The time was ripe. V-J Day on August 14, 1945 signaled not only an end to war-time belt tightening, but if history was any indication, prosperity was sure to be in America’s near future, and artists, unwilling to be left in a backwash, wanted to be sure that they would be included in the promise of the “good times” to come.

Woodstock had been a-buzz with the idea for capitalizing on the coming boom for months, artists meeting at one another’s studios ever since the end of the war came closer to realization. There was only a handful — nine, by some accounts, up to a dozen by others — that were talking up and clarifying their burgeoning idea of a new organization, one that would have as its primary goal the economic well-being and protection of its members and all were clear on what they wanted.

However many were actually in on the plan, what is certain is that the driving force behind the conception was Yasuo — “Yas” to his friends — Kuniyoshi. Also certain is that on November 15, 1946, Kuniyoshi, along with Leon Kroll, John Taylor Arms, Henry Schnakenberg, William Zorach, William S. Hayter, Eugene Speicher, Frank Kleinholz and Joseph Hirsch met at the office of Hudson D. Walker, President of the American Federation of Arts in New York City, to discuss and hammer out the broad outlines of such an organization.

Under discussion was, first, the feasibility of forming the group, and second, who ought to make up its membership. If only a general outline was the result, they did agree upon a definite game plan at this initial meeting. Also settled upon was a name for their new group, Artists Equity Association,1 and thus the dream of an organization of self-help for artists was officially launched.

The hope for such an organization was a long time coming. Living under the crushing cloud of the Depression since the crash of 1929 and then, after the ‘30s, the war years of jingoism and feverish preparations, had left most with no time to take proper stock of their personal lives. Now, having just come through a World War with flying colors, the United States had proved itself to be a nation to be reckoned with, establishing itself as a world power that could wield its influence around the globe. However, the weeks closely following V-J Day were confusing and volatile ones indeed and America seemed to be suffering from a split personality. No one perhaps was more surprised than were the Americans at their newfound status as a global power, the very novelty of their confidence and strength leaving most in an uncertain state. As many as saw the moment as a way of seizing on new opportunities, an equal number had only a yearning for a return to the “good old days.”

Mixed messages were being received almost daily. Prosperity seemed within reach of everyone yet the image of the mushroom cloud that had blossomed over Japan — and had recently been seen closer to home when the first atomic bomb was tested at Bikini in 1946 — promised more ominous times. Which way were we going?

For artists, 1947 was a defining year, marshalling forces that had been brewing and shifting since the thirties. The Federal Art Projects of the ‘30s had brought art to communities across America and, for the first time, corporate patronage was beginning to take hold. Art books and art magazines were beginning to appear with greater frequency and attendance at art schools was on the increase — in 1946 alone, an estimated 5000 applicants were already on the waiting lists of New York City art schools.

            At the same time, the New York artscene was still playing catch-up. There were still only a handful of galleries that represented American artists and the rapid spread of modernism since the end of the war merely tended to add confusion to a public that hardly had time to catch its breath. Because the influence of modernism was brought to America from abroad, many Americans still looked askance at any thing that was not readily recognizable as “home grown.” The wartime jingoism had convinced many that such art was “un-American” and that anyone who made or supported it was suspect.

            Not that anyone had any clear idea of just what constituted “American” art. American artists had been searching for their own voice since Colonial times, never able to completely dissociate themselves from the “old country.” Most American artists of any stature had studied abroad and, upon their return, had merely mimicked their European instructors. What few patrons America could boast of before the war would not have dreamed of buying art that had been made by American artists or, if it was American-made, had not reflected classical, old-master European standards and styles.

Ever so slowly, however, an American vision and “voice” was coming to the fore, and such pre-war movements as Regionalism, Social Realism, and the Ashcan School, had our artists looking outside their windows rather than outside their country for inspiration and subject-matter. The road to a national, artistic voice was a bumpy one indeed and who could have predicted that in a few short years New York City would wrest the title of “art capital of the world” from Paris? Yet, who could doubt that it would happen to the brash new superpower that had emerged after World War II?

The heady mix that post–war artists were faced with was composed of a rag-bag of old and new ideas — a mix that Kuniyoshi and his friends had to take into serious consideration as they put together their Artists Equity Association. First was the long-standing if erratic tendency of artists to band together into groups of like-minded people. From the practical to the utopian, schools, movements, and groups had been coalescing and separating for almost as long as artists found themselves among fellow artists. Though sometimes formed for simple camaraderie, such groups ranged from the loosely knit to those banded together under formal manifestos that stated goals and purposes. Woodstock artists had had first-hand experience with such groups — from the Utopian Byrdcliffe to the free-wheeling Maverick to the more middle-of-the-road and practical Woodstock Artists Association, all with their own aims and characteristics.

When political socialism was introduced during the thirties, it introduced its own ingredient into the brew. Because political socialism during the ‘30s had been viewed as un-American the closer we came to war, any such organization or “union” tended to come under special scrutiny. Nevertheless, the idea of safety in numbers had long appealed to artists and, for many, belonging to a group was one way of attaining solidarity. On the other hand, the artist, ordinarily a solitary being who tends to work in furious isolation, had to make some adjustments to the idea of “groupthink” and this was but one more element that was to be woven into the fledgling organization’s development.

The Federal Arts Projects introduced under Franklin D. Roosevelt had introduced an entirely new ingredient for the artist to take into consideration. Such government programs not only offered artists a stipend, but also for the first time in American history had granted them the status of official recognition. After years of struggle, artists as artists were recognized as worthy of support and attention, and for the first time, they were being counted as valuable working members of society. Though largely for the good, the Federal Arts Projects also had its downside, however, in that it generated much suspicion and condemnation from some quarters of American society. As the war years separated art into the artificial categories of “American” or “Un-American,” the Red Scare had caused many ultra-patriots to view any art tainted by “socialism” as not worthy of support. From this position, it was but a short step for many Americans to begin questioning why any art ought to be supported.

It was to hold the ground they had gained and to avoid the pitfalls of being seen as “subversive” that had gone into the thinking and planning during the meeting on November 15, 1946 at Hudson D. Walker’s office. Word of the meeting spread quickly and in less than a year, on April 30^th of 1947, the Artists Equity Association held its first regular membership meeting at the Museum of Modern Art. To the approximately 400 people who attended the meeting, the AEA introduced Walker as its new Executive Director and presented a 15-point program that outlined their purposes.2 Within a brief two years’ time, Yas Kuniyoshi could declare that his Artists Equity Association had “1500 members and representation from almost every state in the union.”3

A lot of thought had gone into setting up the 15-points presented that day in April. The founders had consulted with the Author’s Guild, the Dramatist’s Guild, Actor’s Equity and ASCAP for guidance in setting up their platform. Kuniyoshi had himself already gained considerable organizational skill and experience — both positive and negative — from his affiliation with the Artists Congress, an organization dedicated to opposing “war and fascism” which he had helped found in 1935 and through his presidency of An American Group in 1939. Though his involvement in these organizations quickly seasoned him in becoming a potent political voice in the service of artists, the branding of the Artists Congress as a “Red” organization by the American Congressional body during the war years had come to haunt him. In spite of his considerable efforts in the war cause — he had designed anti-Axis images and wrote and broadcast speeches for the Office of War Information —Yas Kuniyoshi was declared an “enemy alien” in 1941.

The founders were especially careful to avoid using the word “union” in any of their printed matter, since President Harry S. Truman had just the year before stepped into the middle of the Railroad Strike. That strike had threatened to cripple the country and neither the government nor the American public looked favorably upon anything that called itself a “union.” If the time was ripe, it was also fraught with difficulties, so particular prudence was taken as purposes were carefully chosen and spelled out in the 15-point program. Finally, especial care was paid to who might be invited to membership. Ernest Fiene, Chairman of the Membership Committee, pointedly spelled out the requirements for acceptance, insisting on professionalism and a dedication to a group that was publicly styling itself as “a national, non-political, esthetically non-partisan organization.”

Pleased with the reception they had received at the April meeting at the Museum of Modern Art, the Artists Equity Association followed up with a series of conferences that were held in Woodstock, New York, the first scheduled for August 29 and 30, 1947. Held in conjunction with the Woodstock Artists Association which had funded the conference and the Art Students League of New York which had offered their summer facility on Route 212 as the site for its occurrence, the event was one of the most ambitious programs ever put on by any arts organization. Entitled “Artist and His World,” this first conference hosted over 300 attendees that included artists, art dealers, gallery owners, museum directors, patrons, and publishers of art books. Speakers at the event included Yasuo Kuniyoshi (recently elected President of the Artists Equity Association); Harold Clurman, theatrical producer, director and critic; David Smith, sculptor; Hudson D. Walker, President of the American Federation of Arts, member of the U.S. National Commission for UNESCO, and Chairman, Executive Director of Artists Equity Association; Milton Lowenthal, lawyer, collector, and trustee of The American Federation of Arts; Juliana R. Force, Director, The Whitney Museum of American Art; Heywood Hale Broun, writer; Howard Devree, art critic for the New York Times; and Mitchell Siporin, painter.

To take advantage of the momentum they had built up, Artists Equity Association sought several ways to spread the word and to further their cause. One such endeavor was the Annual Masked Ball held in New York City throughout the ‘50s. A major fund-raiser for AEA, each Ball featured an accompanying published booklet of original lithographs in which businesses that took out ads in support of AEA could select artists of their choice to create artwork for them in its pages. The brainchild of Julio de Diego, the booklet became a huge moneymaking success. Coincidentally, de Diego’s wife, Gypsy Rose Lee, served along with Yasuo Kuniyoshi as the Grand Marshals of the First Ball in 1950 at New York City’s Hotel Astor. It is in that tradition and to honor Yasuo Kuniyoshi that the Woodstock Artists Association is hosting the Woodstock Beaux Arts Ball 2003 along with a retrospective of Kuniyoshi’s work throughout the month of August which will include his paintings, drawings, prints and photographs from private and public collections. A special feature of the Beaux Arts Ball, to be held on August 30, 2003, will be the “Masques des Artistes,” a showing of original masks created by contemporary artists.

Three more Woodstock Conferences were held following the first one in August of 1947, each turning its attention to a different focus and concern facing the artist. Though begun with high expectations of making life better for the artist by presenting him with a leveled playing field within the art world, it was increasingly made obvious that bit by bit, after the closing of each conference, any notion of solidarity amongst artists would prove to be a fleeting dream. Seeds of discord cropped up early in the conferences as artists, who are by nature solitary workers that depend on individual visions and needs — whose very raison d’être is to be unique — proved unable or unwilling to act in concert even in their own economic interests. Whatever teeth the original founders of the Artists Equity Association hoped their organization would have would soon be extracted, one by one.

Illustrative was what happened to Point #6 of the 15-Point program, “Investigating the idea of a rental fee.” A subject of special interest to many Woodstock artists, the issue had for some time been a hotly discussed one in the art colony, the subject coming up almost every time a few artists got together. The so-called "rental fee policy," however, never became much more than a wishful dream. Some years before his death, Karl Fortess, an Equity member and close friend and student of Kuniyoshi’s, discussed the rental fee idea with me at his studio in Woodstock, New York, and a short time later, included the topic in his audio-taped “memoirs” of the period. Fortess made clear the bone of contention underlying "rental-fees" by pointing out that museum administrators, curators of shows, office personnel, guards — even the janitors — got paid for their services while, the artist, ostensibly the underlying linchpin of the museum system, their products the very basis for their existence, did not. Furthermore, Fortess pointed out (as did David Smith in his address to the first Woodstock Convention), not only did artists not get paid but also had to pay for their materials, pay for matting, pay for framing, pay for packing and shipping, even, at times, had to pay to enter a show. To many artists, the practice was patently unfair and a wrong they intended to remedy by charging museums (and other exhibition venues) a rental fee for the duration a work was to be exhibited. To effect this change and to formalize it into a set policy, the artists agreed to boycott any institution that would not agree to the fee.

In Hudson D. Walker's concluding remarks at the first Woodstock Conference, he pointed out that some of the larger corporations — he specifically cited the Pepsi-Cola Company and the Heller Deltah Company — were already in agreement with such an arrangement and that, at least for the time being, the "policy" was being taken seriously. When it came to the museums, however, it was not the museum administrators who undermined the idea but, according to Fortess, the artists themselves. It was his contention that it was the less-established artists, those who were still struggling for recognition that sabotaged the movement. It was, he contended, the "older" (or better-known artists) who fought for the arrangement and who were willing to boycott those institutions that were not willing to agree to the "rental-fee." "It would have worked," thundered Fortess. But the "second-stringers" — "scabs" the more union-minded artists would have called them — were quick to see that the refusal to participate by their older, more established colleagues in such boycotted institutions provided them an opportunity and they eagerly leaped into the breach, offering their work to the museums for free. Thus, almost before it got an even chance to succeed, the less committed artists betrayed the cause of solidarity — a betrayal that yet rankles in the mind of many old-timers to this day. The "rental-fee policy" would not be the first or last item in the 15-Point Program that would be emended or dropped from discussion in the future.4

In hindsight, it is obvious that although they avoided calling their organization a “union,” the founding members intended for the Artists Equity Association to have some clout in the artworld, some leverage that might afford them an equal standing in their dealings with galleries, dealers, and museums. Ironically, the Woodstock Conferences gave those very institutions against which they sought protection not only the blueprint but the incentive to form their own self-protecting and, as it turned out, very successful organizations. Today, in the world of dealers, curators, collectors and directors, the artist is still low man on the totem pole. At bottom, the artists found that not only could they not rely on their fellows, but also that they lacked the very weapon that made any union workable — the power of the strike.

For many of the old guard — and there are still many today who were among the early enthusiasts — the Artists Equity Association had never attained its initial goal of becoming a major force for artists’ equity within the artworld. Too many artists, in their estimation, merely saw the organization as just one more opportunity in which they might further their own ends by having a new venue in which to exhibit their work rather than as a powerful tool to enforce acceptance on equal terms in the artworld. Yet Kuniyoshi and his fellows have not entirely failed in leading the way in showing artists how to help themselves.

Today, some fifty-odd years after the founding of the Artists Equity Association, the National Artists Equity Association (NAEA) has addressed such issues as moral rights and copyrights, better living and working space, health and safety matters, professional and income tax equity, and offers a wide range of technical information for its large membership. Like its parent organization, NAEA has also set up its stated goals, outlined in a 9-Point Program for its large membership.5 For New York area artists, Art Niche New York (ANNY), hosted by New York Artists Equity Association, carries on the torch, serving area artists in a number of ways, its staff always ready to help artists help themselves.6