The Morning Song...

I found out that I had a poem published in the prestigious Boston Literary Magazine http://www.bostonliterarymagazine.com/. It's a cool deal, you should check it out because there are a lot of good poems in there. Anyway, to celebrate the momentous occasion I decided to take a walk. The sun was out and the sky aquamarine and the first thing I run into are two nanny accompanied toddlers looking up in a tree where a squirrel was doing an acrobatic act jumping from limb to limb; the toddlers laughed with glee at its exploits. I laughed and moved on. I headed to 5th Avenue to do some people watching. The pedestrian parade on 5th is all I needed and more, hundreds of museum goers and residents walking, talking, enjoying the day. I watched them from behind my dark sunglasses noticing their gates, conversations and looks, trying to get any inspiration I could for a character in a story I haven't written yet. At 72nd Street street I spied a very beautiful woman being dragged by a myriad of colorful balloons skipping across 5th Avenue. I decided to let her lead me in her direction. She wore a white dress and also wore dark sun glasses. Everyone she passed would turn and look at her. The balloons bouncing and floating seemed to almost pick her up off the ground. I followed her to Lexington and 79th Street and then let her float off by herself. I headed home repeating the mantra of my poem, The Morning Song, The morning song goes a lot like this, first a yawn and then a wish, then a long sure stare, and the where turns to there...

Making Bacon...

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is full to the brim, tourists, tourists everywhere and children under foot, over head and crying insanely next to the Rodin sculptures and I think I'm hearing a dog bark from the American Wing. I'm hearing more languages than a Berlitz Library but I part the chaos of the masses like Moses parted the Red Sea, heading directly to the Francis Bacon show. You either love him or you hate him. I actually started out hating him or his art anyway but after living in London for a while I started to like him. His life was the first thing that brought me into the fold. He gallivanted from London to Berlin to Paris and back again. I mean this guy lived a life and a half. His drinking was renowned, hanging out at The Colony with Freud and the other artist debauchees in London, one being his lover George Dyer, who he met when he caught him robbing him. Also admirable or inspiring was his buying back his old paintings and destroying them in front of the gallery he bought them from. And his studio,the glorious chaos in constant disarray, looking as if it would be impossible to create any type of painting there, much less one of the pristine paintings of Bacon full of gore and chaos. A studio that is now on display as a piece of art in a museum in Scotland. As I learned more about Bacon I started looking at his art closer; at first I was put off by the gore of his imagery and horrifying subject matter, the scream, being the overblown theme through out most of his work, but then I started looking closer, the detail and the exactness of his painting got to me. His work may portray everything ugly but they are nothing less than beautiful. Although Bacon was a professed atheist from his painting I detect a great god lover. A lot of his subject matter concern church, Crucifixion, pontiffs etc. My favorite paintings though are his studies of baboons. I circled the show a couple of times looking at the paintings. They are brave paintings floating behind glass and display all that Bacon had seen in a mercurial life. It's a beautiful show of ugly images...

Books, Fashion, World Peace...

More Barnes and Nobles than you can shake a book at. I'm not complaining but another Barnes and Noble is opening on the corner of 86th and Lexington. I'm not a big book store fan I like small cozy reading spaces. But when I'm in one of those small cozy book stores I feel guilty downing dopios and reading cover to cover books instead of buying them. You can actually do that at Barnes & Noble like I did last week when I read Obama's book in two sittings. But things are a bit out of control now that there is another B&N opening up on the corner of 86th and Lexington. I mean there is already one on Lexington and 87th Street and one between Third Avenue and Second Avenue on 86th Street. That's a lot of Barnes & Nobles in a two block area. A lot of books to sell! I thought books were becoming obsolete with all the electronic readers, Kindle and the like. But not up here in the two block radius of the Upper East Side. It's book city man! Hallelujah reading! And that isn't the most exciting thing that's happening on Lexington and 86th Street, with all the bad economy synergy circling the globe like a warped 45 record, whatever that is or was. Here, finally is a store I can wrap my mind around or at least buy some threads from. In fact it is my favorite fashion store H&M. It's the coolest thing since Gimbels and if you remember that store you probably know what a 45 is. I went in and bought a shirt and the place was hopping, a sure sign of better times. Books and fashion, what else could you ask for, I guess world peace wouldn't be a bad thing either...

Art Is Everywhere...

One of my favorite things in life as I have often said is finding real art but not in galleries, museums or people's homes but everywhere else. So I decided to go discover some art on the street or subway or somewhere else altogether. I prepared myself by opening my mind and a sixteen ounce Bud. I walked out the door feeling a little buzz and a lot of enthusiasm at finding something aesthetically pleasing. I passed on a puddle reflection because I did that about 100 entries ago; and if nothing else you have to be original. It was the day of the Puerto Rican parade so there were plenty of Puerto Rican flags waving on hot rods all over the Upper East Side but I passed on those images, too; way too easy. After weaving through scores of humanity celebrating all that is Puerto Rican and wondering why it hasn't been made a state; it would jig things up here and besides I'm tired of the whole even number thing, 51 states would be a lot of fun! Anyway finally, after over an hour of scouring the streets I found a pattern on a sidewalk that was quite interesting, how it was formed, I don't know, but without a doubt it was art so I clicked the pic and walked on. I decided to get on the subway to head downtown and escape the joyousness of the parade. And there it was the second piece of art and it was not only an image but a whole performance piece. A woman and her cute as a bunny son were drinking hot chocolates. The boy set his down on the floor to eat a glazed donut and as donut eating usually does, makes you lose your attention, he lost his and kicked over his hot chocolate that rivered down the subway like a tsunami. His mother yelled like a banshee, screaming at her son as any matriarch might do when embarrassed by their children. They left the subway and the chocolate puddle and when I observed the spilled milk folly, there it was, more art, right there on the subway floor. I took the pic and left the subway a good day had. Two pieces of art found and a good feeling about all that is and a renewed faith that art is everywhere...

Thinking About Leaving...

I was walking not out of curiosity, not to relax or to go to any destination but a bar was starting to look good although it was ten o'clock in the morning. Beer isn't bad at ten in the morning and like most sordid alcohol aficionados I could explain with the usual good reasoning that it was happy hour somewhere in the world. I was trying to think about a title for a painting and I was steaming about my Chase credit card which I have had for over twenty years recently I had been told in two consecutive months that my interest rate was going from 9,9% to 12% then from 12% to 29% with no explanation as to why? I was going to call but decided to wait and let my anger wane since the last time I called I lost my temper with one of the robotic service operators some where in Azerbaijan who could not answer any of my questions and when I asked for a supervisor I was left to wait fifteen minutes until the original operator came back on to tell me she was the supervisor. I asked why she had not told me that to begin with but I don't think there is a translation for 'because I'm an idiot' in Azerbaijani. I hung up readying my wicked pen to exorcise some banking evil, I sent the letter but I haven't heard anything except that my interest rate was raised to the rafters. I know I'm not the only peasant who is feeling the pangs of our financial institutions becoming fiscally retarded. It used to be that people robbed banks but now banks are robbing people. These pitiful institutions who flaunt their crews of MBA's from the heavens are what everyone should have realized they were if you ever hung out in a macroeconomics class, howling, boring, useless places people count money whether it is money they have bilked, stolen or sharked off of trusting patrons. Not long ago it cost more to do a bank transaction on a Citi Bank ATM than it cost to buy a share of Citi stock. That made me laugh and feel a little better. After another hour of calming myself down I headed back to my apartment and put the finishes on the painting that will be in a show at the Rogue Gallery in Chelsea, 526 West 26th studio 9E, this weekend. I decided the title would be, Thinking about Leaving. I put the finishing touches on it and felt a bit of respite from my banking headaches. In fact I kind of forgot about them, art does that, so does walking and so does just remembering I'm lucky I'm not a banker or a thief since they are about the same thing these days...

A Man Ray Day...

Sometimes you just trip Around The Block and come upon something that you find quite interesting, in fact, a dream come true. And there it was on East 79th Street. The Shepherd & Derom gallery was presenting the works of one of my favorite artists, Man Ray, who lived from 1890 and 1996, who not only took photographs, painted, printed lithographs, to my delight he also created my personal favorite a chess set that he designed and carved. It cost a cool quarter of a million dollars. But what is a quarter of mill if you find yourself moving chess pieces that were touched by everyone from Picasso, Klee, Dali, Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Duchamp and every other master artist of the day that had stopped by to challenge Ray and move the ivory across the checkered board. I felt the power and magic floating from the smooth rounded pieces not to mention the chess board itself. I had a Jones to play. I had a bigger desire to steal, but instead I just drooled. The photographs in the show place you in history with a cool black and white aura. Gertrude Stein, Alice B. Toklas, Marcel Duchamp, Picasso and his son Paulo, Max Ernst, Paul Eluard and others are just a few of the artists that Man Ray photographed living and visiting Paris at the time that are depicted here. It's a ride down a mind blowing history of modern art. It is a small show but it is grandiose in the rewards the viewer receives. It is a check-mate in inspiration. Man Ray was not only a recorder of history he was a great artist himself which is what a Man Ray Day is all about...

Starbucks Is Bombed...

I noticed the police tape and the preponderance of uniforms and jackets with letters screaming from them but didn't know what had happened. I asked a smiling cop with a twinkle in his eye what was happening. A bomb. A bomb? I asked incredulous. Yeah, a bomb. What were they trying to blow up? I asked. The cop shrugged his shoulders. And left me to wonder, what anybody would want to blow up at Third Avenue and 92nd Street. I found my answer when I got closer to the site. It was a Starbucks. The bomb had actually blown up a bench and blown out two windows. I know people can get a little pissed off about four dollar cups of coffee but a bomb? This bomb was way to close to home and I slept on it and woke up with nightmares of the ramifications. I returned to the scene of the crime the next morning having read an article about the bombing in the New York Times, it seems it was similar to four other bombings in the city over the past year. They all happened at about the same time of night and none of the others had injured anybody. While I was taking the picture of the blown out windows a woman in a car waiting for opposite side parking yelled at me saying, the guy in the car in front of me had witnessed the bombing. I lowered my head into his car window and asked what he had seen. It looked like teenagers. I live above. It woke me up. It was really loud and stunk of gun powder. That must have scared the crap out of you, I noted. He nodded. Well I'm glad you weren't hurt. Me, too, he answered. I waved and took a look around not noticing anything that was compelling. People were sitting in the Starbucks working on their lap tops and sipping libations like they always do, the bombing not disturbing their obvious routine on-goings. I walked away feeling eerily bedeviled, none of these bombs hurt anybody, but sooner or a later one will and then what? If this is a teenage prank, teenagers are a lot dumber now than they were when I was a teen. It worries me as I imagine IED's lining the Avenues in Manhattan.
I calm myself by trusting that city, state and federal forces will catch these bombers before the worse case scenario plays out...