Coco Chanel Pavilion...

I decided to take a walk to Central Park to see the Chanel Pavilion, a free traveling art exhibit that has made stops in Tokyo and Hong Kong and after New York travels to London, Moscow and Paris. It includes 20 contemporary artists' work that were inspired by the Chanel Bag. I walked along the Sailing Pond taking in the autumnal beauty, up the hill to the 72nd Street exit, along the road, across the intersection and then the structure started to come into view between the orange, red and green leafy cacophony. The white and shiny structure, looking like a giant space craft that had landed softly onto a black carpet, was dumbfounding. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It is a visionary statement by architect Zaha Hadid that transfers autumn bliss to space age milieu. The grounds are over run with men in black, wearing black train conductor hats that greet you at the entrance. They asked me if I had a ticket; I didn't, I was told it would probably be and hour to an hour and half before I would be able to enter the UFO, I mean pavilion. The line of people waiting was about a block long. Unfortunately, I didn't have two hours to wait so instead I just walked around the exterior taking pictures and wondering in astonishment how long it took to put the thing together and take it apart. The cost of such an extravagance must be out of this universe. Walking on the black muslin that is laid over the grass of Rumsey Field had an unearthly-like quality. I marveled for about fifteen minutes and then left through the exit and was wished a farewell by more men in black with funny black hats. I started thinking about when I could return to see the inside of pavilion and then remembered a Coco Chanel quote: "In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different." Different is an understatement. Coco would be proud. I turned back to look at the jaw dropping pavilion but it had disappeared behind bright foliage and ancient trees...

A Rose Is A Rose...

There's a lot going on these days, an election that has captivated and exposed the best and worse this country has to offer, an economical meltdown that more or less has exposed the worse of everything financial: greed, over-consumption, executive avarice, people who were supposed to be masters of the universe, who were really just dwarfs of their own conspicuous consumption and have created a world of hurt for the majority of us. And besides these dour, depressing dualities of our society, there were some good things that I could do on the Upper East Side to take my mind off of them, like go to the Chanel Pavilion in Central Park, the Calder Show at the Whitney or the Liza Lou show at the L&M Gallery, not to mention a beer almost anywhere. What to do, what to do? I headed out for my walk, deciding to go to the Chanel Pavilion but before I got far I was stopped in my tracks by a rose in front of a Church that was blooming with all kinds of fireworks in the latter days of October. It held my attention for awhile. I went up and took a sniff, to stop and smell the roses, literally. It was a long languid sweet smell that made me forget the tensions of the political race that was coming to an end and the financial travesty that seems to be never ending. This smell was different, it was of the future, of time going on no matter what is happening right now or how much hope or horror that we are experiencing. It was the smell of redemption, restitution and reinvention with a soupcon of optimism. And a rose doesn't lie...

Marx Brothers' Mania...

On a recent Walk Around The Block I found myself on East 93rd Street between Lexington and Third Avenue and came upon a gaggle of Asian tourists hovering around a building, taking pictures and poking each other and seemingly joking in Japanese. I stopped and wondered what it was all about? I asked one of them, hoping that they spoke English, what all the excitement was about? In stilted but well pronounced English he told me that this was the house where the Marx Brothers grew up. I was startled, why didn't I know this? I have been writing an on-going book entitled, The Obscurist Guide To Manhattan, and in my research I failed to find this obscure location. What am I an idiot, I thought to myself? I recollected my mania for the Marx Brothers in my youth; Chico, Harpo, Groucho, Gummo and Zeppo made me laugh so hard sometimes monkeys would fly out of my ass. I started to chuckle thinking about them (not the monkeys the Marx Brother). Oh, some of those quintessential humorous lines that made me laugh, except of course Harpo, but those honks were better than most modern day comic lines. As I looked at the house, I remembered some of those infamous quotes, like: "I drink to make other people more interesting." or "Before I speak, I have something important to say." or "I wouldn't be a member of a club that would have me as a member." I took some pictures of the building, and became as excited as the Japanese tourist brigade. I imagined all five Marx brothers running around the neighborhood reeking havoc. They were probably a motley crew; rabble rousing pranksters that kept things crazy. Thinking about them slap-sticking on the very stoop I was taking a picture of made me laugh so hard, well you know what happened next...

Ode To The Guggenheim...

So you're finally back,

finally unwrapped.

it's good to see you,

the jewel of Fifth Avenue,

the scaffolding gone,

the paint job done.

so much bickering

and childish snickering,
about the color shade;
should it glow or fade?
would Frank Lloyd approve?
what's a Board to do?
with a dream design
that travels through time.
your spiral repose,
the shape everyone knows,
inspiring for decades,
relevance that never fades,
across the street from the Park,
you seem to glow in the dark.
everyone must have a picture,
of the nest like structure,
some people never go in,
which is not such a sin,
the majestic artistry
is all they need to see.
it is nice to have you back,
smooth and with no cracks,
all is right once again,
reunited with an old friend,
soaking up the Fifth Avenue light,
always silent and sublime,
Frank Lloyd Wright's Guggenheim...