The paintings look like they've stayed up all night. The paint's beginning to crack in places, like the paintings of old masters but much sooner; it must have been cheap paint, all Kline could afford. There's a story of Kline ripping out pages from the New York City phonebook and using them as 'test' canvases because he had no money for the real thing. I can see him trying so hard to become an artist in his paintings. When he made his breakthrough, not that long before he left us, he established black as a primary color for the first time in art history. Kline seems as real to me as an artist as I seem to myself. Another way of saying this is that when I look at a Franz Kline painting I see myself as a writer.