"ART"

I saw “ART” in Paris when it premiered back in 1994, with the original French cast. It then went around the world and played to packed audiences in London, New York and B.A. with stars like Albert Finney, Alan Alda and Ricardo Darin. It also bought immediate fame and fortune to its author, Jasmina Reza, a bright, half Hungarian, half Iranian playwright. What was the ruckus all about? It told the story of three close friends who quarrel over the purchase of a very expensive painting showing nothing: a totally blank white canvas. The play deals with the current snobbism and mercantilism of contemporary art; it mainly deals with human stupidity.

I love art with a passion. Like most passions it is best left undisturbed, existing in a world where laws and rules do not apply. It does nevertheless encompass two elements which I find irreplaceable: discovery and amazement.

Forty years ago, strolling alone inside The Tate Gallery –I prefer solitary museum browsing- I came across a view of the Grand Canal by Canaletto.

The light seemed to come from behind the painting. I was struck as if by a bolt of lightning.

The discovery and amazement that ensued have stayed with me till today. It marked the beginning of a lifelong passion.

Years later at the top of the Pompidou Centre I again stumbled –it’s fair to say that surprise plays a big role- in front of a huge canvas of cut off flowers by Matisse, flowers in primary colors, the colors children choose when they play. It was love at first sight. I’ve never gotten over it.

Sometimes passion is unrequited, sometimes not, but it can be compensated and on two occasions I felt Matisse reaching out for me.

Circa 1984, in St. Jean Cap Ferrat a friend asked me to go with him to visit his neighbor. He turned out to be none other than Pierre Matisse, the painter’s son. His house was full of his father’s works, and also works by his contemporaries. The exquisitely beautiful wrought iron hand rail on the staircase had been designed by Giacometti. I had never felt so close to Henri Matisse as I did that afternoon.

In 1992 MoMA organized the largest retrospective of Matisse to date showing 400 works. It was a huge event. I had a friend in New York who belonged to “Friends of MoMA” and invited me on a cold autumn morning to come along for a private visit before they opened the doors. The idea was to study one painting of Matisse. After standing for 25 minutes in front of a view of the bay of Nice -flowing curtains and fishbowl in the forefront - the sense of discovering and amazement was wearing a little thin and I walked away from the group thinking “they´ll stop me any minute”. They didn’t and I was able to amble all over the place and visit the whole exposition by myself. Even now I can appreciate the incredible privilege. Maybe Matisse had a hand in this.

I adore art. I do not want it explained to me; when it is I usually do not understand anything. I do not need art to express social protest; I have done my share of protests by marching and shouting slogans. I want to discover art and to be amazed by it. It is my secret garden, to stroll in solitary splendor, best left disturbed.