Gentrification

I have to say, I am loving gentrification a little bit, as today is the first day ever that I am sitting in my comfy armchair here on Madison Street borrowing someone else's Wi-Fi. What's next, Larry's Liquid Love changing to Larry's Luscious Latte? Don't hate me because I love espresso ...

If I have any readers left, I apologize for the lack of posts recently. I blame my broken digicam (hmm, a gift idea?) but for the um, two, of you who might be interested in a knitting update, I finished JK's sweater, so now I can get down to the very serious business of ChrismaHannuKwaanzakuh knitting. It's really gorgeous. It's this pattern in lovely blue Vermont homespun yarn with a natural color stripe. And extremely long arms. And a nonsensical yellow square at the back neck, because it's for JK. Ok, now, use your imagination. Or FedEx me a camera ...

Again

My digital camera, after a prolonged illness, is finally toast, and the repair estimate is $168. So I am not able to share my latest baby knitting accomplishment, for a new child whose relationship to me is far too complicated to explain, but is nevertheless deserving of a cardie. See the link above to knitty and the pix in my March 05 archive, and imagine lovely slate blue yarn from a yard sale in Somerville, Mass. But no hood. No baby is as cool as Aviva Berry, and therefore no baby gets a sweater as cool as hers. We gotta draw the line somewhere, people, I'm sure you understand.

Last Time Hot Cha Went Away...

A floating island was his home. Then the phone rang off the hook and Hot Cha had to ... change his name to Robert Smithson?
My camera was dead at the opening of "Floating Island to Travel around Manhattan Island", so pardon the pilfered Times image. To really apprecitate it, though, it helps to see Smithson's drawing at the Whitney exhibition, and then marvel at how the Whitney, Minetta Brook, Nancy Holt and a team of landscapers that include my neighbor enacted the quirky, silly, cute, and profound floating sculpture concieved by Smithson in the 1970's.
The opening lacked wine or breathing room but still had a carnival atmosphere created by a bunch of jaded New York art people overcoming their skepticism and experiencing true surprise and glee to see something unique and actually, ahem, fun.
I still want a ride on it, though.

Ye Olde Prospective Employers

JK and I spent a long weekend in scenic Western Massachusetts. While our friends' adorable two-month-old baby was by far the highlight of the trip, I will deign to report a few other highlights. In Northampton, I discovered my new favorite museum, "Ye Olde Watering Hole and Beer Can Museum." Featuring a world-class collection of nearly 5,000 (mostly empty) cans, helpful interpretive staff, and an excellent beverage selection at the popcorn-themed museum cafe, YOWaHO-BeCaM is destined to become an extremely popular cultural destination.
Just a short drive* away in North Adams is a slightly less compelling museum nevertheless worth a visit, the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art. There I saw what I might call the best thing I have seen in 2005, stage one of Cai Guo-Qiang's "Inopportune."(See Grace Glueck's spot-on review in the Times here and Artforum's vapid one here.)
I know I am a sucker, and I live in the most paranoid city in America, but I had to sit down against the cool wall and compose myself against whatever Mr. Cai was sending out from the ends of those blinky lights. I was close to tears, and accosted a kindly woman in a shawl to tell her that all I could think of was car bombs, even though the power of the piece was that I was actually thinking of a lot more than car bombs, but I was such a wreck I couldn't put it into words.
Despite having seen numerous pictures of the installation, I was still surprised and deeply relieved/moved/calmed to see that the last car (I think it is the same model as a NYC taxi -is this significant?!) landed undamaged. The following room, however, with its bombed-out fireworks car and a scene of Times Square swiftly reversed any calm I was feeling.
The tigers were super, too, but didn't affect me nearly as much. Perhaps if I had paid more attention during "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon..."
Anyway, if you visit MassMoCA, do save this for last if you can help it. The thing is, it's so good you can't bear to look at anything else afterward. Even Dave Cole's knitting thing (gasp!) looks a little contrived. (And, for the record, they don't have the 20-foot-long knitting needles on display, as advertised; furthermore, they do not grant free admission to AAM members without institutional ID.)


*It is divine to have a car at one's disposal every once in a while, though it pains me to admit it. (And a chauffeur -- thanks JK!)

Friedlander

My old friend DaBella and I met up at MoMA on Sunday with the vague intention of going to the Cezanne-Pissarro show (or was it Matisse-Picasso?). However, the exhibition was so crowded that we ran away screaming and accidentally ended up in the Lee Friedlander retrospective. An excellent turn of events. While our first impression of the show was a nice-but-slightly-creepy security guard telling us that "Nothing in here is as lovely as you two," we got down to the business of being completly blown away by tiny little photos of unimportant things.
Like many others, I knew Mr. Friedlander as "that guy who made the weird reflection pictures in the 60's." After seeing about 10,000 other pictures (the show was rather extensive), I now know him as "that guy who made a whole bunch of really, really cool pictures including those weird reflection pictures from the 60's and 70's, excellent nudes, some pretty but un-cheesy landscapes, and the best goddamn photograph of a fire hydrant ever; also, that guy whose life's work can provide a endless sources of creative and silly storytelling by schoolchildren not to mention 25-year-old arts professionals." Worth a visit, but you'll need a cocktail when you're done. And golly ... now comes the glowing recommendation of Terrace 5 (don't google it or you'll be scared by Dante). After considering the "abstract expressionism" I ordered a "cubism" from our handsome young waiter in an adorable uniform of penguin polo shirt and black pants. The bus girl (in the same sexy uniform) brought me a glass full of concord grape juice ice cubes and poured some delightful mixture of lemony vodka over the top from a shaker. The cubes instantly turned the drink a delightful rosy purple -- although, honestly, the color I associate most with cubism is tan -- and the only thing that could have made it more delightful was if Danny Meyer had invented some kind of grown-up peanut butter sandwich to accompany it. Kicked the old cafe's stodgy old butt even if I do miss the droog design lights.

VENICE

Venice was great. The greatest thing about it was spending time with my nifty Dad, but the second best thing about it was Olafur Eliasson's installation "Your Black Horizon" on the island San Lazzaro in Venice's lagoon. True to Dan Flavin's philosophy that religious-pilgrimage-type trips, or at least working a bit, enhance the viewer's perceptivity and openness to the art (or whatever it is that Dan Flavin's philosophy was), the almost-solitary vaporetto ride from busy San Marco to the wee island (which otherwise is home only to an [abandoned?] Armenian monastery) had me contemplating the horizon, and the marvelous color of light in the lagoon. After this the experience of horizon-inversion (a dark room with a line of light where the horizon should be instead of a horizon line in a bright field) was really neat. Not so easy to describe, so I'll just say it was even better than grappa, and just as consciousness-altering. For slightly more literate info see the Thyssen-Bornemisza Art Contemporary Foundation, who funded the project. Thanks guys!

BROOKLYN

Today while I was riding my bike home from work, passing through MetroTech Plaza, some guy turned to look at me and said, "Hey, get a job." I might have been humming a Beatles tune, but still! I was riding home from work!