Saturday, April 21, 2018

Studio Light


A photo of the studio snapped about a month ago when the light changed from winter to spring. Since then, it's been chilly but ever brighter. I'm very much used to my mother's 1930's Persian now, which felt very busy at first, and am plotting a simpler setting of soft furniture. Something modern: a tufted sofa with mid-century lines with accompanying chairs; an ottoman with legs so as to create more sense of space; and a letting go of the table behind the sofa. The desire for more room around the major pieces drives the whole plan as well as the acknowledgment that the Persian is the star of the show. 

Speaking of big statements, I am still working on much larger mirror, the frame of which is in the basement, patiently waiting for its moment. And I do need to paint the bookshelves on the left. You noticed that, right? I do. Every time I see a photo like this and walk into the room. Stuff to do. Like everything else in life, it takes some planning and execution. Let's see what we can get done by midsummer. 

Sunday, March 25, 2018

Ghost Chair


Walking home after Brunch at La Boite en Bois around the corner, and what did we find sitting on the sidewalk? A Philippe Starck Ghost Chair. So, of course, we brought it home, and there it sits in front of the fireplace creating modern mayhem in my mind. Yes, you can find all manner of things thrown out in the trash, but cool things? Not so much anymore—which is why one must be quick. Will it stay? For now, yes—and why not? One could do worse. 

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Fading Tulps on a Winter's Day


I snapped them yesterday after plunking them down on the mantel, their petals being one shake away from falling all over the floor—which they did this morning when I went to give them a bit of water. Done. Gone. Over. 

I love tulips, especially when they go wild. 

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Michelangelo at the Met


A crush of people greeted us at the Michelangelo exhibition at the Met—perhaps the the most crowded I have ever been at Manhattan's great museum, notwithstanding what one faces at rush-hour in the subway. The first two rooms were the worst, and then things got better. We went on the last weekend, and I would have gone again, but it wasn't meant to be. 


Having been in Rome multiple times to see the Sistine Chapel, I was struck by the hint of grandeur at this exhibition. Go to Rome! I wanted to tell everyone. This is great. We'll never get to see these drawings again, but you really must see the man in his element. 


One huge drawing in the last room (not seen here) came closest to capturing Michelangelo writ large, while the smaller works revealed the artist's affection for various nobles—homoeroticism shining through work after work. The man loves men—that much was clear: he was the first artist to use male figures as guards on the ceiling of the aforementioned chapel, and gives them (to these eyes anyway) a great deal more attention than he does to that of women. His male figures aren't the jacked anorexic wonders you see today on Instagram. No, these men have flesh and muscle, angles and bulk. 


Did Michelangelo go all classical at the end of his life? That's the impression this viewer was left with in the final room. And by classical, I mean a retreat into geometry as spirituality. Architecture drawings predominated, as well as a model of the dome of the Vatican. Very glad I saw it. Now, I must get back to Rome (and Florence). 

Sunday, February 4, 2018

Capturing White




I love my iPhone 6. The camera lens is much better than the 4 I upgraded from. But it does have one problem the 4 did not have: my 6 conks out in the cold. If I have it out of my pocket in 30 something temperatures, is goes dark after 3 minutes or so. So these photos are something of a miracle since I had to snap, snap, snap pretty quickly—keeping my hand on the phone while it was in my pocket so as to keep it warm. 

The things we do for art! This was the big snow storm of the winter (so far) from this past month. I dashed out to Sheep's Meadow—a stone's throw from my door—to capture the white. 

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Winter Solstice

Union Square 

Dickens joins Paderewski and Apollo





Carnegie Hall 

La Boite en Bois 


I'll be zipping around this morning as the Winter Solstice takes place at 11:28 AM; that moment when the sun seems to stop on the horizon, its movement arrested for but a moment before it starts climbing again. Though there isn't much shopping for me today; we're being pretty conservative on that front, just like the decorations.  

This will be the first Holiday in a very long time that I won't be singing anywhere, which is rather lovely. And I don't even think I will venture out to any performances as the weekend approaches. Total break. Total calm. Total Eclipse (which is an aria by Handel—for those in the know). You will find me, however, steaming a turkey a la Jacque Pepin, making stuffing and a few other dishes—and opening an expensive bottle of Pinot Noir. I'll also be making an Italian chocolate-almond torte from Alice Medrich's book Pure Dessert, which contains no flour and is as light as it is scrumptious. 

YES to more light!

Photos: Instagram—places I've been in the last 10 days

Thursday, December 14, 2017

First Snow at Lincoln Center


The first snow of Winter feel this past Saturday, which I captured while on the way to the Performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center—passing the reflecting pool with its wading Brontosaurus. Juilliard is in the background towards the right, while the Vivian Beaumont Theatre is off to the left—it's new blackbox theatre fitting snuggly on the roof. There were grumbles when it was constructed, the criticism being that it would destroy the line of building—and I suppose it does, but no one seems to mind now. That it's set back somewhat helps, no? 

The performing arts library is a great one—and not just for books. I've seen all kinds of famous people there doing research, the most recent being Bette Midler, who was researching Hello Dolly. The unwritten rule which New Yorkers seem to adhere too?  One sees but doesn't interact. You let people have their space and try not to stare. 

This space is home for me after having worked in the former State Theatre for more than two decades. In that time, I've witnessed the changes to Lincoln Center up close. This particular part of the campus has a new black granite pool as well as a beautiful forest of trees (out of range on the left). Expansive and modern, without erasing its 60's feel, I get excited just walking towards the library doors. There's gold to mind inside.

Photo via Instagram

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Instagrammed





Are people coming back to blogging, traversing the space between this platform and Instagram after a few year's hiatus from blogger and the like? That remains to be seen, though I see several people are doing both, as you can see for yourself in the blog column on the right hand side of the page.

I travel (as much as I travel) in both worlds, which says more about my desire to make a little art (and it really is about that for me) than it does finding clients. I do have a professional webpage and blog, but let those sites speak for themselves. Hello! No need to shout. This space is for something more personal.

The difference between Instagram and this spaces is, of course, the writing aspect. And if you aren't great at putting words on a screen (I almost wrote pen to paper—ha), then, well... photos don't take as much time, do they? 

My Instagram art above—if you can call it that—involves the indiscriminate use of pattern upon pattern, books galore—which is nothing less than more pattern—and big scale—as big as one can be in a small room even if the ceilings are 11 feet. This may be the last time you see the room like this. The sofa is worn and likely going, as is the ottoman, which was distressed upon arrival—not that it matters so much. I am simply hungry for greater order, definition, and Victorian Modern—if that is possible. Like the upset election in Alabama yesterday, there is a time to break with the past without losing your values.

Photos via Instagram

Saturday, December 9, 2017

Pine Cones in Compotes


That's what happening on the mantel this holiday season. I found a big "Jeffrey" cone out on the street after the holidays last year, and went looking for a matching one in the flower district in Chelsea—a once sprawling affair that has shrunk to only include 28th street. There, I found big cones that had already been gilded for under 20 bucks (but no Jeffrey) and voila, my scheme was complete. Then I dug out the one container in storage with gilded cones and fake cranberry garland (so fitting for our political year, don't you think?) —and was good to go in 15 minutes. And this after saying I wasn't going to do anything this year. 

That's how it's been. Don't know about you, but I feel like I am hunkered down in survival mode. Can't stand the news (haven't watched news programs since the Bush years when I cancelled the cable). Sure, I keep abreast. I do read tons. We all need to stay informed, right? But it's no fun whatsoever. I really long for politics to be god-awful boring again—all about policy rather than pussy-grabbing. But we have what we have—and it's hardly puts one one in the party-holiday mood, does it? 


The greed of the one percent? It's personal. A developer wants to construct a 60-something-story tower three blocks from our apartment. Built for the mega-rich as a money laundering scheme (people don't really live in these apartments), it would block out the little light we receive, making our dim apartment much darker. That it's being fought fiercely is a good thing. But will the forces of good sense win out? That remains to be seen. One can't be complacent about these things. 

There is so much to be angry about this season. So much to resist. And that gets hard when it can seem like resistance is futile (I rather liked Star Trek Voyager). But I am not caving in just yet. No, not doing that. I am going to enjoy my bit of glam, sit on my meditation cushion and encourage myself to act instead of react. Otherwise, I would go nuts. 

Nutcracker, anyone? 

Sunday, November 26, 2017

The Count's Library


We met right in front of his house, he introducing himself to me and two friends as we stood admiring the ancient facade. We all chatting for some minutes, he inquiring as to our presence in town, and upon hearing that we were in the arts, suddenly asked: "Would you like to see the house?" Of course we did. So he opened the huge doors, and we entered into a long, quiet courtyard that abuts the city wall built by Romans—the house itself being one of the earliest in Soria. 12th-century to be exact. 


The first room we encountered was one of two libraries that flank the entry, containing the count's personal library, as well as family documents that are consulted by historians. On the table? An original copy of Spain's constitution, along with a signature book containing the names of royalty. Our generous and gracious host showed us everything, full of pride and humility, and then invited us to back into the courtyard, where we sat and talked, and libation appeared out of nowhere.

Friday, November 24, 2017

Thanksgiving 2017


I start weeks ahead, this year's table assembling itself after coming across a silver green cinderella pumpkin—which I had spied years ago in a Martha Stewart magazine. As I remember, she paired them with lots of silver on a dark ground. Well, I had the brown tablecloth, so thought, why not? In short order, I had two more and was off and running. 


The room was cleaned, the furniture moved, and the table set two days ahead—if only because cooking for eleven in a smallish apartment means no last minute craziness. Heck. I once did the whole thing in one day and thought I would die. Now I create a menu/planning list which is redone several times as ingredients are sourced and prepared, the list is then tacked up by the stove Thanksgiving morning and crossed off. As it was, everything went better than planned. Of course, I always worry like my grandmother, who would make an amazing meal, then declare: "There is nothing good in the house!" 


The celebration gives me the chance to drag out all my brown and white transferware serving  pieces, including a platter I found at the Antique Garage in Chelsea years ago. (The building has been torn down now, and there really isn't a good place for a a flea market now—though there is one over by the Lincoln Tunnel, which feels crammed into a side-street.) Everything is set up on an old mid-19th-century table with huge turned legs that I found and refinished about 20 years ago. It usually sits behind the sofa, though I am thinking of parting with it, having a hankering for more space. 

Wishing you a wondering Holiday Season.