Under Water

Last week, for the first time in a long time, I went to the Museum of Modern Art to see the exhibit of Matisse’s “Swimming Pool” before it closed. The work, paper affixed to jute, requires extensive conservation and restoration and will not be exhibited again for decades. I’ve seen it before, when it was last exhibited in 2015 and decades before that when it was on permanent exhibit. Back in the 1970’s my late husband made a copy of a large section of Matisse’s piece from jute and paper and paint. He glued it to the walls in our front hall. Every guest would comment, and it made our tiny apartment feel special. I wrote this poem about it not long after he died:

Matisse’s Paper Cut-Outs, The Swimming Pool

Our daughter calls from college. A snow day,
no school.  The forecast worse than ‘78
when even Harvard closed its doors.
I tell her about the apartment where we lived
in Brighton.  We’d glued blue painted paper
and jute to the walls.  Like walking
into an aquarium, living in Matisse’s
cut-outs.  Fish and mermaids danced,
the closet and telephone surrounded by stars. 

When the blizzard stopped we grabbed
our coats, walked down three flights.  
The trolley slept.  Comm. Ave. wrapped tight.
We walked holding hands. 
Our boots sliced a path, cut out shapes
in the snow.  We uncovered the car, 
but with roads not plowed, nowhere to go,
we climbed back upstairs to our three-room Atlantis.

Today I live elsewhere. This snow’s all done.
Our daughter gets off the phone. My dog
jackknifes like a dolphin through the drifts
while I begin the shoveling out alone.
I quickly get thirsty, breathless from lifting.
My hands shake.  I’m tired. My head
begins swimming.  Everything’s slushy,
and messy and dripping.
It’s just that I miss those blue fish.

So, you can understand why I wanted to see the exhibit. But since I had not been to MOMA for a long time, I wanted to take my time and see more. I started on the top floor and worked my way down. A treat. The first painting I came to in the first gallery I walked in was a painting by Vuillard. It’s called “Embroidery.” It depicts a seated woman doing embroidery. I’ve always been pretty indifferent to Vuillard’s work, but when I looked at that painting I found myself weeping, actually weeping. And I thought, “everything may be going to hell, but there is still beauty in the world.” Walking through the galleries made me feel as if I were visiting with old friends and then with new friends. I console myself with this.

I can’t think about Gaza. Rather, when I think about Gaza I need to remind myself that beauty exists in the world even when the worst things imaginable are happening. This somehow gives me cause for hope if nothing else. Maybe in my lifetime the worst will be over. I don’t know. I read Tom Friedman. He writes:

       I can say with confidence that Trump’s proposal is the single most idiotic
       and dangerous Middle East “peace” initiative ever put out by an American 
       president.

This makes me feel better, that there are sparks of sanity in the world. Though there are many times I do not agree or wholly agree with Friedman. Many people are not crazy. As it turns out, he and I were college classmates. I did not know him in college. This is our 50^th reunion year. I had great hopes for the world half a century ago. Now, I don’t know.

Maybe Lincoln had great hope when he delivered the “Gettysburg Address.” It’s the weekend we celebrate this birthday by buying cars and the like. It’s a day that Google has not yet omitted from its calendar. The Civil War was a terrible time. Worse in the U.S. than now, though the government then was not on the absolute wrong side of history. Lincoln’s words bear repeating:

       That government of the people, by the people for the people, shall not perish from
       the earth.

Let’s hope. I never saw the Matisse exhibit when I visited MOMA last week. Though the website said it would be on display for 4 more days and the on-line map indicated the gallery. When I arrived at the gallery, the exhibit hall was blocked, and the guard said the exhibit was being dismantled. That could be a metaphor for something. I’m not sure what.

Please do come to the ALTE exhibit closing reception and reading on Saturday, February 22, 2025, from 4:30 p.m. to 6:30 p.m., at the Puffin Cultural Forum on Puffin Way in Teaneck, New Jersey. Admission is free, and we would really love to see you.