The Show, Part Three: The Opening

The evening came.  The evening that Avery and I, plus 13 artists, plus almost count­less oth­er peo­ple, had worked for months to make hap­pen.  The opening!

I raced down­town from my chic and intel­lec­tu­al lunch at the Cen­tu­ry with Anne, hav­ing been caught in an unex­pect­ed rain­storm in Times Square, and con­se­quent­ly look­ing like a wet poo­dle.  I checked in at the gallery to dis­cov­er that all was per­fect­ly qui­et, await­ing the deliv­ery of wine and cheese and the arrival of hun­dreds of peo­ple.  So it was but the work of a moment to run over to my hotel, dry my hair, brush my teeth and have a cock­tail, and then back for the fun to begin.

The first thing that hap­pened in that long/short, per­fect­ly won­der­ful night was the film­ing of this video, by the pow­ers-that-be at the col­lege, in which I attempt to sound intel­li­gent enough to have curat­ed such a beau­ti­ful show.  With such fab­u­lous con­tent to describe, it was­n’t too hard.  I’m absolute­ly sure Kate was even more artic­u­late when the film­mak­er turned to her.

She and David were so very, very pleased to be show­ing togeth­er, not at all a usu­al occur­rence.  And with such spec­tac­u­lar work!

Chris­tine arrived, look­ing as beau­ti­ful as her work.

Then The Yel­low Table appeared!

I know, you’re going to say, that’s not a table, that’s a baby!  And you’d be right.  But the baby’s moth­er is Anna Wat­son Carl, a per­fect­ly sub­lime cook­ery writer whose cook­book, “The Yel­low Table,” inspired me to organ­ise our Kick­starter cam­paign and fund “Tonight at 7.30″ all those years ago!  It was incred­i­bly cool to meet her in real life, and admire her gor­geous baby.

It was sim­ply thrilling to have it all coa­lesce, finally.

From there, won­der­ful per­son after won­der­ful per­son turned up.  My whole Tribeca life, and lots of oth­er lives I’ve led, flashed before my eyes.  My cousin Nan­cy, with my across-the-road Con­necti­cut neigh­bors Anne and Kate!

Since Nan­cy was kind enough to let me live with her dur­ing my PhD exams so many years ago, it was only right that she was there to share my re-incar­na­tion as art his­to­ri­an.  I think it might, as well, have been dear young Kate’s first art open­ing.  I’m glad it was our show!

Avery’s his­to­ri­an friend and boss for her sum­mer job appeared, and she is old friends with Anne and Kate.  That was love­ly, to see them togeth­er, and feel so grate­ful for the introduction.

I could­n’t believe my eyes, even though I knew she was com­ing, when my dear, dar­ling friend and for­mer gallery part­ner Erin turned up, all the way from Boul­der, Col­orado!  I just could­n’t stop smil­ing.  I love and miss her so much.

Oh, the adven­tures we had.  The time we drove out to Long Island to pick up a ship­ment of very, very expen­sive paint­ings, loaded the truck, turned around and drove home, only real­is­ing halfway there, on the high­way, that we might very well not have locked the back of the truck.  The time Steve Wynn arrived at the gallery and pur­chased some­thing; the time Howard Lut­nick came and pur­chased lots of some­things (thank you to my friend Joan for bring­ing him!), the three times a rather bedrag­gled man came to see a down­stairs show and spent sim­ply hours, end­ing up send­ing in an assis­tant to pur­chase some­thing, and he was Edward Albee.

Oh, the fun Erin and I had!  She would hang up the phone after a par­tic­u­lar­ly excit­ing call, rub her hands togeth­er and say glee­ful­ly, “We’re cook­ing with gas, we’re cook­ing with gas!”  We were excel­lent part­ners in crime.  She loved see­ing old friends and meet­ing new ones, the night of the opening.

I can­not believe my Lon­don best friend Eliz­a­beth turned up!  With her beau­ti­ful daugh­ter Isabel, no less, now a ris­ing star at Sotheby’s.

How sur­re­al and mov­ing, to intro­duce her to my trea­sured New York friends Alyssa and Car­o­line!  Worlds colliding.

At one point it seemed that every­one I had ever known from Avery’s school days was there.

Oh, the mem­o­ries of our small chil­dren, now adults… so many mem­o­ries of the sur­vival of Sep­tem­ber 11th togeth­er, with Cather­ine, Lisa and Hertzel, Erin and Annie.

One of my favorite col­lec­tors and friends (and also a neigh­bor in our loft build­ing!), Mer­rie.  I remem­ber so fond­ly turn­ing up at her apart­ment to help her decide where to hang everything.

I turned a cor­ner and there was Loret­ta, Avery’s dance teacher when she was just a four-year-old sprite.

Avery’s child­hood best friend Cici, and her broth­er Noah, tow­er­ing over us all like the ten­nis cham­pi­on he is!  They are the chil­dren of cura­tor Kath­leen, one of the many ways our lives have inter­sect­ed and over­lapped over these sev­er­al decades.

Cici and Allon, with­out whose stal­wart help our wall text would nev­er have come into being.  He was an aston­ish­ing source of help through­out the whole process.

It was an absolute madhouse.

At one point the secu­ri­ty guard came in and said, “Ma’am, you’re prob­a­bly over the lim­it on how many peo­ple can be in this space.”

“Oh?” I asked.  “What should we do about that?”

We looked at each other.

“Noth­ing.  Have fun.”

The artists seemed tru­ly hap­py to have such a fes­tive atmos­phere of appre­ci­a­tion for their work.  Paul and Paul!

Ula, so brave­ly man­ag­ing the crowds!

Paul and Kate, fool­ing around with his instal­la­tion in the background.

Col­in arrived and Eliz­a­beth and Isabel were breath­less to meet him.

Chris­tine was sur­round­ed by a coterie of admirers!

My great friend Ivy, cre­ator of “Vin­tage Mag­a­zine” and long­time sup­port­er of my writ­ing, appeared with her husband.

My painter friend Augus­tus turned up.  I have such hap­py mem­o­ries of stu­dio vis­its with him.  Such fun.

He brought such inter­est­ing friends, all so appre­cia­tive of the show.

The evening could not last for­ev­er, alas.  The secu­ri­ty guard flipped the lights off and on (anoth­er jolt of mem­o­ry from my own gallery days, when that moment came at open­ings and I could final­ly get off-stage and relax!).  No one paid any atten­tion.  Final­ly he flipped the lights off and left them off.  “I’ve been here since six this morn­ing.  You all need to go home.  Glad you fun, though.”

We did.

Off to the Wooly, a new and fab­u­lous restau­rant in the Wool­worth Building.

The fuzzy nature of this pho­to pret­ty much reflects how I was feel­ing inside, at that moment.  Thank you, Chris­tine, for organ­is­ing the after-par­ty there!

I think I ate some­thing, I prob­a­bly drank some­thing, but I real­ly don’t remem­ber.  It was just over­whelm­ing, even to me, pos­si­bly the most social but­ter­fly I know.

Mid­night approached and we part­ed com­pa­ny, me with plans to have break­fast with Erin in the morn­ing, to squeeze in one more chance to hug her and drink in her com­pa­ny.  I walked home in a haze of hap­pi­ness, and a misty New York City.

In the blink of an eye, it was morn­ing, and I walked through the famil­iar streets of Tribeca to break­fast.  We talked fast and furi­ous, about her two gor­geous boys (they and Avery prac­ti­cal­ly lived at the gallery back in the day), about her life in Col­orado, mine in Lon­don, our hap­py mem­o­ries of years togeth­er that were a para­dox­i­cal mix of unend­ing work, friend­ship, goofy laugh­ter and true love.

 

What a fit­ting end to the week I spent in New York.  My mind whirling with all I had seen, done and felt, it was back to Eng­land for me.

Next post: Avery (and John) final­ly sees the show…