a very belated valentines day special
two vignettes of cherry red for lovers
Not anyone who says, “I’m going to choose slowly,” by only those lovers who didn’t choose at all But were, as it were, chosen
— Mary Oliver, Not Anyone Who Says
One. Breathe Easy II.
In the depths of New York winter, I found myself on a hunt for color. I was looking for inspiration on 1stdibs for a painting to complete a diptych above my living room sofa. I wanted something bold - bright hues that would breathe some joie de vivre into the drab grayness outside my apartment window.
I came across Emily Mason’s Breathe Easy.
There is an optical vibration in the red’s physicality, a gentle intensity in the viscosity of the pigment, an intriguing intimacy in the delightful encounter of pink and marigold. Flat but surely not dull, a structure persists in the canvas.
I found my joie de vivre.
Since Breathe Easy was unavailable for purchase (and unattainable at the asking price listed anyway), I decided to paint it myself.
One of the most intimate ways to get to know an artist is to recreate her work.
Daughter of pioneering abstractionist Alice Trumbull Mason, Emily Mason (1932-2019) is steeped in the history of American abstraction. There is a veil of mystery to Mason’s process: the fast-paced angst and bravado often seen in Pollock and de Kooning’s work is absent in Mason’s, where one senses a steady surety in her chosen chromatic temperature. The fluidity of the composition seems almost premeditated - as if she regularly stepped away from the canvas while painting to assess her next move. Mason must have had a discerning eye.
In a 2017 documentary about her work, Mason shares what it means to behold a painting:
“When you look at a painting, you re-create the painting experience itself”.
In painting my own version of Breathe Easy, I felt like I was intruding on something personal. Stroke by stroke as I emulated the imprints on her canvas, I wondered about Mason’s inner life. What came first to her, the red or the marigold? What motivated the streaks of turquoise and cerulean? Did she always know the streaks would be where they landed? With the same force? The same certainty? How much of it was improvisational, accidental, controlled, or a surprise? Would Mason let me in on her secret? Would she find my homage to her in the form of imitation sincere, would she appreciate it?
“I try to use paint for its brilliance, transparency, opacity, liquidity, weight, warmth and coolness. These qualities guide me in a process which will determine the climate of the picture. All the while I work to define spatial relationships, resulting in certain kinds of places. I cannot name them but know intuitively when they appear.”
— Emily Mason
Slowly but surely, my repainting of Breathe Easy appeared to take on a life of its own. I used acrylic instead of Mason’s oil. My 48’’ x 36’’ canvas is much larger than her 34’’ x 26’’. I thought my own painting looked better upside-down. A deeper carmine took over Mason’s brighter orange. It’s more obsessive and desirous - warm blush, scarlet love letters, flushed rosy cheeks, feverish kisses, tastes like sweet cherries, heart drenched in red wine, flaming blood.
It screams I think I’m in love, I am loving, I will love and be loved from the living room wall.
I absolutely adore it.
Contemporary artist Amy Sillman writes of her own relationship to painting,
“Color is something I can only describe, which lives in the memory and sensation of the skin, the feeling of touch and handling itself,”
I found it fitting for Mason’s work, and also for love.
I finished Breathe Easy II on Valentines’ Day evening. Alex had just brought home a box of chocolates adorned with a red ribbon matching the exact shade of red on Breathe Easy II. We shared the chocolates and kisses. We watched the night lights glimmer over the East River from our kitchen window.
I think about how this is our third Valentines together, in our third apartment together, how much we’ve laughed and moved and explored and supported and shared and grown together. Of course we’ve argued, but we’ve never left anything unresolved before going to sleep each day. No day was ever the same, but the how do you feel, I want to make you happy, and I want to be better for you have always been constant.
In an interview, Mason compared her painting process to a game of chess:
“One more move, like chess - a musical conversation - violin, cello. Pick it up, make a move - wait - let time go between. Then I know what to do.”
Is this not like love too? You’re never settled. Nothing is ever done. We treat each day like it’s a new chess game, a new composition, a new puzzle, and we work together to solve it.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Two. let’s RideMovi
The most memorable meal I’ve ever had was dinner at Massimiliano Alajmo’s Le Calandre in Padua, when Alex and I spent a month in Italy last summer.
The journey to dinner was almost more eventful than the meal itself: we made our reservation far in advance, knowing the restaurant is in Padua, a manageable day trip destination from Venice. We stayed in Venice the night before dinner and spent the day of in Padua, strolling through the Palazzo della Ragione and the University of Padua’s lush botanical gardens.
Right before wrapping up our afternoon in the gardens, it occurred to us to check directions to dinner, only to realize Le Calandre is in Rubano, a town in the Province of Padua, about 7 kilometers outside of the touristy Padua city center.
Taxis were somehow impossible to find.
We then saw two red scooters in front of the garden, operated by RideMovi (the European equivalent of Bird/ Lime). With no other option, we downloaded the RideMovi app and rode the scooters on the highway to a biryani store on the edge of Padua, the maximum range we could go. We attempted to park our scooters on the sidewalk in front of the biryani store but the owner shooed us away. (We dragged the scooters to the next storefront.)
There was still another kilometer to go! We continued our pilgrimage to Le Calandre on foot (back on the highway), first trailing behind some adolescents who soon ducked into a roadside youth hostel. We were left to ourselves with passing trucks.
Finally, soaked in sweat (Italian summers are no joke), we came upon a strip mall -looking structure with a sign that read Le Calandre. We timidly asked the maître d' if we may use the restroom to freshen up before being seated for our meal. She graciously agreed. It was the closest to a shower I’ve ever taken at a sink.
I should mention that dinner was indeed sublime. The theme of absurdity continued through the evening - a porcelain egg sat in the table’s dimpled center, paintings came to life on soup surfaces, we sipped wine from bulbous glasses as big as my head, and giggled as pop rocks on fruit exploded…
For parting gifts, instead of the usual sweet breakfast offerings, Le Calandre gave us a can of tomato sauce.
The sauce was tucked into our luggage back to New York and frankly faded into oblivion in our pantry until the weekend before Valentines - I made a special pasta dinner in Le Calandre’s honor.
It was actually very good.
Alex and I still chuckle at the sight of scooters.
What a wonderful narration of love and being loved through the process of artistic appreciation, interpretation and, most impressively, creation! I can only imagine that Mason would love to see your imitative work, and she would love it more after reading your colorful joie de vivre surroung the artistic creation process.