Weekend Past~
Cindie, an old friend from the Dmind Corp days, came into New York for the annual International Print fair, to set up her gallery space's corner in the Armoury on the Upper East Side. Halloween night in the city, we watched the "freaks" dressed up as naughty nuns and jail birds, Governor Palin and rock stars, ("...some girls should NOT be wearing those outfits, that's supposed to look good on her, right??") but we opted to skip the Parade of Ghouls downtown in West Village (it would be overrun) and caught up over ravioli at a nearby trattoria midtown near my apartment.
Next morning, looking out the window down 42nd St, we caught part of the practice run of the NYC marathon, also slated for the weekend. We had diner food delivered up to the casa for breakfast, and then she took off in anticipation of her day - friends from the fine art prints world, customers with the wherewithal to drop a cool $8K on a first edition....whatever. I shook my head, "Can't afford it..." I replied when she asked if she should leave a ticket for me at the entrance. "I am only at the 'Dogs Playing Poker' buying class at this time.'". While my friend was at Print Fair, I caught the downtown bus on 2nd Ave. to Union Square's farmers market, intent on finding a couple of houseplants to bring some life and air into my little space. A dealer from Long Island set up a canvas tent in the busy square. I came home happily with a rubber tree variant, and a larger ginger tree hybrid, with a grizzled- tough look and spice-red foliage. The trees made the air fresh in the apartment, cleaner, and when I open the door at night, it smells so good in there!
At night, we agreed on shrimp tempura sashimi and a film down at the Angelica after the weekend workday was over. I love the Angelica theatre, it's alive with artistically inclined folk in dark drapery and pale pallor, arguing philosophically but amicably over black cigarettes. Inside, tables and a small coffee shop let the movie-goers sit under artwork and discuss the latest arthouse offering. We caught Vicki Christina Barcelona, a visual homage to Barcelona's visceral fusion of art and urbanism ~ a debate whether passion is at odds with a "normal" life. Personally, hot though Javier Bardem is, I'm not tempted to overthrow a lasting, growing and committed relationship in favor of artistic passions, untraditional menage~a~trois, and the constant threat of gunplay and knife throwing. Over alcholic coffees at the King Cole bar in the St. Regis midtown after the film, Cindie was in favor of the Bardem, Cruz, and Vicki-Christina question.
Here was the question: When you have a loving, traditional, growing-old-together-with-kids-and-grandkids, house in the burbs type of relationship, is it understandable to want a passionate sexual attraction to moody, crazed, romantic and rather...dangerously wild painters in a foreign country? Just, is it understandable? My own read was this: I had a million crazy passionate encounters, but a dearth of the real, loving ones. My opin: I would pay a million dollars for the real thing and to erase the scars of two decades of singlehood in 3 major cities. Cindie, on the otherhand, is experienced both sides, now in a loving committed and long term relationship in Conneticut. AND they are both artists too (like Bardem and Cruz in the movie...) Her perspective, well...passion for passion's sake.
I love the King Cole bar for late night champagne, the crowd is returning from some party or art opening, some gala ball or board meeting, and we swanked a bit with millionaires who earnestly debated their own concerns in Gucci and Prada leathers. It's a wonderful background set for our debate du jour. (d'Noir? du Nuit?)
Here was the question: When you have a loving, traditional, growing-old-together-with-kids-and-grandkids, house in the burbs type of relationship, is it understandable to want a passionate sexual attraction to moody, crazed, romantic and rather...dangerously wild painters in a foreign country? Just, is it understandable? My own read was this: I had a million crazy passionate encounters, but a dearth of the real, loving ones. My opin: I would pay a million dollars for the real thing and to erase the scars of two decades of singlehood in 3 major cities. Cindie, on the otherhand, is experienced both sides, now in a loving committed and long term relationship in Conneticut. AND they are both artists too (like Bardem and Cruz in the movie...) Her perspective, well...passion for passion's sake.
I love the King Cole bar for late night champagne, the crowd is returning from some party or art opening, some gala ball or board meeting, and we swanked a bit with millionaires who earnestly debated their own concerns in Gucci and Prada leathers. It's a wonderful background set for our debate du jour. (d'Noir? du Nuit?)
Through last week~
Well, of course, we were all taken by the election and the possibilities for the future. Rockefeller Center ice rink hosted "Election Central" - a giant map of the country imprinted upon the ice, and updated minute-to-minute in red and blue as voting boothes closed and the counts rolled in. Anticipation and celebration lasted all night long in Harlem, midtown, and all boroughs on the warm evening, and we all knew what would happen.
Well, of course, we were all taken by the election and the possibilities for the future. Rockefeller Center ice rink hosted "Election Central" - a giant map of the country imprinted upon the ice, and updated minute-to-minute in red and blue as voting boothes closed and the counts rolled in. Anticipation and celebration lasted all night long in Harlem, midtown, and all boroughs on the warm evening, and we all knew what would happen.
Hope. And celebration. "I love you...Vote Obama," I would say in closing on the phone to my closest friends that week. In response from one loved one, "[blah, blah, blah]... the Oba-Messiah..."
"Yes," I said, "...but your voting platform is based solely on legalizing marijuana, so..."
And similar convos. An historic event, I'm glad to be alive now.
With the economy still tanked, I am holding off on major furniture shopping for the apartment and am still sleeping on a doggie bed on the floor. It's hard to commit to any kind of spending right now and I am willing to wait out the weeks until the money is there to buy the bed and chair that I need before this place is relatively complete.
I did get a print from the Met, though, a montage of photos and sketches of Christo's The Gates installation a few years ago in Central Park. At the time, NYC was again beset by a tight depression. I think I was in between jobs and life was scary and uncertain and cold. The Gates, a path of orange flags tracing a looping trail through Central Park, could be seen out my window from some major lawifrm I was working in, and I would think, in deepest, coldest winter, when I had no permanent job, and very little cash, it was art's response to...despair? Go outside, take a walk through the Gates, ignore the cold and all of the things that can worry a person.
And it was a really inspiring display.
"That's why people buy prints," Cindie replied.
