A TABLE FOR FRIENDS

BY LAUREN AMALIA REDDING PHOTOGRAPHY BY TINA SARGEANT

Suzanne and Norman Cohn’s table art collection reflects a life spent cultivating love, abundance, beauty and fellowship.

“When I was 12 years old, I told my mother that I hated, hated, hated the holidays,” Suzanne Cohn says. By that time, she didn’t have a strong sense of belonging.

Her family, Holocaust survivors, who fled Europe following World War II, had been living in Australia for three years. Come Christmastime, Suzanne missed the masses that she’d been brought to by the Catholic family who hid them in Poland during Hitler’s reign, and at Hanukkah, she missed the Jewish customs her mother had given up, her faith shattered by the war.

Suzanne remembers her father gesturing toward the empty chairs encircling their dining room table. “He told me, ‘I can’t give you this,’” she says, referring to lost family members who should have filled the seats. “But my father promised me that, one day, I’d sit at a table with a big family of my own.”

Now, Suzanne and her husband, Norman, with the help of their house and art manager, Michael Smith, live out her father’s prophecy and make it into effervescent yet tactile experiences generously choreographed for family and friends. The Cohns collect what’s referred

Pieces from the Cohns’ extensive table art collection are currently shown at Artis—Naples, The Baker Museum’s Naples Collects exhibit. The setting includes treasured works, including Les Lalanne flatware (left), designed circa 1965 for Salvador Dalí. Norman surprised Suzanne with a 120-piece set (in honor of the Jewish blessing for a long life) for her 60th birthday. “He’s so romantic in his thinking,” she says. Also shown: A HEOS Ceramics egg vessel and a Coral Dalton fish plate.

Having lost family during World War II, Suzanne is keenly inclined toward hosting intimate gatherings filled with laughter and love. Every piece tells a multitude of stories—of the artist, the medium, the time when it was acquired and the many moments shared. After visiting their home, Philadelphia sculptor Steve Tobin created a set of 14 plates, imprinted with fabric and cast in porcelain (center). Also to as table art. (“Or maybe the art of the table,” Suzanne says. “That’s so much more elegant.”) In their homes, each plate, goblet, serving dish and spoon is a work of art.

The Cohns host feted dinner parties in their contemporary Naples penthouse that regularly puts their art to practical use. “I don’t want to live in a museum,” Norman insists. “If it breaks, it breaks. Think about people who spend a fortune on a very good opera ticket. What are they left with when they go home? The experience. All of it gets used.”

“The storytelling comes from each piece, not from the collection itself,” Suzanne adds, explaining that she doesn’t keep dining sets intact, but breaks them up to weave individualized settings. “Each setting is carefully orchestrated,” she says. She and Michael may pair Philadelphia artist Mardi Jo Cohen’s Art Deco-inspired flatware with port goblets that show stems made of swinging glassblown figures by Venetian Lucio Bubacco, their delicacy countered by a jagged-edged, inky black ceramic plate by New Jersey-based John Shedd. New Yorker Coral Dalton’s plate, with a small fish that appears as if it washed onto the porcelain, may lay next to a tiny salt cellar, reminiscent of a fossilized, speckled egg, by Australian Tracy Muirhead. The knives from the wedding silverware her father buried during the war and later recovered often make their way onto the table. Suzanne estimates that it may take two to three days to curate each setting, which is tailored to guests’ sensibilities.

The guest list itself is a considered labor of love. “It’s so critically important to both of us that we blend the guests,” Suzanne says. “They must share similar traits but be divergent.” The Cohns’ table stimulates conversation and nurtures relationships amongst people who might not otherwise break bread together. “It’s sharing,” Norman chimes in. “We just love to share with people and hope they leave with memories.”

During gatherings, the dinnerware perches directly on the buffed steel surface of the Cohns’ brawny dining room table, crafted by Canadian artist Colin Schleeh. The pieces pop against the table’s warm gray. Cleverly recessed lighting above—two rows of six minuscule spotlights, one for each seat when the table’s fully set for 12—makes the intricate table art cast dramatic shadows on the tabletop, like a web of lace.

The table art also blends seamlessly with the Cohns’ larger collection in their Mystique home, which mostly centers around glass art. Suzanne’s drawn to glass’ oxymoronic character. “It’s fragile but permanent in its hard surface. It’s a metaphor for life itself,” she says. Much of the artwork—like the infinity mirror installation of insects, birds, fish and reptiles endemic to Naples by Vienna-based Mischer’Traxler Studio, in the powder room—recalls the curiosity and playfulness of Alice in Wonderland.

Though the Cohns have too many pieces at this point for Suzanne and Norman to enumerate, Suzanne estimates that around 70 percent of their table pieces were directly commissioned from the artists, some of whom don’t usually foray into table art. Steve Tobin—whose large, abstracted White Rainbow Root sculpture graces the grounds of Naples Botanical Garden—was so inspired after a visit to the Cohns’ home that the Philadelphia-based sculptor fashioned a set of 14 dinner plates, imprinted with fabric and cast in porcelain to resemble shells, just for the couple. Suzanne speaks about Tobin as she speaks about each artist from whom they’ve collected over the decades: warmly, as a dear and admired friend. “The simple purity of collecting something made in our lifetime means that we’re meeting and knowing the artist’s mind and heart,” Suzanne says. During a party the Cohns hosted in 2021 for all the artists whose work is represented in their Naples condo, Tobin hid birds’ nests made from shimmering wire around the apartment for Suzanne to later uncover one by one. The affection between the collectors and artists is enduring and mutual.

Theirs is a living collection, with most pieces commissioned and everything used for dinner parties and everyday life. The Blow a Kiss sculpture was recently part of Norman’s 90th birthday dinner. Also shown: Art Deco-inspired flatware by Mardi Jo Cohen, from the couple’s Philadelphia hometown; a Harold Caster and Dorothy Cooper platter; a German pewter hunting plate; a Ron Kusins pewter oyster shell; and a Chinese artisan napkin ring and napkin.

And the affection between Suzanne and Norman is still palpable and poetic after 58 years together. She recalls her 60th birthday, when Norman surprised her with a gift—flatware like the set FrançoisXavier and Claude Lalanne made for Salvador Dalí

A DIY glass terrarium covers a tiger dish by the famed French glass studio Daum. Also pictured: a plate by Florida-based Dennis DeBon, Shozo Toyohisa flatware (with a piece used on the set of Star Trek ), an iridescent tumbler by Colin Heaney and a Champagne flute by pioneering Chinese artist Loretta H. Yang. The cheese knife is from the silverware set Suzanne’s grandmother gifted her parents for their wedding. The family buried six of the knives to hide when the Nazis invaded Poland. Suzanne later had Maine artist Holly Churchill Lane embellish the recovered knives with barbed wire bound by hearts and create a resting dish that reads, “Good Deeds Triumph.” in 1965. During a visit to the Museum of Decorative Arts in Paris, Suzanne was riveted by the famed French sculpture and design duo’s work. “In one of the rooms was a whole table for 12 people set with this flatware. It had stanchions, so you couldn’t come close, but you could still see it and experience the magic,” she recalls, beaming. Unbeknown to Suzanne, Norman commissioned another set from Les Lalanne for her milestone birthday. The handles of each whimsical piece resemble twigs adorned with winged insects and curling, veined leaves, as if plucked from a forest floor and immortalized in silver. “Norman always likes to surprise me with things; he’s so romantic in his thinking,” she says, adding that Norman commissioned 120 pieces for the set. “There’s a Jewish saying for when you wish someone a long life, you wish them 120 years.”

Suzanne and her house and art manager, Michael Smith, curate settings to suit dinner guests’ sensibilities. Drinkware by Venetian glass master Lucio Bubacco; Charles Savoie and his intricate patterning; American glass artist Josh Simpson; and Umberto Bellotto, who draws from his blacksmith background, add whimsy to the table. Right: RIEDEL balloon goblet etched by Philip Ensmenger, Umberto Bellotto goblet and Robert Mickelsen Bumble Bee goblet.

Every piece on their table reflects the couple’s appreciation for life and those they hold dear. “Your values dictate what you do in your life,” Norman says. “And memories keep things alive,” Suzanne adds. Photos of their five children and 11 grandchildren are interspersed among the furnishings and artwork, showing that their penthouse—sleek and immaculate as it is—isn’t just a house but a home, a place for family to gather. And, when their loved ones share a meal around their thoughtfully arranged table, every chair is filled.

For more than a decade, Marcus Jansen opened the doors to his Unit A studio on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, allowing passersby to stop in for a chat while he filled canvases with his message-driven imagery. These days, the artist revels in solitude as he slings paint within the confines of his new white-walled fortress in downtown Fort Myers. “Now, if I do a show, there’s a lot of press and a certain amount of limelight,” he says with a faint grimace. He bought the new space on the heels of gaining representation from a major international art force, Almine Rech Gallery. “To get to the career that I have now required a lot of tactical moves,” Marcus says. “There’s an army behind me.”

As a Gulf War veteran, whose unit was among the last to leave the Middle East, Marcus speaks without equivocation. In the past few years, the artist has catapulted into the art world’s rock-star territory. After decades of dogged hustle and punchy successes, scoring a new studio fueled his already-formidable fire. Known for championing fellow Black artists, and long respected for his lack of hubris and under-the-radar philanthropy, Marcus downplays it all. “There’s been a lot of shifts,” he says simply.

Marcus speaks softly, but decisively, as he names European museums in his New York accent. He’s Southwest Florida’s only blue-chip artist since contemporary juggernaut Robert Rauschenberg passed away in 2008 on Captiva Island. Marcus’ work has been in Architectural Digest and The New York Times, snapped up by pop star Nicole Scherzinger and basketball phenom Carmelo Anthony, and in institutions from The Bronx Museum of the Arts to the Smithsonian. Marcus’ solo exhibition at Orlando’s Rollins Museum of Art in late 2020, E Pluribis Unum, prompted Richard Beavers—his longtime dealer with two eponymous galleries in New York—to share Marcus’ work with a fellow gallerist and collaborator. She just happened to be Almine Rech, the wife of Pablo Picasso’s grandson, Bernard. Her galleries continue the legacy of Picasso’s avant-garde approach to painting. Impressed, Almine mounted three solo shows for Marcus in her London and Paris locations within two years. “She’s given me the confidence to paint what I need to paint, because she’s an artist herself,” he says. “Even as a gallerist and dealer, she’s not from the outside looking in.” Now selling exclusively through Almine and Richard, Marcus can dedicate more time to the works that fuel him. Marcus considers his paintings, often labeled ‘urban expressionism,’ to be somewhat autobiographical. “All topics I address are personal experiences,” he says. “So, you can tie almost everything I paint back to me. I use introverted feelings on an extroverted platform.” Marcus’ imagery ranges from street scenes to aerial views to imposing, single figures, all painted loosely, embedded in fields of almost-lacquered color or webs of abstracted marks with a slight graffiti influence. Now that he owns his space, there’s a fresh sense of security leading the artist to reflect more on himself and, in turn, his pieces appear almost as self-portraits. In Afro Painter, a solitary figure stands in a dark hallway with arms outstretched in every direction—a reflection of the constant hustle throughout Marcus’ career.

Marcus’ longtime dealer, Richard Beavers, introduced the artist to renowned gallerist Almine Rech, who now also represents the Fort Myers painter. Since partnering with Almine, Marcus has focused on more personal works. His art still supports fellow Black artists and covers politics in the purest sense of the word. “Meaning, peoples’ affairs,” he says.

While his longheld Unit A studio on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard was often open to the public, Marcus maintains privacy within his new, white-walled fortress downtown. His works have since taken a more introspective tone with stylized self-portraits.

When his lease was up on Unit A, Marcus decided to set down more permanent roots to pump out works for shows with Almine and Richard, and for his personal collection. He purchased the 2,864-square-foot abode, biking distance from his family home, in 2021. The studio’s exterior is cool and sparing but not chilly upon approach, with a fence of native clusia surrounding the property. The structure blends elements of Art Deco and Bermudian architecture with white stucco walls, sloping arches and barreled ceilings. To avoid having any distractions, Marcus painted the sculptural home white from the inside out, leaving only the artsy, primary-colored stained glass detail on the staircase that anchors his alfresco courtyard-style backyard to the wraparound porch and rooftop deck.

“You can see everything from up there,” Marcus says. Inside, he gutted the downstairs—leaving the kitchen per city codes—to make room for his more than 6-foot paintings, allowing paint-splattered concrete floors to accent the art in his main working space (the floors are kept tidy elsewhere). Office spaces upstairs keep business and creativity separate.

While he’s now more sequestered from the public, Marcus hasn’t forgotten about his community. After Hurricane Ian hit last September, Marcus mobilized his eponymous foundation to launch Artists Helping Artists. He used his own cash to kickstart the initiative, and the foundation raised funds to support local artists whose studios and artwork were destroyed by the storm.“I’m building off my successes so that I can help communities with the issues I tackle in my paintings,” he says.

Marcus converted the 2,864-square-foot home into a personal art compound. He left the downstairs mostly open for painting and storage, while the upstairs rooms hold offices to keep administrative and creative spaces separate.

After Hurricane Ian, Marcus mobilized his eponymous foundation and used personal cash to launch the Artists Helping Artists fund.

Marcus admires Almine’s similar ethos. With several galleries in New York City, Europe and Shanghai, Almine allows Marcus’ messages—ever-revolving around race and war—to reach a broader audience. Marcus found he could make a bigger impact with more exclusive, upper-echelon gallery representation. “My work is political in the real sense of the word ‘politics’—meaning peoples’ affairs,” he says. “And from that perspective, it helps to also build dialogues in different countries and get different perspectives.”

Since signing with Almine, Marcus has exhibited alongside other artists in a handful of shows throughout Asia. This spring marked his first solo show in China with In the Land of Silhouettes. The 18 pieces he showed in China might look familiar to Southwest Florida art aficionados, as the new works expand upon his longstanding series of urban environments and portraits of colonialist figures hung in his 2021 retrospective exhibit, Two Decades of Relevance, at Artis— Naples, The Baker Museum.

Two new paintings stand out: Mysterious and Passion. “Those, to me, are almost self-portraits,” Marcus says. “They reflect the emotions I feel started early this year.” A year before, Marcus found himself in the hospital with skyrocketing blood sugar levels, and the health scare necessitated taking six months off. “I still painted but focused on recouping. I had to restructure my dayto-day routine.” He shortened his work hours but upped his focus to compensate. Mysterious and Passion reveal the meditations of the consummate warrior becoming all too aware of his mortality. Each depicts a fragmented yet fluid pyramid-like figure with streaks of white oil arcing like trenches through a burgundy bottom edge. A moody palette features steely grays and blacks, and pulsating reds. The figures’ heads comprise voids of color. Yet, the featureless figures’ positioning reveals something hyper-alert, tense, uncomfortably awake.

Paint-splattered floors in his workspace act as decor in the otherwise canvas-white abode. Here, Marcus can focus on his message-driven works without distractions. “Now, if I do a show, there’s a lot of press and a certain amount of limelight,” he says, with a faint grimace.

“There’s more self-reflection in those,” he says.

It’s not surprising that Marcus becomes more pensive—and, in turn, his paintings reflect that introspection—as his trajectory keeps rocketing and time goes on. It’s been a long time since he was discharged from the Army, since he sold his paintings on SoHo corners, since he transplanted to Southwest Florida and ushered neighbors into his studio.

“There’s not one day I wake up and don’t think of being in a foxhole somewhere in the desert,” he says. “Instead, I look at where I’m at now, and just”—his eyes slightly widen, still somewhat bemused by his current life—“appreciate what I have.”