Luchita and Me

By Karalyn Walker •

In my search for truth and meaning, I used to be an avid reader of The New York Times. I still subscribe, browsing the headlines online. No matter where I live, The New York Times is my hometown paper. It brings me answers to the questions I have like, How does one make friends in their eighth decade?

To my rescue came a chance connection, courtesy of The New York Times, with the Venezuela-born artist, Luchita Hurtado. At 98 years young, she had her first big retrospective and a string of solo exhibitions. I have been flying high all week with my new ‘friend’ Luchita and I have bought chocolate bars with chili to celebrate.

Luchita has been a good influence on me. I have been more disciplined with my writing. I didn’t cry when the audiologist said my hearing had decreased. Married three times, Luchita promoted her husbands’ works, not her own. Of course, that’s what women did in those days. That’s what I did. I wonder if she resented that.

Luchita made me think of my artist friend, Dorothy Cantor Pearlstein, who died this past year. I knew her as the wife of the artist Philip Pearlstein, a wonderful painter, who did my portrait. But Dorothy was an artist in her own right. She could really draw. (Luchita had her portrait painted by Man Ray. Philip Pearlstein listened to opera when he painted. I wonder what Man Ray listened to. Maybe he talked to Luchita.)

Dorothy took me for walks on Amsterdam Avenue in New York City. She gave me lessons in seeing. Then she set me loose in the New York City galleries. Dorothy raised the kids and promoted Philip’s career. I was lucky to know Dorothy. Where art was concerned, she gave me confidence in my own judgment. It was fun being part of the New York City art world, but it was not the life I wanted, nor the self expression I needed.

In the seventies, my ex-husband and I had a collection of paintings by famous artists. Then my marriage ended. So did Luchita’s. My ex kept the paintings. I went on to other things. Luchita, it seems, continued to paint. Did she freak out when her first husband abandoned her and the kids? I don’t know. The New York Times didn’t say.

When I saw the picture of Luchita in The Times, she appeared straight out of “One Hundred Years of Solitude”, floating toward me. She embraced her age, stating, “The older I get, the more I want to tell you how old I am.” I looked at her face and instead of botox and a rigid smile, I saw a composed, relaxed, centered woman. Something about her said patience.

Luchita’s paintings are bold. They scream with indignation. They talk to me. They tell me what she is thinking about the world, about women, about herself. Luchita is braver than I; farther along the path. I needed a mentor to show me the way. A woman who gracefully owns her age. And she appeared. Blessings to Luchita Hurtado a thousandfold! Her curator says that she has a fluid identity. What a wonderful description. I will steal it for myself and try to live up to it.

Luchita wasn’t forming movements when she painted, or making clothing or jewelry. She was just creating and expressing. It turns out she was at the forefront of movements. Her life was interwoven with historical figures of the art and political world of the time, like the celebrated Mexican artist Frida Kahlo, who is having an exhibition at the Brooklyn museum. I read that in The New York Times as well.

I miss the paper edition of The Times. I used to love the ads. Now we get the paper delivered on Sunday, it comes wrapped in a double blue bag almost the color of Frida Kahlo’s house in Mexico city. It is not by chance that color blue has entered my life again or that I have visited Frida’s house twice in the last five years or that she knew Luchita or that she was an image maker, a woman who made art from her pain.

Honestly, I am not crazy about Frida’s art. But I love her house. That blue. The garden itself surrounded by all that blue makes one want to create, which was exactly what two of my grandsons did on two separate occasions. Frida made herself into an object of art and inspired people to make art.

Creating and self expression is important at any age. If that sounds scary, let’s call it what it really is: play. Everyone needs to get out of their head and play.

Luchita says, “Life changes you. I’ve been many persons, but each day, I’m completely different.” How exciting. How courageous. If I could needlepoint or embroider, I would certainly make that a sampler. But it would be simpler to be a mantra. Each day, I am completely different. I would like to add that to my practice. I think it would help in the years to come. Luchita got to be old enough to say it. Frida never had the chance. She died too young and in too much pain. Frida’s picture is everywhere. She is certainly more famous. What makes a life successful? Or happy? These questions run through my mind as I look at these women.

In trying to get ready for this exhibition the curators had trouble finding all of Luchita’s work. She herself didn’t remember many of the pieces. “Some things survived, some things didn’t. I’ve gotten used to loss.” Wow, what a statement! Although she was raised in the US since she was eight years old, she is clearly not from this culture.

Luchita is a spiritual creature. She knows she is going somewhere and describes it as a border we cross. I hope I will be able to find her. I am grateful that she has found me.

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Karalyn Walker is a writer, poet, artist and activist living in Oregon. Her body of work can be seen at KaralynWalker.com