I Fell in Love at the Guggenheim

Guggenheim Museum

Yes, I fell in love at the Guggenheim.

. . . And I fell in love at the Metropolitan Museum of Art . . . and again – and most definitely – at the Museum of Modern Art.

They were all there (Well, almost all of them, anyway) – so many of the paintings that I have known and studied from afar. So many of the paintings that have not only shaped my art – but also who I am.

The painting that first made my heart race was one by Franz Marc. His colours!! As I stepped into the door of the gallery I couldn’t help but exclaim, ‘O my God, how beautiful!’ The guard, to my surprise, did not roll his eyes or give me an, ‘O not another one!’ look of dismissal. Instead, he stepped back a bit in order to clear my line of sight. I stepped partway into the room and paused, still looking at that one painting. My soul was energized with the certainty that I was on holy ground. Temples, churches, and monuments cannot surpass the emotional impact that being in that room had on me. Then my eyes turned to a large Chagall. I almost lost my balance. I did teeter on my feet a little. Did I look as though I was drunk? I stepped to the side once to reset my footing. I uttered another remark of astonishment. I had never liked Chagall (to the horror and irritation of some of my friends). But . . . confronted with that painting, standing face-to-face, I was moved to the very center of my soul. Then the Kandinskys. Then the Picassos. I had loved most of these paintings most of my life. Still, I fell in love with them anew.

One of the reasons why I delight in paintings is that the truly wonderful ones are magical. They are infused with the life and power of the creator . . . and of the Creator who inspired them. My encounters with those works of beauty propel me into my own timeless youth; in which my own creativity is boundless and unencumbered. In the presence of wonderful paintings I feel the life in me that never diminishes with age – and that is stronger than any energy drawn from mortal existence alone.

I spent a week (my first week living in New York) making pilgrimages to these museums. It was a series of reunions with old friends who I was meeting for the first time. No love from youthful years ever surpassed those that came alive as I stood before the alchemical wonder of paint, canvas, and artist brought together. These great works remind me that art and religion have often been twins in cultures around the world. The wonder of a created picture can speak to the majestic mystery of the Source of All Creativity.

This, I am convinced, is one of the main reasons why God has brought me to New York . . . to be taught and inspired by the art and artists who are here. Little wonder, then, that I have made my home in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn – the present-day center of up-and-coming art and artists in this city. I drink in the energy here. And my own mind races with thoughts of images yearning to be created.

What will my teachers teach me? What a joy to live in the company of such wonders!