. Perhaps we didn’t cook them right yesterday. After oil painting all morning (I got up at 5:30!) I picked some grass and did lots of green ink and brush drawings of it. I am now cutting the grass out (with an X-Acto knife) and then I am going to put it all together, in layers, to make a solid patch of grass. (11″ x 14″) So far I have cut out two layers. It is quite delicate cutting and I have a big blister to prove it. (Delicate, but hard) It will be very pretty I know. It can’t miss. And it’s a good thing to do (cutting out grass) around four or five o’clock when your head is tired but you are still sort of wound up. Just before a drink. I plan to do a fern one too. If we ever get to Burlington (to get some more X-Acto blades). As it is rather intricate cutting one blade will not cut very much so finely. I could always send to the city for some. (Mail!) Now I am not sure what to do about my two oil paintings of two wild flowers arrangements. The actual flowers are gone now so I have a choice of “faking it” (which I am very good at) or forgetting them and start some new ones. I think I will do this (start some new paintings) as, if I’m going to fake it, I may as well wait until I get back to the city. Meanwhile, perhaps I can do some direct, here. I must keep reminding myself that this is not my purpose, now, to “produce good paintings” (rather to learn) about oils. About how things look. About color. Etc. Color is a real problem. I don’t know the tube colors so well as I know tempera jar colors. So I have to think. And thinking isn’t much good when it comes to color. From tempera painting I remember the best “right” colors more or less just happen. Do you know anything about toe nails? My right foot is bigger than my left foot and cowboy boots are not very good for you, but I wore them a lot last year anyway. The result is that my big toe nail is so squeezed together and it is very thick and sort of yellow. My idea is to file the entire nail (the top half, actually) down to how thin it ought to be. Do you think this would hurt? (The nail) That is to say, is a nail the same all the way through? I would hate to file away the surface of the nail and find something different underneath it. There are several health books here, all with toe nail sections, but you know how health books are. (No real information) They are cutting down some trees off to the left. (If one was entering the front door) So for days there has been constant sawing. What we hear, I guess, is like an echo. Like a car trying to start. One does get used to it tho. Mrs. [Louise Andrews] Kent’s son owns that land. Aside from getting lots of wood, it is supposed to be good for the land. (Thinning it) So Kenward said. So Ralph [Weeks] told Kenward Mrs. Kent is in the hospital. I don’t know if you know her well enough that you would want to send a card or not. I don’t know exactly what is wrong with her except that, really, she is very old. It is the Montpelier Hospital. The one Ron was in. Pat and Ron are either in Tulsa, or on their way to California. Or perhaps in California. It’s hard to keep track of the date up here. And I don’t know their plans anyway. (Date-wise) Sometime in August they will come up here next to visit some. Unless, by next year we are not very close. Which is possible. Actually we weren’t terribly close this year. Old friends don’t want you to change. And, of course, it works both ways. Or, perhaps it is just harder, around old friends, to try to change. At any rate—sometimes, around Pat and Ron (and especially Ted) I don’t feel like myself. (1969-wise) Of course, there are compensations. Like—I always feel very comfortable around Pat and Ron. And that’s NICE. I’m going to sign off before I find myself with a whole new page to fill. There has been no mail for two days as Kenward has been away. So—if I have received a letter from you and not mentioned it, this is why I haven’t received it. Do write.

Love, Joe

P.S. Actually, Ron is trying. Two times last year I got a kiss. And after seeing the Royal Ballet he said that Nureyev has a rear end like mine. For some reason I was very touched by that. (Wish it were true).

From Love, Joe: The Collected Letters of Joe Brainard, edited by Daniel Kane, to be published by Columbia University Press this November.

Joe Brainard (1942–1994) was raised in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and moved to New York City in 1960. He was a prolific writer and artist across many media, including paintings, collages, assemblages, and comic-strip collaborations with poets. His I Remember has been translated into fifteen languages, and his artworks are in the collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, the Whitney Museum, and many others. He died of AIDS-related pneumonia.