Chop Suey

"Chop Suey" painting by Edward Hopper (1929)

I had an unexpected sight in the subway this morning. A man was rushing toward the stairs to get up and out into the damp air. He was about 60 or so with longish white hair, jeans, and a frown.

And he was crying.

At first glance, I thought he was wearing a common New York grimace and maybe was congested from allergies, but a second glance confirmed it: he was crying! It is such a troubling and unifying moment in time when you catch a person's private emotions spilling out in the public space. It reminds you how much is happening out of ordinary sight. We are all just little tips of giant emotional icebergs. Sometimes it's all a bit too big and overwhelming for me to contemplate. Luckily for me, Edward Hopper did sit and observe it all, and he gave color to our feelings.

This is a terrific article about the painter. Not to give you homework, but you might want to read it first before you continue, especially if the word "Nighthawks" doesn't immediately conjure up an image for you. Go on, I'll wait; I have to reread it myself...

Let me first say this, I am not a fan of Hopper's Cape Cod era (if you didn't read the article, at least go to the link and look at the pictures). It is a little creepy-swirly for me. But understand that this is coming from a person who can't be in the same room with a print of "Starry Night," which I find terrifying.

Hopper's New York, however, is as crooked and mysterious to me as the City itself, as the emotional depths of the people who inhabit it, and as my own tiny little mind. My Andy and I have a big print of "Chop Suey" in the living room. I love the colors and the light. I love the sneaky profile of the woman on the left peeking into the scene. I love that the guy in the background looks like he's on his Blackberry. And what of the mystery of the two flappers drinking tea?

When I first ordered the print of this painting, a visitor protested, "but it's so depressing!" I was almost, I don't know, surprised by this view. Sure, the stock market crashed in 1929, leading to a global economic depression that lasted year over dusty year. But I see these gals sitting together, dealing with it, taking in the light while they can. They are not fiddling while Rome burns or otherwise acting with giddy optimism. They are together, they have cool hats, and that is enough for the moment.

Sometimes life makes you cry in public. The sadness and badness that you want to hide or ignore or send to Siberia grows in your gut til it travels down your legs and up past your lungs, surrounding and squeezing your heart. It shoots up your neck, constricting your airways, tightening around your skull. You try to stop it, but your well-practiced Public Face quivers, then pinches before caving, and you are weeping in the subway, in your car observed by the people at the bus stop (or on the bus, observed by the same people), or as I once did, for an entire flight home.

There's a bit of loneliness in Hopper's New York as there is in my New York (and in your city, friend); there are shadows and slumping shoulders. So no giddy optimism here. I just want to observe and appreciate the yellows and reds in the light, to sit with tea and a friend. I want to wear a cool hat. I will sit and observe and contemplate the mystery with compassion for my reality and for yours. Compassion is free, even in these tough times - treat yourself to a little. The tea is on me.

ps. What do you think of "Chop Suey"? Depressing or no? And get a load of "Night Windows," another Hopper that is pictured in the Smithsonian article: c'est mystere!