MoMA Files (4)

I woke up rested today, after a long long week, hosting a guest, attending a gala, giving a big talk, and then I crashed. But I rested and today I woke up, showered, did my hair, put on regular clothes. And came to the museum. Late. But still. 

Today: Gallery 501. I only make it inside, turn left, and Jesus. A woman with red hair, knitting with red yarn, in a room with red carpet, and curtains with red stripes. Today, red came looking for me. Before I can even start to take it all in--Edouard Vuillard's "Embroidery," a woman with bright gold glasses, bright gold jewelry--bright bright bright on black, tells me: it must have been painted just when they discovered the red hair dye for women in France, you know, like pow! like it was in the red light districts? I nod. She continues, but its more of the same. And then a crowd gathers, and people are taking pictures, so I step back until they leave. 

It is a tall, rectangular canvas. The woman at the bottom left holds a piece of embroidery, or is it cross stitch? I don't really know the difference, but she's stitching, and she's stopped. She holds a loosely gathered string on her lap, her right hand resting there, underneath a board with her work, as her left hand does the stitching. White silk shirt, I assume, maybe a black velvet dress. She looks diagonally across the canvass, toward another figure--this one is more difficult to discern, but then, as I wait for my eyes to figure it out (I know there must be something there), I realize it is a woman drawing the curtain, just a bit--let in more light, she must think, or have been asked. She also has red hair, and the curtain is in the process of being pulled. 

The woman sitting down must be watching the woman pull the curtain. Help me see better. Help me find the right light. 

And I notice the shimmer of the paint on her dress, the way it seems almost watery, translucent. I notice the red framing of her body--a woman who is embroidering on a red damask carpet perhaps. The carpet, the yarn, the hair, the line of sight--a marking of lines and volumes and textures. 

There is also a plant, somehow obscuring the view of the window--a plant that needs care, that needs time. 

It is not until I get back to my desk that I realize I have missed someone. There is a third woman I didn't see. 

The wall text only listed the title, but the catalog entry reads: 

This work depicts three female figures—two of whom are barely discernible—quietly concentrating on their handiwork amid a profusion of fabrics and yarns. The diffused surface of the painting merges every detail of this muffled setting, creating a tapestry-like effect. Vuillard’s nuanced manipulation of color and texture was internalized from observation of his mother and sister, who ran a small dressmaking business out of the family apartment. (Gallery label from October 21, 2019–Spring 2020)

I didn't see the third woman, but now I do: seated with her head down, also focused on her work, lighter shades of pink, darker shades of ochre, she is also at work, not bothered by the change of light. Not bothered by the ripple of a curtain at her side. And the composition is more complex now, more nuanced: And I didn't see it at first. I didn't see how the third woman, the one who is not bothered, does not show herself, does not reveal her face--I did not see the one who did not want to be seen. And perhaps that is the point. 

Or perhaps now, I will no longer be able to miss the woman seated at the table, whose gaze does not linger on the bodies around, but on the work in front of her.