Emil Bohnenblust had clearly fallen in love. I discovered, through mutual friends, that he had been sending Katherine e-mails from Ravello, on the Amalfi coast in Italy, where he worked. One day, when I dropped by Katherine's office to discuss a common project,
I found it filled with the yellow roses which I knew were her favorite - they were not from me. I also heard that Emil was telephoning her on a regular basis.
Katherine began to speak of Emil in our conversations. She was touched by the attentions of the famous musician; but in addition, she appeared to genuinely admire him and I could see that this was more than a passing flirtation for her, yet I hoped that with time and distance this would fade.
And I, suddenly, came under pressure...
A field of poppies...
Catherine's birthday was approaching. I wanted to find something that would give her great pleasure, I wanted to show her that I loved her with all my heart.
She way a great admirer of the Italian painter. Franco Bocchi, famous for his landscapes of flowers, and who said once that flowers symbolised the hope of paradise. She was particularly taken by his poppy series. I asked my friends in Italy to help me find a painting. In vain. There was no painting to be found.
Three days before her birthday I was in Banja Luka and - on the recommendation of another painter in Sarajevo - visited Miro, a major figure in the artistic community of the old Yugoslavia, in his atelier. As I entered, I could hardly believe my eyes: a room full of poppies. All four walls of the tiny studio were covered with several dozen of paintings of poppies of various sizes and shapes. The scene made my heavy heart leap with joy. I also remembered the upcoming birthday. "Oh, what a stroke of luck!" I exclaimed to Miro.
Miro immediately became an ally. He understood Katherine's love for poppies and explained to me the repeating pattern which was present in each of his seventy paintings. In the background of each picture was the contour of a mountain. Miro told me that he was trapped in the studio for four years of the war and the only landscape he could see was the mountain outside his window. The poppies in each picture were memories of happier times, which he had kept in his heart throughout the terrible days.
Miro added that, for some people, the poppy is the flower that symbolizes life and death in one. The black stem symbolizes death, and the red petals, life's embrace. For others, the red symbolizes the blood of the fallen partisans, and the black stem contains the seeds of new life. The feature common to all interpretations and legends is that the poppy symbolises death and rebirth; indeed, mortality and eternity, in a single creation.
I looked out of the window at the same scene which Miro had repeated so many times along the walls of his studio and nodded to him - I understood completely.
I brought one painting back to Sarajevo and gave it to Katherine for her birthday. Tears filled her eyes when I told her Miro's story - she gave me a long and firm hug and I felt that, perhaps, we were close again.