A Break with Matisse

Harmony in Red

The museum guard thinks I’m mesmerized by the red.

I am.

This painting called Harmony in Red by Henri Matisse has eaten the whole room and my preoccupation with anything else that’s not as fun.

I’m also charmed by the pattern climbing up the table and wandering off with no restraints, the uninterrupted focus of the woman with the fruit, and the outdoor scene with clouds impersonating trees. This is my art field trip for today.

I want to inhabit this painting for a while but the guard is breathing down my neck so I’ll keep my distance and see if I can get the same juju as the other paintings I’ve mentally stepped into.

The woman’s name is Zelda. At least, I called her and she looked up and smiled, which is validation enough.

“Zelda,” I say quietly so the guard can’t hear me.

She glances up from the fruit, “Yes?”

“I’m want to hide in your red room from the news.”

“Reasonable,” she says, returning to the bowl. “We get a lot of refugees from headlines.”

“Does it work?” I ask. “The hiding?”

She tilts a pear, considering.

“Art doesn’t erase anything,” she says. “It just gives the mind a place to rest that isn’t on fire. The walls are the only thing ‘read’ here, no news.” Zelda knows how to make puns.

“The world feels unhinged,” I say. “Every time I look at a screen, something dangerous, idiotic, and disturbing comes flying at me.”

Zelda nods like she’s been briefed.

“Out there is chaos,” she says, directing her eyes toward my side of the canvas. “In here, the grapes are just being grapes. The pattern is just being pattern. The red is dependable and predictable. I enjoy blending in.”

“Sounds nice .. and escape?” I ask.

She shakes her head gently.

“Not escape. Counterbalance. Like putting a cool cloth on a fevered forehead. The fever still exists. The cloth helps you stay human while you direct your attention to something that affirms your soul and gives you space to choose something creative to do.”

[How’d Zelda get so wise?]

“Sometimes it feels wrong to look at and make art when the world is a mess,” I admit.

“That’s the fear talking,” Zelda says. “Fear loves an all-or-nothing scenario. Either you’re suffering nonstop or you’re uncaring. ”

“And what does art say?” I ask.

“Art says: you’re allowed to have a nervous system and a soul at the same time. You can know what’s happening and still let your eyes land somewhere that affirms your power to be in the world unaffected and restored.”

I watch her piece the fruit together as if their place in the bowl is a puzzle. She hands me a flower. I furtively accept it, the guard confused by me actually getting a flower without touching the painting. Imagination is powerful which leads me to ask:

“What about imagination? Mine stalls frequently these days and sometimes crosses over to the dark side.”

Zelda sets down the last piece of fruit and leans on the tablecloth, red wrapping around her like every good thing the color red remembers how to be.

“Imagination,” she says, “is how you remember you’re a maker of worlds beyond this one that has elements that, excuse my French, est stupide right now. Even if they’re small worlds, chickens, wobbly still lifes, haiku.”

“This room,” she continues, “is a small world Matisse imagined and created. A room where red runs free, and a woman, such as me, is allowed to focus on fruit and flowers instead of catastrophe. Using your imagination to step into it for five minutes is like taking a vitamin for mirth without the permission slip that no one will give you.”

“Imagination makes room, like Matisse made this room.” Zelda says simply. Room to be without fear, with art and possibility.

I look at her, at the fruit, the flowers, at the window and the cloud trees.

The guard glances over to be sure I haven’t crossed the rope but I have in my imagination.

“Thank you, Zelda,” I say.

She nods like the very cool French maid she is and eats a croissant.

“Don’t forget,” she says without looking up, “you can visit this room whenever the headlines try to convince you they’re the whole story. They’re not. They’re just one channel. Art and imagination are another. Keep your channel changer handy. It’s your sanity.”

I nod, stepping back toward the museum floor, the frame, the familiar distance.

The red stays on the wall.
But my mind has learned how to smuggle color across state lines. I’ll put it in my sketchbook.

Hungry for a croissant,

Jill

Watch for a Harmony in Red related guided meditation on Saturday.

Easy Creativity Workshop
Wednesday, May 13 noon pacific/3 eastern
Be a maker of worlds in this writing and painting workshop for intimidated beginners to anyone wanting to lose yourself in some simple fast, fun creative exercises. No critique, just fun. Might be some red. If you’re scared, just watch. I used to be.
$27 general public Sign-up Here (recorded)

Free to paid subscribers and members of the Underground (link in the chat and emailed)