Friday Afternoon

I bought three white roses on my way home and I placed them on a white vase by my bed. Lately I’ve been a little obsessed with white in all its shades and tonalities because the beauty of its emptiness, or I rather say its reflection and inclusion, brings me peace. I like to think that we all appreciate beauty, and to an extent try to bring it to our lives in any form or representation that is meaningful for us. I wish I had the painter’s sensibility to translate abstract emotions and complex concepts into strokes and colors. I’m not a writer either but in the process to find my voice I try to reflect the voice of others. I patiently keep writing, keeping in mind the fundamental principle of growth and learning, and hoping for an ever-evolving maturity. It took several years after Georgia O’Keeffe’s death for New York art critics to consider her as an abstract artist beyond her flowers and the image of an overt sexual woman. What is interesting for me is that she started working with abstraction, creating her own vocabulary of colors and forms, and returned to it a few years before she died. For a long period, as she fought the association to her sexuality, she mastered the use of color by painting figurative art that left no room for interpretations. She had the capacity to keep learning and growing, while she adapted to the circumstances as her life unfolded. Her paintings tell the story of a life-long process that is greater than herself, as it provides the opportunity for the others to get closer.

Veronique came over for dinner; she just left. We always have great conversations, a French raised in an island and a Mexican raised in one of the most populated capitals of the world can have lots in common. At this very moment I'm drinking a glass of prosecco to fight the New York summer heat as I listen to Eric Clapton's Knockin' on Heavens Door. My favorite pastime, which I'm sometimes ashamed to accept, is to play music and contemplate. Just being; at ease. Staring deeply without focusing. Music outside, silence inside. A few lyrics from Bajo Fondo Tango Club grab my attention, "Me atravesó, tu suave vendaval, rumbo a tu recuredo seguí, la estela de tu perfume." This is so seductive that makes me fall in love with myself for a second.

Lily’s friend is the curator of the Lee Bontecue’s show at the MOMA, so we got invited for a tête-à-tête conversation with her as she walked us through every piece on the exhibition. The museum was closed today, so we got it all for ourselves. “This sculpture took Lee approximately 18 years for completion,” she told us as I wondered how each piece of the suspended sculpture came to life, and how Lee decided that the piece was finally finished, if ever. “Black holes are a constant in Bontecue’s art, so I got obsessed about them. So as many curators I’m now obsessed with the artists obsession.” Black in her work is actually deep, without any light or reflection, which makes it as soothing as unreal. It is hard to create; she used black velvet and burn materials with her welding pistol. Black reminds me of a line from RED, John Logan’s play on Mark Rothko: There is only one thing I fear in life, my friend. One day the black will swallow the red. Lee Bontacue, one of the few female artists of her generation, stopped showing her work for 35 years, until she accepted a retrospective at the MOMA a few years ago. “It’s unclear why she stopped showing her work, especially when she was recognized by some of the most important galleries.” As I try to make my own interpretation, again my reference goes back to RED, and Rothko’s reading on Jackson Pollock’s death: Suddenly he was a commodity. That Oldsmobile convertible really did kill him. Not because it crashed, because it existed. Bontecue’s works are untitled, so as her life, it is all open for the audience interpretation.

Dreaming about...

Traveling smoothly to faraway places...

And returning home, where everything started...

Where and how did I learn the script for my life? In the kind of work I do, scriptwriters have the power of scripting the way characters act in new and unexpected ways; therefore giving us, their audience, the possibility to rescript ours. A powerful script has the ability to reshape our imagination, to change the collective imaginary and even change social norms. There are so many ways to live, there are even more ways to tell the story of life; you can always choose the words you use to do so. As an amateur photographer I understand the importance of framing; selecting a piece of reality. But selection is not in the realm of scarcity, you can take as many pictures as you want, you can select as many frames as you wish. As an editor I know it is also possible to make your frames magical, sometimes. Reminding people about their ability to reframe their lives, to change their lens, is truly empowering. This pose an opportunity to rethink, redesign and add value to what they have decided; to where their decisions have taken them. It provides the chance to leave any guilt behind, to be kind to themselves, and to even start all over again. If they wish.