Now, my friends, don't let me hear you say you have nothing to do!
PICNIC ON THE PLAZA Forget Tanglewood, forget the Sheep Meadow -- famous for their elaborately staged picnics by culture-lovers. This is the plaza at Lincoln Center -- asphalt, concrete, marble, whatever the material, it was the perfect spot for a enjoyable picnic and vibrant chess match. While a HD opera played in the background, Kieran Rodgers (left) and Cole Grissom pulled together a great New York evening on a late summer's day. Take some inspiration, the city is full of opportunities to have wonderful experiences - picnic and chess optional.
Now, my friends, don't let me hear you say you have nothing to do!
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No, my friends, that's not a typo in the title -- these cherry blossoms are cheery indeed. And where in the world did I find them? I'll give you a hundred guesses and they will all be wrong - except for you lucky denizens of upper Broadway who may have lifted your jaded eyes for a moment. This was the heralding of our spring this year and more important, it was an appropriate farewell to the winter from hell (is that an oxymoron? isn't hell supposed to be hot as .. well, you know what).
Finding these blossoms was a reminder not to let beauty just go - whoosh - over my head. Look up, Arlen, look up - and I bid you join me. In any case, if you look up you'll have a better chance of ducking falling Kryptonite. Walking in Greenwich Village last evening I looked up and saw a beautiful tree, its graceful old branches teasing the landscape and catching the light. My cousin Anita and I were strolling the downtown streets, sharing our love for this granite rock and chatting about our immigrant ancestors who settled in downtown Manhattan along with the masses.
I thought about that tree and its age and how it must have been growing when our family steamed past Lady Liberty. And here it was, glorious, flaunting the charms of limbs and leaves against the darkening sky. That tree belonged to our great grandmother, our grandmother, our mothers and now it belonged to us. Time stood still in Greenwich Village last night. And what a night it was. My pulse was fluttering, my heart was throbbing, my throat felt tight with excitement. I had longed for these old feelings to return -- but this time they weren't roused by a longed-for beau come into sight, rather it was Manhattan by night.
Yes, it was the stirrings that only the most beloved can awaken in us and undoubtedly I was madly, passionately and completely in love with my Man - my Man-hattan that is. I was winging my way home via JetBlue into an always exciting landing at LaGuardia. The clouds that had been hanging around for days had cleared and suddenly there appeared - like the extravagant finale of a Broadway show - the most bejeweled vision of my city. And for the first time from the air I saw the Freedom Tower, completed and stunning. I'll risk using a term bandied about too freely but fitting on this occasion: it was magical. When we first broke through the clouds, the building lights, street lights, the lights from cars speeding along the roadways, spread out in the darkness like gold and diamond necklaces spilled from a treasure chest. I glanced at my seat mate; she was plugged in and oblivious - so were the other passengers that I could see. I wanted to share this spectacular sight, I wanted them to appreciate my beloved, to acknowledge the beauty, to nod in agreement -- but everyone was otherwise engaged. And so I settled in to enjoy every morsel of the sight, not even wanting to blink. And then it occurred to me that it is much better to be alone and mellow with these feelings of love. After all, they'll only last until we touchdown and I scramble to get to the front of the taxi line. A post script to this post: The next morning on the news, I heard that the city is asking for the dimming or shutting down of lights when buildings are not occupied or in use. If that goes through, this one spectacular homecoming will stand out lighter and brighter than ever. My painting "Big Bang," (detailed on the ART page of my site) was exhibited as part of a group show at the National Arts Club on Gramercy Park from February 24 -27. The crowds calculated the cold and the indomitable New Yorkers showed up for a festive night of art, conversation and wine. It was a sensational Opening Reception at a veritable New York landmark.
If you've never spent time around Gramercy Park - or not in a long while - haul yourself down there and while you're admiring the mansions of the gracious New York that once was - peek inside and you'll be astonished by what you see - a ceiling that's been turned into art, flourishes of the old embracing modernity. It's a feast for the eyes and a wake up call for sensibilities. Forget Soho (not really!) but remember that Gramercy Park has been the home to an artistic community for over a century. Read the myriad plaques, notice the various clubs and schools and the wrought iron facades that were fashioned by artisans as well. My ancestors were known for their forging skills in Europe and brought that with them to New York. I admit to a bias and admiration for work that combines artistry with brawn. I sometimes have trouble maneuvering my larger canvases. So wait for Spring if you must, but surely visit Gramercy Park this year. This little insider tip won't be viable until springtime - but that's when most visitors really begin exploring our town - and even New Yorkers are hibernating until Spring. (We do have zillions of food delivery options so unless forced out - by a job for instance - we can tuck ourselves in from the winter solstice until the cherry blossoms bloom.)
Now back to the matter at hand. If you've ever wanted to crash (ahem... attend) a wedding in New York, here's what to do. Take a pleasant little hike on Fifth Avenue until you reach the formidable gates to the Conservatory Gardens (pictured above) at 105h Street. On any given weekend during the warm weather season, bridal party after bridal party pulls up in their limos and sundry transportation (oh, you'd be astonished at what passes for a vehicle - that alone can be worth the trip) to either marry or at the very least have their formal wedding photos taken in this fetching environment. It's become so popular that a bridal party has to apply for and be granted a permit and time slot. I've passed more than a few amiable Sunday afternoons assessing and critiquing the bridal dress, the dresses of the attendants, whether the marriage will last and if I see a future for the ring bearer and flower girl. I tell you there are worse ways to loll about. |
AuthorBorn and reared in Manhattan, I left once to live and work in Los Angeles. I liked it - it was on a Thursday at about 4 pm. Archives
September 2015
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