Thanksgiving was the holiday my parents traditionally hosted when they were alive, so this time of year always sends me to a reflective place. In my folks’ later years, when my mom’s health was bad and my dad was working endless hours, they catered the meal in from a local deli. For a year or two they even sent out for Chinese food, which nearly shocked Husband into tryptophan withdrawal as he scoured the takeout menu for Turkey Foo Young. For our family, it was never about the food. It was about all being together and laughing. We were always big on the laughing.
Tacked to the bulletin board over my workspace at home is a picture of Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s art installation The Gates. I like to look up and see that photo of a bleak February day in Central Park overtaken by giant billowy orange drapes as far as the eye could see. I remember the controversy that erupted after Mayor Bloomberg announced that New York City was to be the recipient of one of Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s self-financed legendary works of temporary art. They were the artists behind the 24-mile Running Fence through the ranches of northern California down to the Pacific Ocean back in the 70’s, and the Wrapped Coast in Australia before that. Their work always creates talk. That’s the point. They want you to be part of their art.
The Gates went up in Central Park on February 12th, 2005, the first winter after I lost both my parents and my grandmother. I was in the city one day and happened to look out the bus window as we passed the park. I saw the splash of saffron against the winter sky and jumped off at the next stop. For the next two hours I wandered the pathways under the giant orange waves, amazed at the sheer power of feeling they evoked. The way they caught the breeze, the flapping echo of sound they made, the protective spell they wove as I walked under them. I could give you the facts – 7,503 curtains of fabric on 16 foot tall poles placed 12 feet apart for 23 miles – but that would tell you nothing about the bursts of joy and sudden serenity I felt in the park that day. Their very presence signified wondrous possibility as they seemed to go on forever into infinity. Just the way I thought my family would when I was a child.
And then it was gone. But it was a different gone than my parents and grandmother. It was an idea that had taken solid form and come to visit. For the 16 days The Gates visited New York, uniformed “Gates Keepers” walked the park giving out 3-inch squares of the fabric used to make the saffron drapes. They distributed one million of these souvenirs. As I sat on a bench in silent thought, an orange-jacketed young woman approached and handed me a square. “Enjoy the day,” she smiled. “I am,” I said, and then, “Could I have one please for my daughter?” and she gave me another.
Jeanne-Claude died last week at 74. Christo said he would proceed with the projects they were planning as he promised her he would. Together for half a century, I’m sure he’ll keep his word. I look at that picture above my desk several times a day, and it occurs to me that for all the lovely memories, I never said thank you. Today would be a good day to do that.
From the website of the artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude, here is a sketch Christo made of The Gates followed by my pictures taken on the warmest cold day in February
