Ann Caruso
Ann died May 14, 2020, at 3:30 p.m. The COVID pandemic has prevented us from seeing her for the last month and a half. It all seems like some kind of literary pathetic fallacy that her demise should be heralded by a global virus and predicted rain for tomorrow. It’s fitting in a way, because she is a person for whom nature and the gods would have taken notice.
I felt a special bond with Ann, partly through art and through her wonderful sense of camaraderie and personal sharing. She would breeze into Starbucks, buy me a coffee and we’d share our latest insights. She was a new experience for me in many ways. In her unflinching opinions and willingness to express them, in her genuine love of art and artists, in her generosity and commitment to doing her part anywhere it was needed, and in her exceptional understanding that her help should be offered without requiring a request for it. When June broke her ankle and was laid up, Ann appeared with her own vacuum and a determination to clean the house. When we renovated the house, she fed us night after night to the point where we felt like it would be easier to move in with her and Mac. Other people can be generous, but Ann’s brand of that gift was so unselfish and so thoughtful in its anticipation of the recipient’s awkwardness in asking that she simply lifted that burden from anyone she helped.
As an artist, I was especially taken with her love of art and her appreciation for what it means to make art. She really did pay attention to the nuances and was as generous in this sense as she was in everything else. Ann would pay her way regardless of the circumstances. Given a free pass to a concert, she would pay anyway as part of her commitment to the arts. I never knew anyone I wanted to make art for more than for Ann. Art was just one of the many ways she committed to her role as a member of the community. She helped restaurants, artists, musicians, city committees and charities. And it was always with enthusiasm and a smile.
Ann’s humor was infectious, delightfully naughty and absolutely unselfconscious. Her laugh was throaty and always accompanied with a twinkle in the eye, as well as a gesture that invited you to participate. I think this might be one of my favorite characteristics I saw so often in her. She and Mac made a wonderful team in this regard, playing off one another and obviously sharing a deep sense of mutual experience and world view.
Ann opened my world in many ways. Combined with Mac, she led us thought the streets of Naples, encouraged us to travel, and shared endless tales of her own experiences motorcycling through Europe, touring Africa or wandering the slopes of Machu Pichu. I read her excerpts from T.E. Lawrence’s “Pillars of Wisdom” and watched her respond to settings she herself had wandered or experienced. I was, and still am, envious of her travels.
When her illness stole her voice, all that was left of our many conversations and sharing was whatever message I could learn from her eyes. I confided in her how handicapped I felt in not being able to talk to her and the visual message I received from those eyes was one of total sympathy for our dilemma. I cannot imagine how frustrating and painful it must have been for her to sit mute in a room of people talking, sharing, laughing and looking away from her, confused about how to communicate. It broke my heart every time.
And now this awful pandemic isolated us even further. In her death will there be no way to appropriately say farewell, to comfort Mac in our arms, and to stand as a group of friends and admirers in a ceremony of respect and love? Ann would have plenty to say, to offer were she in our shoes. She would be the one to organize, to galvanize us into something that fit the occasion.
I learned to really love Ann Caruso and all that she stood for, offered and gave. She made a difference in my life. There’s a hole in the fabric of my existence left by her absence. How much more tribute is there from one person to another?