New York missive no 9 - MOMA and orange

I walk into the Picasso room in MOMA and there – kerpow! – slap bang splayed in the middle of the wall is the Demoiselles D’Avignon. There’s something breathtaking about seeking a painting as powerful as that, which you’ve seen reproduced over and over in art books, in the flesh. Literally. I stand looking at it for a long time. At one point, a man crouches down by the bottom right corner of the painting, peering, it seems, right up at one of the women’s crotches. Guess he’s studying the paint strokes but it seems otherwise. He’s told to move along by a security guard. “Where would I be without the colour red?” says Matisse next to one of his paintings, in another room. Everything Matisse paints is in isolation, hanging in its surroundings in the lonely yet dependent way we all do. My colour of the moment’s orange, not red. Recent purchases (perhaps have caught the NYC shopping bug after all) have included a bright orange bag from Multipazz (favourite shop) when back in London last week, a stripy orange top for sleeping in and a black cardigan with bright orange flowers.