Feast Blog

I am not sure what I am more sad about; his passing, or the fact that it happened in April and I am just learning about it the passing of Enrico Donati, who was the last surviving Surrealist.

NY Times Obit ~ April 26.

He apparently was in a taxi-cab accident last July which contributed to his death. This is disheartening to me as I actually me him last July during his sojourn to San Francisco for the DeYoung exhibit. He was having a huge retrospective and being newly represented by Weinstein Gallery, where I bought one of his later pieces. There was a gala dinner held at the DeYoung on the 17th of July and it must have been shortly after that he returned to New York and was in the accident. The picture below is our second meeting — I have another pic that is a print-only of me holding the artwork, Arrival of Alyssa, standing next to Donati at a smaller, private reception the night before the DeYoung dinner.

I am so oddly depressed and crying as I write this, but so happy I got to meet him and thrilled to have the opportunity to talk (a little) about his days with Breton and Duchamp. He was incredibly kind with still a sparkle in his eye and a quick wit despite some hindered movement in his legs. The piece I acquired was from the 1960s and came from a time where he worked with multi-media in Abstract Expressionism; utilizing ground sand, coffee grounds, and “stuff from his vacuum cleaner.”

It is slightly sad for me that my time in London was so rushed; there are always so many more places I would like to visit than I had time for, but I applaud myself that I got to the three major art museums: The Victoria and Albert, the Tate Modern, and The National Gallery (oh yeah, and the County Hall Gallery for the Dalí exhibit, but I already mentioned that).

The Victoria and Albert Museum was my first serious expedition as it was terribly close to my hotel. It was exciting to see renovation and expansion, but damnably annoying that its jewelry collection was put away while a stunning new display is being prepared (and will be open in May, just a few weeks away!). It was not hard then to suffice through the stunning hall of silversmithing; rows and rows of tankards and teapots, samovars and spoons, or plates to pomanders. It made me wistful for my days of calloused hands and the methodical percussion of the hammers striking that softened, matte lunar metal.

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