Love, Joe: The Selected Letters of Joe Brainard

Edited by Daniel Kane
Columbia University Press, 2024

I’ve really been looking forward to reading this book. I’m a member of the New York School Network (member, meaning I get their newsletter). There was mention of the book and a launch plus reading in NYC and I zoomed in. It has taken a while for my local library system to get the book. Truthfully, I forgot about it until when browsing the catalogue online, I was nudged: “you might like.”

The letters are by no means complete, but the selection gives us such a wonderful window into the life/loves/passion/creative juices of Joe Brainard. It’s hard not to be impressed by such a shy, humble artist. He had an uneasy relationship with art, which doesn’t negate his contribution(s) to the New York School treasure chest of work. One cannot help feeling nostalgic for the simplicity of the times in which he wrote these letters. By the end AIDS and untimely deaths were complicating relationships. But, as Joe wrote in one letter, I’ve been in the city for 30 years; you get to know a lot of people.

Before I started this epistolatory volume most of what I knew of Joe Brainard was hearsay, what others had written about him—that he was the nicest, sweetest person they’d ever met. Maybe this was from reading letters of James Schuyler and Digressions on some poems by Frank O’Hara by Joe LeSueur. Or maybe a quote from John Asbury. Everyone seemed to love him. He signed off in his letters, Love, Joe.

I’d also read his valuable I Remember and taught from it, using examples in group workshops. Now I have to go back and reread it.

You certainly get a sense of the man’s voice from these selected letters sent to a plethora of NYC School folk—both first and second generation. I imagine a lot of the care and credit for Brainard’s legacy goes to Ron Padgett, a high school friend and fellow NY School poet. What a long time to love someone! Joe died in 1994 from AIDS-related complications at age 52.

You might wonder: What kind of artist was he? He had his hand in EVERYTHING! Assemblages, collage, drawing, oil painting, poems, prose, memoir. At one point he refused to work/loan his talents to a famous fashion designer—seemed like nothing personal, just that he was done with the commodification of art. Others describe the decade before his death as a withdrawal. He stopped sometime in the mid-1980s actively pursuing art, though his letters don’t make this abundantly clear. He still seemed involved, at least emotionally.

Maybe it has to do with being friends.

Joe collaborated extensively with a wide network of artists and poets, doing book and album covers and contributing to zines etc. He was a sucker for spending time with others, keeping up on their career, asking about their new book or attending openings, readings. The summer house he shared with Kenward Elmslie was open to drop-in guests. It seems Ron and his wife Pat rented a place close by some summers.

My biggest take-away from these selected letters is that that Joe made himself available. Of the twenty-eight (actually 29—a solo letter) correspondents he kept up with, he stayed in touch over decades. Some were lovers, benefactors, even someone’s mom. See he was that nice. I was struck by the time he took to write, even if it was nonsense or circular thinking. While on vacation in Vermont or residency in California or at his Greene Street loft. He mentioned in one letter having a TV and in a few others a record player, but the lack of screens or distractions is obvious: He spent his time reading or viewing or working on art. And, writing letters. He allowed himself to waste time, to be frivolous and inefficient. Something I have a hard time condoning when it comes to myself. Such as, I have to get this blog post written, posted etc.

I am driven—even after years and years and nothing to show for it. I treat everything like a job—like eating a meal or going to sleep. It’s time for this or that. Check it off a list. Next thing that has to get done. I soothe myself with ticking things off a to-do list. Writing being part of that to-do. Doesn’t sound creative, does it? More like a carpenter or someone’s secretary. I hardly allow myself a break. Joe lived like he was on break, always time for others. I wish I could be more Joe.

I did wonder though, how he was able to afford to live in NYC with infrequent income. Perhaps, his oft-times partner Kenward Elmslie of Pulitzer background was able to keep him, or maybe he sold just enough to get by on. Anyway, except for his early days in the city and the Boston letters, we don’t see him too preoccupied with earning a living. He could spend his hours exploring and discovering and expanding themes in his work/art. He was able to follow his curiosity. Which brings me to the everyday.

Pansies. Queer art assemblages using the comic strip character Nancy. Porno drawings, nude self-photographs. Portraits of friends. His life and art were entirely integrated. Like James Schuyler’s poetry, his work name dropped and reflected daily interactions. See “Cigarettes” and “Bananas.” Like any read and reread poet, he absorbed life and shone it back to us adding refraction and details often overlooked. A bolder color, a more expansive view, or heightened memory that allows us to also recall our first escalator ride at the mall or initial glimpse into our complex sexual identity.

The letters, like art, jumpstart other ideas and bring the everyday into focus. I’m grateful to Daniel Kane for taking the time to transcribe and reproduce the tone and whimsical bits and heartbreaking reverberations of Joe Brainard. This book is essential to any reader of The New York School.