Work was getting busy. I was charged with supervising the creative development of a new catalogue of Miss Cousins’ work to be launched at a gallery opening in New York at the end of November.
I guess I should fill you in a bit more about Miss Cousins and the art. The business side of her, well, business was all nuts and bolts and dollars and pennies. She made good money that she subsequently invested; a pretty simple monetary philosophy, actually. She bought and paid for good financial advice and followed some common sense dictums of her own when it came to making financial decisions. She liked real estate and the value of her own art; she liked solid investments and comfortable returns. It was a business of paper work and paper trails.
Her artistic life, however, was her real business. The office—which sold reproduced images of her artwork—also contained a separate studio. She spent part of each morning there, broke for lunch, and returned for the afternoon. She conducted social visits in her office and the studio was truly a space reserved for her painting.
It was a large space painted in a flat art gallery white. Abounding with both natural and—when required—artificial light it was a corner with two full walls of windows. Counters along the two other walls were also in white, with drawers, doors and other cabinetry below. A separate storeroom was accessed from a side door, and canvasses could be stacked overhead on wooden frames, installed for the purpose. It did not escape my notice that there was also a small kitchen and counter, fully equipped, and a bar, also fully equipped.
Miss Cousins was selecting from a number of large canvasses from her food series. The works were in vibrant primary colours shot with black, or in bright hues and washes in a primitive style. The series had become popular and was soon appearing on calendars, note cards, diaries and address books. Jane told me that one of the series—Egg 1—had even been pirated and used on aprons and oven mitts. Jane’s financial purview included vague control over the licensing contracts Miss Cousins had with various firms and she jealously guarded the artistic assets.
Today’s visit to The Studio (my first) was to help select a number of paintings to be displayed in the office. Ardie had arranged for Esther Steinberg to visit the office and “pick something” for her living room. The modus operandi with Miss Cousins was fairly strict and somewhat unorthodox.
You see, she would select a number of works she currently had available and then the “prospective collector” would be invited for a private viewing with Miss Cousins at her office. Miss Cousins would select, oh, anywhere from 7 to 15 paintings for display. A purchase could be made from the paintings on display only and there would be no invitation to tour the studio and see what else might be stacked up against a wall.
Long time collectors and patrons—Beebe Grade, for example—or other special contacts would receive different treatment. A curator representing a museum would have full access to The Studio and such a visit might take two days while Miss Cousins and her guest discussed and explored art together. Corporate collections were built with a distant view and were also, therefore, guided efforts given intimate access to the Mistress and her oeuvre.
Miss Cousins drew the line, however, at visiting decorators with wealthy patrons who traipsed over looking for a signed piece of artwork that would—miraculously—fit their colour scheme and whatever other schemes they had purchased for their residence. Miss Cousins was gracious and welcoming, but these visits were never longer than an hour and always resulted in a sale when everyone realized that “this was it” and if they wanted an Adelaide Cousins they better speak up.
With a flourish the deal would be accomplished and champagne would be served to celebrate the new owner’s acquisition of an important work of art. On one occasion a new bride recounted how she had used a small inheritance to purchase an original Adelaide Cousins. Her aunt had been an art lover and had left enough money for a generous gift that would purchase a small--but original--Adelaide Cousins. Miss Cousins was so touched that she turned the canvas over and re-signed the painting with “from the artist’s own collection” and informed the startled purchaser that the piece would be “delivered framed as a gift” and that Miss Cousins considered these her firm terms.
Esther Steinberg reviewed the artworks in front of her and made appreciative comments. Ardie—her guide in these matters—bantered both with Esther, Miss Cousins, me, and Candis Mitzvah, who was along for company.
Miss Cousins had selected 10 canvasses—none of the larger ones were framed—and asked me to move them to her office. She told me where to put each one in sequence, changing her mind several times along the way, and announced her satisfaction just as Ardie, Esther and Candis arrived.
Gracious and fond hellos. Appropriate refreshments and comfortable accommodations, gentle dissatisfaction with the weather. (Too cold, too early.) Ardie kicked off the game with a warm and kind acknowledgement of how “thrilled everyone was to be visiting today” and how “genuinely excited and eager” everyone was to “enjoy a private viewing with Adelaide Cousins.”
Adelaide was smoking and exhaled a cloud of poison in reply. She smiled quickly, murmured thank you, and indicated to me with her cigarette where I stood next to a piece from the food collection.
“The piece is entitled ‘Diner 4’ and it is a recent work. I am not finished with that theme yet,” she said, gesturing that we could stand and look closer. There is something valuable about looking at art, I realized, as I watched the four of them approach the ten canvasses leaning against one wall. The conversation started to flow better and neither Esther nor her sister, Candis, was shy about asking questions. Esther asked Miss Cousins what her favourite colour was, and Candis inquired whether or not Miss Cousins viewed certain colours as representative of specific emotions or experiences. Our little tour continued and included a small piece from the ‘Palm Beach, series number 1’ paintings that was finished in an elaborate black frame. Candis stopped and quietly looked at this fiery work, cooled with a masterstroke, and audibly sighed a quiet “O” while stepping back to enjoy a new perspective.
“I wonder, Miss Cousins, if you would sell this painting to me—unless my sister wants it first,” said Candis, turning to the rest of us who had strayed a bit further down the line of paintings. “It’s the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen,” she said quietly.
Miss Cousins walked back, a faint smile on her lips. Her cigarette was now trailing some serious ash behind her and she looked first at the painting, then at Candis, before saying that of course Candis could purchase the painting; Miss Cousins was delighted to see it go to an art lover.
Before the hour was out I was making delivery arrangements for two paintings. Candis had, of course, just purchased a small work while Esther had sprung for an enormous floral in bright garden colours of yellow and green. It was something of a rare piece for Miss Cousins, since it was a one off and not part of a series. Negotiations concluded with a coffee service for Esther and Candis and cocktails for Miss Cousins, Ardie, and me.
Miss Cousins seemed particularly interested in Candis Mitzvah; she engaged her in friendly conversation and made the polite inquiries one is expected to make at social occasions with unknown people. She also used her time to ask Candis about her interest in art, if she had purchased art before, and if there was anything in particular that she found interesting in the art world. She suggested a gallery or two that Candis might visit, and even noted that “not one of them is smart enough to show my works!” which prompted some laughter.
When Ardie and the girls left I was preparing to move the rest of the canvasses back to the studio when Miss Cousins stopped me. She had been meaning to get me a housewarming gift—and a “little something” to celebrate our partnership in The Campanile—and she wanted me to “pick something out” in the studio for myself. She “wasn’t taking no for an answer!” and she even had a few ideas for me to consider.
In the studio she pulled out three canvasses and arranged them in a row. The first was a yellow floral of a gerbera daisy; bright and loud and cheery and wild and part of her popular ‘Gerber Daisy’ period. But it was the second painting that caught my eye. Disconnected flowers in a primary style floated against a blue only possible in the imagination and spoke of the one perfect summer day of your life when the sun was shining and the world seemed kind and loving, easy and fair. It was a glimpse of an afternoon in a meadow on a sunny day.
Miss Cousins leaned over and said, “It’s called ‘Clouds on the Horizon.’ If you want it, its yours.”
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