The painter Rudy Vavra once created floor collages in Texas. You could, in theory, lie on them. Now, years later and much farther north, his work graces the walls of a medispa in Millbrook, New York where he also serves as the artistic director. You can still lie down, just not on the art. Instead, you might be undergoing an EmFace non-surgical facelift while surrounded by twenty-two of Vavra’s paintings.
The space, Tyte Medispa in Millbrook, is equal parts gallery and treatment center, the brainchild of Lily Al-Nemri, a medical aesthetician and now gallery owner. She also owns the nail salon, Bryte, down the street on Franklin Avenue. A few years ago, feeling she was outgrowing that space, she looked to expand and, just a few blocks away, found this rather sprawling maze of rooms with the gallery that now inhabits the grand central ballroom. “This used to be a gym,” she said. “It was way more than I was looking for, but I went for it.”
Vavra, a self-professed “painter’s painter,” has spent decades layering pigment in his barn-turned-studio in Milan, New York. “I find paintings as much as I make them,” he mused. “Some happen quickly, others are slow.” Of this latest collection, he said, “Some people call them busy. I think they’re slow.” His marks accumulate with a kind of devotional persistence, like petals left at a shrine. “A while ago, I saw a photographic image of a shrine,” Vavra said. “I don’t know if it was a Buddhist shrine or what, but there were colors on the ground all around it, and I realized they were the stains of flowers left in the worship. That’s very similar to the way I paint.”
The collection of paintings on view at Tyte — some as large as a shrine — are meditations on color, inviting the viewer to slow down. Or speed up. Whether viewers are activated or soothed by the images is neither Vavra’s intention nor within his control. Still, he said that watching people interact with the work has been a real treat. “Now that I have my paintings here, I get to see them all together,” he said. “It’s only when they’re all together that I see how they talk to each other. It’s interesting to see people come in and go to have a treatment and come out. It’s a very interesting connection.”
And what is the connection? What could be a disjointed pairing — aesthetics and aesthetic medicine — has become, improbably, a perfectly logical continuum. “They’re related in a sense,” Vavra said.
Aly Morrissey
Al-Nemri, a former radiologist who taught for over a decade at Westchester Community College, is no stranger to layering, precision, or the quiet rigor of care. Her incredible menu of services — Botox, body contouring, pelvic floor therapies — are the cutting edge of the industry. Of Vavra, Al-Nemri said, “I fell in love with his work, and we just hit it off.” It’s a kind of kismet that seems to hover over the place. Pilates mat classes take place twice a week in the main gallery space and both Al-Nemri and Vavra have loved watching clients pause, eyes caught by a stripe of cerulean or a vibrating cluster of brushstrokes. “Something will catch their eye,” said Vavra. “They’re looking for something in it.”
So, this gallery-meets-spa (or is it the other way around?) has plans. Vavra will be curating six shows a year. Laurie Adams’s photographs will be hung in June, a group show of local artists will share the space in July and August, and a Fall show will feature twenty women artists, which Vavra is eager to anchor with a piece by Judy Pfaff. “There’s nothing like this on this side of the county,” he said of the light drenched space. “It’s been a bit sleepier here. We want to wake it up.”
He means it kindly; sleep certainly has its place. But here in Millbrook, amid the low drone of machines designed to rejuvenate, something unexpected has emerged. Perhaps that’s what both Al-Nemri and Vavra are really after — not the quick fix or the final image, but the suspended moment, the long look. A face seen anew. A painting revealed slowly, in silence.
As for Vavra’s curatorial process? “I just unpack the paintings, lean them against the wall, and look,” he said. “Eighty percent of the time, they’re already where they’re supposed to be.”
