A Jamaican Experience: Cipe Pineless Burtin

By: Baron Stewart

Cipe Pineles Burtin, by any measure, was a remarkable woman. When I moved into her house on Filores Lane in Stony Point, New York, in the fall of 1975, she was 67 years old—short, with distinctive white hair always rolled into a bun at the back of her head. It was a sad period for her because her recent love, Edgar Levy, had just died, and she was visibly depressed. She had lost her husband, Will Burtin, in 1972, and now Edgar—it was too much to bear. For months, she would spend her weekends in Brooklyn with her sister so she wouldn’t be alone in Stony Point.

During the week, when she worked at home, she dressed as if she were going to an office in New York City—elegant dresses, delicate but comfortable shoes, and her white hair neatly tied in a bun. She would sit at her desk in the living room, working diligently. At 5 p.m., she would stop to make dinner, which was most often chicken. When I came home from school, we would have a glass of dry vermouth with a twist of lemon, then eat her chicken and watch the MacNeil/Lehrer Report on television. We would discuss our day’s activities and the news and then head to bed.

As Cipe recovered from Edgar’s death, she started staying in Stony Point more often on weekends and took solace in her garden. She loved to garden, and just outside her kitchen window was a beautiful space she tended carefully.

Cipe also loved a good dinner party. Just off the kitchen, the dining room had a large round table that could seat around ten people. I met some remarkable guests at those gatherings—movie directors, heads of New York museums, and one of her favorite professors from Columbia University. However, one of the most fascinating people I met at Cipe’s house was 1976 during America’s Bicentennial Anniversary. The Speaker of the House of Commons, Selwyn Lloyd, was a guest at her home. I had many conversations with him. His wife had arrived in America by boat, while Selwyn had flown over separately. He even invited me to visit him at the House of Commons, but I never could go.

This was my finishing school. Cipe taught me to hold my own among the wealthiest and most influential people. She allowed me to live in her house for free and encouraged me to use my money to see the world. During the nine years I lived there, I traveled to a different part of the world for a month each year, and when I returned, I would share my adventures with her over dinner. Cipe also loved to travel, and when she was away on her adventures, she would send me postcards to keep me updated on what she was doing.

During this time, I became a skilled photographer, taking beautiful pictures of her house and giving them to her as gifts. I even had a couple of photography exhibitions in Rockland County, and Cipe helped me select the pictures to showcase. One of her greatest gifts to me was when she used one of my photographs on the cover of a piece she did for the Parsons School of Design.

Cipe had two adopted children: Carol Fripp, the daughter of Will Burtin, and Tom Golden, the adopted son of Cipe and William Golden, the art director of CBS Television. Carol lived in Toronto, Canada, with her husband and two sons. Whenever they visited Stony Point, it was always a fun time. On the other hand, Tom was in California pursuing music and visited only occasionally. She loved both of her children, but she was deeply disappointed in Tom for not using his privileged upbringing more meaningfully. He had attended RCDS but did not attend college, although she had set aside money for his education. Carol, however, was very successful and responsible—she became a television producer in Toronto.

There were many memorable moments during my years at Cipe’s house, but one of the most unforgettable was her induction into the Art Directors Hall of Fame in New York. This was a monumental event for Cipe. Her husbands, Bill Golden and Will Burtin were already in the Hall of Fame, and now Cipe would become the first woman to join this distinguished group.

The ceremony took place at the 666 Tower on 5th Avenue in Manhattan. For the occasion, Cipe invited Meis Hora, one of her students, her nephew, a researcher at Rockefeller University, and me to accompany her. Being there with her on such a special night was an honor.

As we sat on the podium, the man beside me leaned over and asked, "I know he’s her nephew, and the other guy is her student, but who are you?"

I smiled and replied, "I live with her."

He turned away with a confused look on his face.

Cipe was warm, elegant, and thoughtful. She embraced me as a son and influenced those around her with her clear value for quality relationships.

She struggled with personal losses, often seeking comfort in her older sister in Brooklyn. After she died, I read an article that mentioned an incident from earlier in her life—she had once been so upset that she jumped in front of a train to end her life but somehow survived. I was shocked when I read that. The Cipe I knew was a strong woman, deeply resilient in our relationship. The idea that she had once attempted suicide was unimaginable to me.

Cipe loved a good debate and encouraged strong opinions at her dinner parties. She also had her habits—she always cooked the same chicken dish and found joy in gardening. She balanced her life well. She had an apartment on 10th Street off Broadway in Manhattan, where she stayed when she taught at Parsons School of Design, but when she was in Stony Point, she worked diligently at her desk from 9 to 5 in the living room. That structure made her transition into home life easy after work.

Her biggest passion outside of design was encouraging young people. She believed in mentorship and poured her energy into supporting me, Meis Hora, Amanda Harling (the daughter of the editor of House & Garden magazine in England), and many others.

Cipe was a giant in the world of graphic design. Her influence was evident in the many magazines she art-directed—Seventeen, Charm, Mademoiselle, Vogue, and more. She mentored Meis Hora, who later became a well-known designer. Meis was her apprentice, and they worked on numerous projects for Parsons.

One of the most valuable lessons I learned from Cipe was consistency—one step at a time, over and over again. She taught me to remember the details and repeat them every time.

Living with Cipe was marvelous. She invited me into her life, gave me access to her friends and family, and shaped me in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

Just before Cipe died in 1991, I went to her room, where she lay in bed, not looking like the Cipe I had always known. I said to her, "I love you, Cipe." She answered with a smile, "That sounds good."

On another occasion, I invited my mentor and lifelong friend, Althea Young, to have dinner at the Stony Point house. As I sat between the two women, Althea, full of love for me, said, "A rose between two thorns," acknowledging how much I had grown from my early days at KC. But Cipe did not see it that way. Althea had just called her a thorn. She was angry and let me know it after Althea left.  More adventures with Cipe later.