So, why am I not writing about the most eventful of current events? That particular roller coaster has me exhausted. Besides, my thoughts on that subject are no different from those of any reasonable – and reasoning – American.
Instead, I want to speak of my pleasure and surprise watching two DVDs that have been sitting here so long I’d forgotten what they were about. Friday night, for want of other distraction, I popped them in. Both were Japanese documentaries. The first was Antonio Gaudi, a mostly silent video tour of this master architect’s magical buildings in Barcelona.
Gaudi structures, in their blissful irregularity, spring not from blueprints but watercolor renderings. They are fairy tale edifices come to life with a deeply satisfying unpredictability. The solid stone seems to be melting. The interior spaces invite and appear about to embrace you. They astonish and make children of us, gigantic, dreamlike play houses that swoop and curve melodically around us.
The twisted metal atop one massive gate conjures up a ravenous pterodactyl eager to devour us. The railings of his balconies wind and knot and curl, suggesting ribbons of chocolate. And then that church, Sagrada Familia, that church for which there are no words to convey its staggering impact.
I’m a man of few regrets, but one of the most bothersome is that, while in Spain, John and I never visited Barcelona. We based in Madrid, big, noisy, hot, dirty, arrogant Madrid. I was happy each time we escaped to the thrilling sights of Granada, Cordoba, Toledo, Avila and Ronda. But, we never got to Barcelona. If I’m ever able to travel again, I will plant myself in Barcelona and let the weirdly beautiful works of Antonio Gaudi wrap themselves around me. His was a genius not ahead of his time but rather out of time altogether. I may never come back.
The second DVD was called Herb and Dorothy. It tells of the Vogels, a New York couple of modest income who nevertheless managed to amass a vast collection of contemporary art worth millions. Passionate collectors, they had a sharp eye for budding talent. Living simply in a small apartment, their disposable income went for the work of new artists like Christo and Chuck Close who became lifelong friends.
The documentary is at its best when it shows the couple, over five decades, just walking the streets of New York, hand in hand, in love with each other and excited by each new movement, each promising new artist. The bonds they forged with their discoveries were deep and lasting. One scene shows Dorothy reduced to tears after an artist, about to leave the country, drops in to say goodbye.
The art that crammed their living space was cutting edge rather than comfortable, some of it minimalist in the extreme. To the Vogels, collecting was not an investment (though for them it would have been a shrewd one). They bought what they liked. What they liked invariably turned out to be what would in time be highly prized, but they never bought to sell. When approached by the National Gallery, they donated what took five large moving vans to convey, happy to see their treasures find a good home. The packing up took on the aspect of a conjuror’s trick as an endless cache of paintings and constructs disgorged from the Vogels’ tiny flat.
Herb and Dorothy were a sweet, smart, funny, perceptive and generous pair, truly unique among art collectors. The video was from 2008. I doubt they are still around, but as long as I don’t google to find out – they are. Viva the Vogels! Viva Gaudi! And, I suppose, viva Netflix.
Me Now 