BERNARD BERENSON’S FAMOUS CRITERION for great art was that it be “life-enhancing.” The marvelous friends and family members who have made this book possible all, blessedly, have that quality.
First, there is the dedicatee, Lucy Swift Weber. Lucy is generous of heart, fabulously energetic, as quick as anyone I know, and a superb connoisseur of human behavior. Lucy has always been a loyal supporter of her father’s efforts in every domain, a devoted and attentive reader, one of the joys of my life. She is our older of two daughters, and from the moment she was born, life took on a new meaning and vibrancy and sense of connection of unimaginable power. When I say this book is “for” her, I do so with love and adoration. Lucy has qualities of strength and tenacity, and a flair for living, that are a perpetual marvel.
Charlotte Fox Weber, as you know from these pages, has, with her rapier-sharp mind, brought one key source after another to my attention; this witty and lively woman, gloriously candid, ever insightful, as full of mischief as of kindness, is an unequaled ally. I have no doubt that as a psychotherapist she does the greatest honor to her profession in truly aiding people to greater comfort with themselves and wisdom in their choices. I adore her husband, Robert Foster Smith, for many reasons, among them his strength of character and qualities of warmth and loyalty as well as tough intelligence; you also know from these pages that I consider him truly to be what Hamilcar was for Hannibal, as great and devoted and attentive and manly a father of a son as I have ever seen. I am also grateful to Robbie for adding Irishness to the family blood with our dazzling Wilder Fox Smith, so that, among other things, this wonderful, breathtaking, joy-filled little boy brings the brilliantly truthful and exquisitely artful Yeats that much nearer to the culture of the family. Wilder, a year-and-three-quarters old as I write this, is the most inspiring person I know, in his pleasure and vivacity and humor and tenderness. I hope that when he is old enough to read a narrative of this sort, should he choose to do so, his grandfather has brought him some pleasure.
My wife, Katharine, has always accepted and been devoted to the strange fellow who wrote this book—and I think you know exactly what I mean. Nothing in this text about the woman with the pseudonym of Susie surprises her, and since, as a writer, Kathy is bold and original, and possessed of a skill with language and an imagination both of which are unequaled, I hope the beautiful woman to whom I have been married for forty years will forgive me any excesses in these pages.
My sister, Nancy Weber, has, as a writer, always been the exemplar of independent thinking, true freedom, and a unique sense of the astonishing connections that exist between seemingly disparate subjects. Her novels and journalism are, to use our mother’s favorite word, panache itself. From earliest memory, I have considered Nancy a magician, and musician, with words, and a terrific honor to our parents, for whom books were the stuff of life. But, beyond that, Nancy is as loyal, as bright, as devoted, and as astute a sibling as there has ever been. And her feelings for this particular book have been an unequaled boon. A lesser person would not have been as generous, as unpossessive, as Nancy has been about whatever I have shown of our childhood. When I write, I so often picture Nancy being the first reader, alert to every word and to the feelings behind it, her standards impeccable and her passion omnipresent, and if I call her my “partner in crime,” it is with love, admiration, and sheer delight.
I am grateful beyond words to the energetic, perceptive, and kind William Clark. We have not known each other for very long, but from the moment he became my literary agent, he made me feel the support and sense of professional guidance that make all the difference in a writer’s life.
And what a publisher he found for this book! Erika Goldman is among the few people I have ever met who understands passionately what it means to be obsessed with art, and to have one’s reactions to paintings be an utterly personal and marvelous experience. With Bellevue Literary Press she has created an extraordinary organization, one devoted above all else to the scope of human thinking, remaining not-for-profit and therefore true to the greatest values of life. Erika is quick, energetic, and on the ball in a thousand different ways; her brilliant mind and warm spirit enhance the lives of others immeasurably.
I am profoundly thankful also to Matthias Persson, not just for the countless ways in which he has helped with the production of this book, but for his wisdom and originality and kindness as a human being and his knowing input as an exceptional artist. Philippe Corfa has, as often before, shown a tenacity and capability in dealing with my particular way of writing—text written higgledy-piggledy in a way no one else could read, barely legible passages going from here to there with arrows—that staggers me, and for which I am grateful beyond my ability to express it. Crystal Sikma has been amazing in the efficiency and grace with which she has seen to so many details of the publication, her Churchill research being just one of many examples of her erudition. Anne Sisco, Nick Murphy, Nicole Marino, Molly Mikolowski, Carol Edwards, and Joe Gannon have been superb participants in this undertaking. Lou Rose has provided generous and helpful councel. Sophie de Closets, as always, has been—with her passion for knowledge, her humor, and her enthusiasm—an invaluable presence in this endeavor. Oscar Humphries has offered encouragement and wisdom and a worldly perspective that belie his young age.
Dick (RWB) and Nancy Lewis, receiving me on the Piazza Santa Croce after my first trip to Orvieto, were the friends they have always been, as Nancy is in spades to this day (Dick, a true mentor, having died in 2002): fun, enthusiastic, bright, graceful, knowledgeable, and utterly joyous. Charlie Kingsley has a wisdom and kindness that provide a center, and boundless pleasure, to my existence. George Gibson—endlessly insightful, as astute as he is generous—exemplifies all that friendship should be. Stefan Stein, in his wisdom about the human mind and his openness to the feelings as well as the vicissitudes of life, has been an unequaled support. Fiona Kearney, understanding and enthusiastic, adds pleasure in more ways than she can imagine. And Laura Mattioli, so generous of heart, so incredibly knowing about art, so open to the way the visual touches us in every way, has been, as ever, one of the most glorious people I know, and particularly understanding of my search.
Mickey Cartin is a terrific friend who “gets” so much, and whose knowledge of art and life, humor, and warmth, never fail to enhance my life. Sanford Schwartz, Julie Agoos, Kathy Agoos, Brenda Danilowitz, Brigitte Lozerec’h, Mike Adler, Margaret Jay, Roland Walters, Tom Doyle, Conor Doyle, Mareta Doyle, Danjoe O’Sullivan, Veronique Wallace, Brigitte Degois, and Gilles Degois have been superb as they always are. Patrick Dewavrin, with his insights into the art of psychiatry and his generous support, has helped me tremendously. Seamus O’Reilly, so quick and erudite and one hundred percent present, has offered invaluable help. Annette Langseth and Charlie English and Louis Valentin and Jacqueline Ortega have no idea how much their kindness and verve for life mean to me in everything I do. The splendid poet John Riordain has, as always, offered sage advice and his keen understanding of the wonder of life. Alan Riding, as great a friend as he is a writer—which is saying a lot—has been supportive and generous in spades.
Victoria Wilson’s engagement with this text, her superb suggestions and intelligent responses to it, and her perpetual generosity of soul, continue to be a vital component of my life. And I am grateful to certain people who are angels in the background except when they are angels in the foreground: Azeb Rufin, Ed Victor, John Gordon, Shawn O’Sullivan, Fiona McCarthy, Benjamin Morse, Richard Mason, Allegra Itsoga, Romain Langlois, Edouard Détaille, Toshiko Mori, Richard Phelan, Nick Murphy, Samuel Gaube, Sophie Dumas, Pierre-Alexis Dumas, Andrew Seguin, John Doyle, Fritz Horstman, Sam McCune, Karis Medina, Jeannette Redensek, Gloria Loomis, Thomas Nash, Sergio Schwartzman, Matthais Dahm, Fiona O’Reilly, Catherine Heggarty, Ross Ferrara, Anne Heggarty, Hugh O’Donnell, Jodie Eastman, and John Eastman.
Regina Tierney is as energetic, supportive, vibrant, and engaged a professional, in what for me is the new world of social media, as anyone I know, and has all the same qualities in the ancient art of friendship.
The generosity and kindness of Jeremy Holmes in his response to this book has brought me extraordinary joy. To Colm Tóibín—astute, supportive, concentrated in his unique way—I owe profuse thanks as well. And John Banville, with his exceptional feeling for visual art as part of the fabric of life, and his magnificent mind and feeling for literature, has demonstrated, yet again, a rare gift of encouragement that I appreciate deeply.
As always, I am grateful beyond words to my cotrustees of the Josef and Anni Albers Foundation. I have described Charlie Kingsley earlier, and the glorious Emma Lewis, with her spirit and intellect and enthusiasm, is a boon to my life. Here I thank them both in their professional capacities in sharing our fabulous mission of what Josef and Anni determined as the goals of the foundation: “the revelation and evocation of vision through art.”
NFW, Glandore, Cork, Ireland