I do not know what day I was born. There is no record. I came into the world one of tens of thousands of girls, with a fifty-fifty chance of never finding a home and receiving the opportunities that I have had. The coin toss was in my favor.
Growing-up I cannot recall my mother or father ever asking for gratitude, not even a hint of it. When I would be overcome by my good fortune and I would ask them why me? They would say, because they loved me from the moment they saw my photo (I look like a space alien in that photo) and it was G*d's plan that I would become their daughter. Perhaps, when they meant that it was G*d's plan that I should feel safe in the truth that nothing happens without his blessing. I am significant, cradled in His omniscience.
Yesterday, they called me from the Pancake House to sing Happy Birthday. It has become a tradition and it brought tears to my eyes. I was overwhelmed by the thought that my life is forever tied to these two people singing into a cell phone in a semi-crowded restaurant at 12:30 pm. Though it may seem like a strange place to think of calling your daughter to wish her well on her birthday, it is in fact, a perfect place because it's essentially their Cheers. Everyone knows them and they have adopted all the young people who wait tables and make the heavenly dutch apple baby. I kinda wished I was there with them.
Yesterday, I went to the Whitney to see Georgia O'Keefe's early abstract charcoals and oil works. The museum worker at the ticket counter asked me if I was a student or under 25. I said thank you and gave her my id.
I am glad now that I went alone. I began to see that O'Keefe was a master of color and shape - what shapes! The exhibit followed her life from her first solo show '291' in 1917 through to her final move to New Mexico in the 40s. And I loved that even in her darkest works she seemed to apply the pastel or oil with a kind of wonder and awe, like she was waiting for the color to sing her a sad, low-down melody or a sea shanty or a love song. Given how much her palette seemed like a concert work to my eyes, her paintings dealing with music as a subject were not nearly as alive as her works from Lake George and her time in New York City.
As I discovered Georgia O'Keefe for the first time, I so wanted to reach out to Princess and tell him what I thought. But if I had gone with him would I have been much more concerned with his observations than my own? Which brings me to another realization, that I never really understood his artistic process or what he meant in his first email of his "fundamental hostility toward artists and art that drives his artistic production."
Throughout the day I heard from friends and members of my family. My birthday did not pass without notice and I was not alone, although I felt the absence of his presence all day long. Thankfully, my birthday was not spoiled by those wistful moments and I will give myself some of the credit for that but the rest of the credit goes, in particular, to three friends who shared a meal with me and made a true celebration possible.
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