I have the privilege of working with Makoto Fujimura at International Arts Movement. Recently, Mako had an exhibition, "Charis," at Dillon Gallery in Chelsea (Manhattan). Below is something I wrote the morning after the exhibit's opening, when I went back alone.

The exhibit ended on August 3. However, Mako's work is always on display at Dillon, so if you are in NYC, be sure to make time to visit the gallery.

 

Sitting on a split wooden bench, facing one of three monumental gold compositions in Makoto Fujimura's current "Charis" exhibit at Dillon Gallery, I am finally able to actually spend time with the work. This, I realize, is the only way to see a Makoto Fujimura painting. I was at the opening reception last night, but as I sit here now, it occurs to me that I did not see any of the paintings at that time, because it is impossible to "see" a Makoto Fujimura painting in a room full of people and noise and wine. Last night the room was buzzing with Fujimura friends and aficionados, merlot in one hand, CV in the other. The reception was about celebrating the show itself, and the man who created it – and even the gallery exhibiting it. But to truly see the work, one must come, as I am now, alone.

I read every word of the press release and curriculum vitae before setting aside the pages and lifting my eyes to the wall ten feet in front of me. The works are not labeled, so I do not know which I am looking at right now. I am glad for this, because, for me, the title immediately directs my interpretation, and I am enjoying drawing my own conclusions for the time being.

The first thing I perceive about the painting is that it is busy. Of the three major works featured in this exhibit, this is, at least on the surface, the busiest. I have heard Mako's work described as being "alive," and as I move my irises around the perimeter of the painting, I cannot think of a more appropriate word. My rods and cones are dancing, as there is so much in this piece to see. Gold, of course, since that is the primary component of every work in this exhibition, but many other vibrant colors comprise this scene as well. I see splashes of hunter green, immediately calling to mind a forest, and then notice a few light and thinly drawn suggestions of trees, reinforcing that impression. There is silver too, mostly at the bottom, and I think of water, but also accenting a few places at the top of the work - and I think of water again. Red the color of old blood creates a horizon, with a fresher-blood red behind it in the distance. The piece, which almost fills the frame of my glasses top to bottom and left to right, also has some surprises. Blue the color of the sky over Manhattan on the morning of 9/11 seems to come from behind the forest, suggesting to me that I am seeing it through several layers of organic activity: foliage, a sunset, a fire or perhaps sunbeams reflecting in the late afternoon sky.

The most surprising thing I see is a dash of seafoam and splash of saffron, which, since it happens to be my favorite color, is of particular interest to me. There is also aqua flowing from the bottom, perhaps a cool spring making its way through the trees and up the mountain I perceive to the right of the work.

As I spend time with this piece, I am there – I am in the forest, the air is cool and dank and the birds are singing, though not loudly. They seem to know I need softness today; I am quite tired.

As I continue to let my eyes roam, I see more and more. Rocks and shadows and splashes of something I can't articulate, but – no path. This forest is untouched and untrodden. It has been visited only in thought, and seen only by the mind's eye, which leaves no footprints. That said, I have the undeniable sense that I am absolutely not alone in this quiet place. No one has been here before me, but I'm not alone.

The more present I am in the painting, the more my senses become overwhelmed. It is the kind of beauty that moves me to tears and gives me chills. My eyes begin to burn with tears born out of the longing this kind of beauty evokes in me, and when I'm quite sure I can't hold anymore of it today, I close my laptop, pick my backpack, and head out into the hot summer sun over New York City. I have to go to work.

But I'll be back soon. Alone. And yet… not.