Getting Around to This Summer’s Exhibitions

After settling into summer the season which nevers seems as if it will be as long as it will turn out to be in the discoverence of its’ true depths it was finally that this blogger set aside time to voyage to the various art exhibitions blockbuster and otherwise which he wished to see.

He started in this latest round of museum going with his first visit to the New- New museum of Contemporary Art (which as of this going is relatively new but not brand..) to see the ennial (tri or otherwise or section of their international survey) for the exhibition of artists of the age of thirty three or younger and catchingly named “Younger Than Jesus” (Madonna who already has a boyfriend named Jesus who is younger than his namesake by a decade and all of 23 may or may not be invited in or her presence allowed).

It was a noisy collection of works with loud instillation upon instillation and by the time he departed this blogger was practically running out the door.  Yes there was the girl sleeping in the bed with the artists materials being described as to paraphrase human female, sleeping pill, and bed.  Lets leave it there take two like these people must have had to in order sleep through the noise and read my blog in the morning……

But , later, I thought hey why not propose a new exhibition a new ennial for artists and viewers who are not  deaf  yet but who cannot quite take the rebounds of sound mashed together in inter-instillation chaos and are older than Jesus but are of less years than the most famous tour guide of them all or  in other words are  younger than Moses (at the time after he left Egypt  and was going around in a circle for forty years waiting for his entrance into the Promised Land which in  for him in the end never came).

Next it was off to Washington DC to see an exhibition works of the works of the very same Spanish Still Life virtuoso from which I had turned around from on the voyage to just a couple of posts ago, Luis Melendez.

First stopping in New Jersey after working all day and trying to get over the urban air conditions I had just left  behind I finally stopped in Penn’s Grove (a town between the the turnoff after the last exit toll on the New jersey Turnpike and the Deleware Memorial Bridge) for the night (with a stop for dinner at at an Appleby’s which consisted of a Mexican Salad and a French onion soup).

Waking in the morning I headed straight for DC and once there popped into Armands’ Chicageo Pizzeria on Capitol Hill for lunch (and the congressional staffers all look  so young because I guess they are).

Then when driving along the Mall are for a parking spot within walking distance of the National Gallery in spotting one in a moment it was gone when at a stop light this museum got caught behind a turning bus and a vehicle from another direction swarmed in and swiped it.

Aftera couple hours of driving around in a circle and lacking the change for the seven  minutes  a quarter meter finally this driver drove over to the parking lot beside the  Potomac Tidal Basin which in turn is across from the Jefferson memorial parked and walked over. 

The paintings were light and delightful thoguh the room they were placed in  seemed rather dark. The thirty canvases were brought together with some real models of the period wares the painter employed in his works.  The largest suite of works as a sub group here were the works he did on commission (his only major royal one for a the Prince of Austrias) done of the edibles found in the new world so here we have cauliflower , chocolate, and other wonder such as watermelon. These works were in a special exhibition in I.M Pei’s timeless West Wing while in the East Wing was  The Art of Power : Royal  Armor and Portraits from Imperial Spain” which though I took in some of the Imperial Battle wear and the Velasquez and Reubens Portraits of Phillip the Second of Spain my visit was not in depth so this blogger must vow to  return to the John Russell Pope’s stately marble East Wing where this display temporarily resides.

Phoebe Klein’s First Daughter

By the way if you are Phoebe Klein nee Berkowitz’s first daughter who was then adopted please call your brother who was not introduced to you when you reappeared (albeit briefly) lee klein 212-787-8787 or llmk1@aol.com

Exit Another King

So with the tragic end of the emblematic figure Michael Jackson it brings back the summer of so long ago the Orwellian year which came to pass 1984 and the Jacksons’ “Victory Tour”.  That year I was off for the summer from attending  college and driving a suburban taxicab and my father who had been the fourth fastest mile in the Bronx had decided to take me to the Olympics in L.A (which turned out to be the fluorescent LA olympics orchestrated by Peter Uberoth par excellance).

The night before it was time to leave was one of the stops on the Victory tour at Giants’ Stadium (coming down now after a final Bruce Springsteen repirise at the end of this summer).  I remember the fireworks,  the wristband, the seat being on the field, acting like I was jet -set because I was going to the Olympics in the morning, but,  mostly,  I remember Michael crying on cue for “She’s Out of My Life” (thats what I remember it was so long ago).

Exit- Exit the King

Since the time that Prince Harry played polo on Govenors’Island I have been working much trying to take advantage of the busy summer season on the double decker buses.  In the meantime I saw the last of the four plays (excepting the revival of Noel Cowards’ Blithe Spirits with Rupert Everett, Angela Lansbury, and Christine Ebrsol) with the marquee names which I wished to view on Broadway this season before they closed.  The last in the quartet being the redo of Eugene Ionesco’s tragic farce “Exit the King” starring Geoffrey Rush and Susan Sarandon which has been stated to have been restaged at the end of the eight years of the Second Bush to have become President (s’) presidency.

Again I went with Steven Irolla (who so kindly waited on line at the tkts booth and was duly rewarded with a beer at the Pig & Whistle pub before the performance).  Indeed it was a heavy work despite the light touches being about Ionesco’s main character Berrenger’s last hours on Earth as a timed departure (an aspect that Sarandon as the old wife played up ) amidst his verdant loss of sensation and his feeling of place  in time and importance.

Rush was a foppish majesty really letting go for character.   The prodction suited him most kindly almost as per himself as a co-producer.  The play brought up strong feelings for this writer particulary when the author asks through the titular character who will be there for you when you crossover (to paraphrase) and this resounded as I was not with my own father when he went.

After the performance we went to a new restaurant/bar on 47th street across from the theater Glass House and I threw no stones.  The King has Exited long live “Exit the King” !

Prince Harry Plays Polo

So For the first time wile temporarily loosing hold of the temporality of this blog, this person, was heading down to Washington DC to see the works of the still life legend  Luis Melendez from the deep vortex of Imperial Spain when he decided to turn around for a double Gemini pre birthday meditation circle.  Meanwhile having to celebrate a birthday and seeing that Prince Harry would be playing Polo on Govenor’s Island and that there were still tickets available he called the number from the internet from his car.  Yes the tickets were five hundred dollars for a pair but the proceeds would be going to charity and in being part of the moment he swept them up.

This gave this now Polo match goer ample time to organize a wardrobe and ruminate over presentation strategy as well as to orgazine the day.  So he chose a blue blazer, turquoise English broadcloth shirt, orange silk Gucci tie (same as worn to the opening of the pictures generation at the Metropolitan Museum of Art), riding pants bought on the Piazza diPalio in Sienna, and long sleek black cole- Haan shoes for this outing with the suddenly garden fresh New York Polo set.  First it was to take the subway (oh my) to lower Manhattan to make our way to the Govenors Island ferry which turned out to  be the wrong one though the polo ponies were being trucked in the make the crosssing and so we being of ample body walked all the way over to Battery Park City where everything was in order and we received our envelopes (birthday boy Neil and I) for lunch on the lawn.   Oh the day was  golden(…golden years golden years don’t let me here you say life is taking you nowhere- angel -angel….. the nights are warm and the days are young” and I beg your apology to David) everyone was bedcked.  Upon arriving upon the island there was a line after disembarking to be trollied to the polo grounds and while aboard I gave tours to an out of towner from Chicago who was also attending his first polo match as was I )shhh don’t tell anyone). 

Once there we had to run the gauntlet past the attending press but were not asked to stop by the media including the correspondant from the hopeless www.page6.com .  Upon making our way around the super boxes of the super people we got to the lawn area where golden chaise lounges were around while you had to wait on line to pick up your veuve cliquot picnic blanket in the veuve cliquot carrying case while getting your first glass of the champagne and all the goodies to eat such as smoked salmon sandwiches (and so it turned out to be well chosen that this match goer wore a cravat of orange for golden orange was the color of the day as were all the pennants for the champagne house so colored as well as the neckwear of the assembled staff).  Suddenly I looked across the lawn and saw a hub bub and it was the Red Headed Windsor Prince being photographed suddenly he walked to where I was standing and stopped and it was to talk to a mate. It was only the three of us but I called over to Neil who did not approach but I waited for Harry to finish his conversation then said Hi, Harry he did not respond and than the entourage left.

This was all before the actual start of the match where the first polo ball or orb shall we sayw as laid down onto the field or rolled by the first lady of the state of New York Mrs. David Patterson ( and though the govenor  himself was at Harry’s side at earlier events he was not at the polo match).   Competition ensued and I kept going to the organizers tent to charge my I-Phone  while catching flutes of champagne on the fly in the golden sunshine.  The game was fast  paced and the announcers kept talking also about the Sentabale foundation which is the charity founded by Harry and the prince of Lesotho in honor of their late mothers to help the aids stricken children of this small homeland within South Africa ( to find out more and donate funds please go herehttp://www.sentebale.org/home/index.html)

Meanwhile ,I followed the game loosely though at one point the ball which was soft for this event flew at me and I threw it back onto the field striking the side of the hindquarters of Nacho Figueras the Argentinian polo player and the face of Ralph Lauren fragrances mount.   The play wound on and eventually in a finally score removing the tie and allowing Prince Harry’s team to win the third in the line to the throne assited in the goal.

Then there was the prerequisite ceremony where the crowd gathered around the stand where the players were to be awarded a the trophies and all of a sudden a hub-bub ensued and I asked who it was and a lady said “Madonna”. At first I could not see her and strained but then there she was under a hat with the Malawian boy David Badu in her grasp hugging her like she was the mother tree she is and next to her was son Rocco and looking for Jesus Luz (the twenty three year old model, current boyfreind, and kabbalist ) and then there he was in a baseball hat off from the main pcture and standing with two guys who were obviously boyfreinds who I did not recognize (but on later internet reconnaissance found out that it was Marc Jacobs and his current steady) .  Soon after the cermemony was over (which Neil walked away from because the dizzy tizzy over the Madonna tableaux had made him sick of the scene) I ran into Demetria Daniels of www.gothamgossip.com and had more flutes of Veuve cliquot and had a shot taken by Ms. Daniels with a polo player which I still have not received.  Ms. Daniels then informed me that she would be training as a double decker bus tour guide at City Sites (the Nyc blue bus) and indeed just a couple of days later I spotted her on a parallel vehicle to mine and introduced her to both buses.

So Back to Zwack

 

Artists Michael McClard, Marcia Resnick, Anton Perich, and Michael Zwack at Bobby Grossman opening

So Zwack is back so back to Zwack.  Completing my voyage southward rather than to the middle east during mid life left this blogger and bus rider to return to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to investigate the work in the “The Pictures Generation” more closely than during the opening. There I met fellow tour guide Zwack but spent much of the time listening to the audio guide organized by curator Douglas Eklund.  Though familiar with some of the artists there were many of them with whom I was not.

 

It is a dense exhibit if not only object wise but reason it is  the way it is  wise. It was definitely elucidating in seeing the way Mr. Salle evolved coming out of Cal Arts and what was his and what can be seen as having merged by him  in and with James Rosenquist.   The umbrella shading these artists from the sun can only be extended so wide as to make room to include everybody in  a moment or movement   This exhibiton’s premise that it was other images which than being so pervasive led artists or imagists to make images based on images or otherwise pop will eat itself. 

The thing which I like about Michaels’ work was that it was not striving for any cliche sure it could be an album cover for the anthology of anthems of rock is dead or long live the death of everything but it is earnest.  The sculpture of his included here of toy solidiers encased in small blocks of cement predates Arman’s mummification of Cars in Beirut , Lebanon by several years . 

Becasue of this exhibit though I know more about Cindy Sherman, Robert Longo, Jack Goldstein, and others.  However, I must say that the Louise Lawler, Sheree Levine , and  sometimes Richard Prince school of the joke is on you art amuses this person seldom anymore -it is  tired, it is not nice it is self aggrandizing and in the end while it may make for nice design it is boring.

Down to Fla to Go to Where Its’ Better in the Bahamas

Well after the stint at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York it was down by auto to Boynton Beach, Fla to go to Fort Lauderdale to fly to Nassau in the Bahamas ( a new country for this blogger Newfoundland).  The stops along the way were very few as to have a couple of days of rest at the wonderful Courtyard Marriot- Marriot Courtyard on Congress avenue (formerly the Catalina Holiday inn) before jettisoning to the island of New Providence.

The major stops off of I-95 were at “The National Museum of the Marines” in Quantico, Virginia (and its magnificent building made to look like a sword in the stone or a raised blade in salute coming to an apex).  On the way in there was a fully overturned car and a military personage  impromptu directing traffic around the wreck .  Once inside the diorama and history time-line  presentations were great.  This is an excellently produced museum -however if one enjoys a presentation that does mean that one neccesarily agrees with the view of history it is attempting to progress.

The history of the marine band which has and continues to play for the Commander- and- Chief at the White House was also excellent (including the historic role of John Phillip Sousa who got the president to agree to allow the band to tour and how “Hail to the chief” came into usage). 

 The next stop was at “South of the Border” to possibly report on the doings at the Osaka Spa again (which my  first post about is by far my most popular entry on wordpress) but press forward progression it was to be.  It was sixty dollars for a brief massage so as to get more googling vehicle and truck operators to click on my page so what!  But I bought a gag roll of toliet paper for “cheap asshole”s to wipe theirs’ with- just so I could show it around back at the stew in your own’ juices theater back at the double decker bus tour terminal and jokingly suggest as an application when tourists ask for something to wipe off their seats.

Afterwards in a fast dash and thanks to some coffee we made it (frend Neil and I) to Boynton Beach in a dash in time to the check into the Courtyard by Marriot for an entire day.  We mostly relaxed but in a frenzy of ebay bidding for vintage Versace neckwear and updating the designers’ wikipedia page and trying to live inside my long ago attempt at a futuristic novel “Speedboats of the Sky’ (which follows the exploits of a group of speedboats of the sky racers {in a vehicles not unlike Annakin Skywalker raced in the second series of Star Wars movies or a more recent parallel perhaps but not exactly being the red bull pilot obstacle course races} as they travel around the world in very colorful highly eroticized corporately sponsored  paradigm where coteries of models, money men , designers, and a million hangers on vibrate.  The initial scenes take place at a beautiful Jade inlaid freestanding nightclub structure called Casa Azul which lays somewhat offshore in the Miami Beach Zone.  There is a character in the work called Gianfranco Baroque whom I attempted to base on the then still alive Gianni Versace.  Here is the opening line from the work….. “it was a world  fresh with the  powerful scent of jet fuel, and of the effects of  expensive items purchased at duty free shops; cartons of cigarttes, botttles of well aged scoth and the complexions of the moguls who partook of the imbiber, of the palisading fluorescence of a vibrant world at play, of hallucenogenic cyber spice, and exquisite women in violet-marine well tanned from long weekends in Curical”……

 

Meanwhile once in the actual vicinity the large indoor municipal parking lot behind Lincoln Road had been taken down and we chose a small side one instead. It was a beautiful evening as was nearly every one on this trip and we dined at a favorite Miami Beach spot of mine Tiramisu on among other plates Monkfish salad (with a couple of glasse sof an excellent chianti to boot).

The next day it was relaxation time and then over to Boca Raton in the evening to check out the Boca Raton Museum of art on open late until 9 PM and pay nothing night (otherwise known as Wendesday). What brought us here was perusing the South Florida museum listings on the internet and finding an exhibition curated by the critic Karen Wilkin (a posthumous Cleve Gray retrospective).  Meanwhile arriving at the large public plaza  mall condo city center Mizner Park the museum was unexpectedly closed however there was a large celebrate Israel music event which provided an adequate backdrop to an outdoor meal at a mexican restaurant which consisted of a portion of Guacomole, a grilled vegtable platter, and for me a passion fruit margarita (which much to my suprise turned out not to be frozen). Later googling again I found that the name of the restaurant is “Uncle Julio”s and had been written about by a food writer with my same first and last calling cards “Lee Klein” (watch out food critic klein if I eat enough food in the sunshine state I might trapse into that business but watching what I eat which should be the opposite of eating it and until then this might stop this blogger from sampling too many morsels not to mention dollops of monetarial concern– and please note rather now that I am neither the food critic or the reputed organized crime associate who lives in the Boynton beach vicinity),

The next morning it was time to go abroad again on Spirit airlines which is by no means as annoying at the airport as it is on the internet.  We took a cab to the tri-rail (South Floridian inter city rapid transit) to the Ft. Lauderdale Hollywood Int’l airport stop and then to a bus shuttle link.  I was so paranoid about the airline that we arrived about four hours early for the flight and got the exit row (hint only bring carr-ons to escape extrodinary checked baggage charges and also get your seat at the airport for there is a booking fee online as well and the flight to Nassau from South Florida is not even an hour).

We got he exit row seats but the flight was delayed an hour while people complained that they should have taken JetBlue (while a hefty duo stood around  in anti swine flu masks while attempting to drink Starbucks beverages).  Once in flight the airline was not so bad at all , the plane was clean, and the flight itself was very brief (though there was agroup of intoxicated stockjokers or whatever being loud and drinking from an open bottle of vodka).  Inside customs and passport control were fun with a pirate character welcoming you to the Bahamas , free Baccardi mixed rum drink shots , and even a duo doing Island music next to a colorfully painted semblance of house next to passport control.

Once through all the entry procedures and stops it was time to take a taxicab to the place where we were supposed to be staying on Paradise Island.  We shared a minivan with a Venezualan couple staying at The Atlantis and got to see New providence and Nassau for the first time on the way over there.  I left my Italian bicycling shorts in the cab and threw a tizzy fit which distracted from the viewing of the marine life in the Atlantis but we did spot Nobu just off of the casino floor which did not open until five thirty for dinner-(eventually I was taken out of my mood by a beautiful sales girl at the Atlantis’ Versace boutique who gave me a hug).

Then we found out the hostel we had been hoping on staying in on Paradise Island was no longer open for business (or just their three phone numbers no longer worked).  So we had to scramble to find other accomadations and after some debate settled on a ride back to New Providence by taxi to the Nassau Palm hotel downtown all the while eventually planning to make our way back by ferry back across to the Sivinanda Yoga Resort on Paradise Island.

So we checked into the Nassau Palm whose winding outdoor corridors seem to be scripted for a role in one of the many past, present, and future James Bond films to have been filmed around here. 

Almost immediatley I set out upon trying either to find the one day shark dive where no diving certification is required ( this adventure turned out to leave only on selected dates from Freeport on the Island of Grand Bahama) or a one day resort course (taking a prep and go diving the on the same excursion).  I could not get this information out of the ladies at the tourist desk in the lobby so iwent down Bay Street to the canary yellow colored Hilton googled it in the busineess center printed it presented it to them and booked it for the following day with Stuart’s Cove.  Meanwhile we had the rest of the day to whittle away and we walked down to Rawson Square where a nice guard or be he a caretaker in civilian garb gave us a brief tour of the Bahamian verson of Congress or British parliment.

Then it was off to Cafe Mattisse (a restaurant Neil had found) for a dinner just off the square.  It was a pleasant place if not tipping to mucgh a of a hat to the fauvist favorite of sun worshippers.  For the main course I had duck in blueberry sauce while Neil dined on fresh vegatables and a couple of plates of gnocchi were thrown in.

Afterwards it was to sleep for an early morning wake-up for breakfest in the lobby and than taking my one bag and yoga mat with me to return not to the hotel after diving but to the Mermaid Dock at Bay and Deveaux streets to take the boat launch over to Paradise Island to the Sivinanda Yoga Resort which is inaccessable by road.

The Bus to Stuarts’ Cove was colorfully painted silver and pink was swift in its trajectory and picked up passengers at multiple hotels along the route to the diving and snorkeling hub. Also on the way we passed through Lyford Cay which this blogger mentions on his tours of Manhattan, Nyc that Huntington Hartford the original mega-developer of Paradise Island lived when he passed away in his late nineties not that long ago.

Once there I had to pick up my equipment and join a boat which was leaving fast and the instructors told me I was on Bahamas time now and to slow down.  Th boat departed the cove and though this correspondant thought he was going to get classroom time he  would be instructed on the boat and participate in the second dive.  His instructor was a spirited Aussie gal who said she had been in the Bahamas for three years.

This was the first time I had gone diving since around the time of the start of the  Gulf War having overcome some breathing adversity and though I was a bit nervous and had to come back up a couple of time while demonstatimg the skills needed to go down when this blogger finally did he was elated.  The instructor was anexcellent communicator and pulled me down when my weight belt was not quite enough. The reef itself seemed a bit barren for the sub tropics though I did see a lobster but no sharks or  the dreaded Lionfish invaders.

So after finishing I got the hotel bus to drop me off at the Mermaid dock (where luckily there was a launch which was just arrving to depart again) .  On the way over the ashram horticulturist was returning with a scented geranium and other plants which this blogger helped carry off and the headed for the check-in -kiosk. i had missed the days yoga classes but after getting a temple side cabin went to dinner than the evening prayers, chanting, talks, and music convergence in one of the Ashram’s temples and here a visiting Krishna scholar talked of the divinity who walked among men’ adventures in the Śrīmad Bhāgavatam and had the rapt attention  of his audience with his deft refrences and wonderous humour (please forgive that I am not a seasoned devotee and am only recapturing events for a travel log and will update as I learn more).

So we were at the ashram for two nights and the part of three days and with its close proximity to the Atlantis it also allowed for one more visit over there.  I took three yoga classes and finally got going on doign some other form of the ancient practice besides “Bikram” 9as people have been telling me to do all along). What struck this writer here among many other things was the textural interface between the Sivinanda campus and peace and quiet and the large party boats which moved throught the harbor ( one time the visiting scholar said as a loud vessel invaded the sound space during the evening gathering in the temple ”I am reminded that George harrison once said “All things must pass”), the cruise ships with large attractions built onto their decks (such as a water slide or a climbing wall) , the behemoth Atlantis rising as igf out of the sea, the islanders and the strange vibe of Nassau.

At the Ashram we met a Taiwanese American artist named Charmin,a couple of expatriated Brits working in corporate disaster relief, and some nice women form allover the place.  Upon leaving we went back to Nassau and this time strayed at a very reasonably priced quality inn.  I went up and saw the exterior of Fort Charlotte.  Then came back briefly lost my passport and than found it by the pool (lucky).  Then Neil and I went back to the fort and then for a brief dinner a touristy spot which was quite good.

After watchign some television  (a National Geographic special on the preserved Woolly Mamooth infant found in the Siberian Tundra and a reality a show where dogs were voted out of a house by a family and then taken for a walk)  it was time for sleep .

 

The enxt morning we set out for The Marley’s families resort where we had breakfest and watched a great documentary on the clan’s patriach Bob (finally getting down the political mileu in which he wrote and lived in Jaimaca at the height of his fame in the nineteen seventies and early eighties)

then we got back on local transport which brought us there and got off at a cave which was supposedly used by indigenous people before transplanted Europeans and Africans arrived.  After this I convinced Neil to walk tot the airport as it was only about a mile along. Then we came along a strip mall with a lovely tea shop and decided to have banana and also pineapple rum brews.  Meanwhile strech limousines brought gaggles of tourists to a the duty free liquor store which was next door to buy spirits to  take home on the plane.

Finally after asking directions we found the entry road to the terminal and finally this blogger learned the correct spellling of aufwiederzehn from and airport sign.

So we checked and went through customs and and then making small talk met a couple who turned out to be mediums .  So we set down for an impromptu reading at the gate ( first I got them a bag of popcorn) and the lady was correct about almost everything and without giving away the bulk of here reading this blogger is following much her direction today (as much as practically possible such as not flying aeroflot to Dubai with a stopover in Moscow).

Upon returning we had a straining strech waiting for the shuttel link to the tri-rail to walk back to the hotel and missed the final food call aat the pe-wei Asian diner which is a spinoff from P.F Changs.  So insteadwe had ameal at one ofthe Asian Fusion places and then it was off to work out(or so I remember).  The next day featured at turn at the slot machines at the Hard Rock cafe casino (my second visit) which was featuring a free slot play and food giveway).   The next day after that featured a voyage over to Palm Beach to walk along the famous Worht avenue where among other wothwhile sights was a fgreat painting by Geroe in art gallery of youths and godesses and swans. The Ralph Lauren Polo store here is almost as if a mseum and their painting collection excellent including marvelous portraits by leon Kroll.  THen we made tracks back to Boca Raton to finally catch the free night at the museum which features a stunniong collection. The retrospective of Cleve Gray (whose work before I was unfamiliar with) was not my cup or not my cup of tea usually it had soem very pleasing designs and as usual the firm Ms. Wilkin who curated it staked out her ground well.  This is quite a pleasing museum and one could spend hours marveling at the small gems by so many of the famous names of the recent and far erecent past from a slef portrait by Jose Clement Orozco, to s large Larry Rivers, to a humungous Sandro Chia work in the sculpture garde called “la offeretta”.

So then finally it was time depart the sunshine state and so we did all while listening to the audio version of the John Grisham novel ‘”The Broker”.  The first stop was in Flagler Beach for lunch once again at the Fisherman’s Net where Neil ordered fried Alligator Tail bites which he than decisded not to eat.  Getting back int he auto we then stopped to watch the dolphins bothy adult and baies frolic at Marineland.  Then we made our way up the coastal highway into St. Augustine itself with stops at the nations’ oldest pharmacy 9founded before Flroida was part of the United States) , The Casa Monica , and a few other spots.  Neil was not as keen on St. Augustine as I have been and so it was off finally stopping for the night in a motel in Santee South Carolina. 

No stops of any major importance occured again until Vienna, Virgina where I picked up my microphone at the home of a freind in whose car Ihad left it.  Than it was back and back to work in quick succession I think the next day.

“The Pictures Generation” at The Metropolitan Museum of Art (Part One the Opening)

Coming into the opening for “The “Pictures Generation” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art soon afterwards in walked a  man in shorts holding a paper bag .  Then when a special NYC police patrolman asked to look inside of the package it had a cannister for carrying gasoline (the kind you use in situations such as to bring petrol back to  the automobile from the gas station after you have run out of gas nearby-I know as if that ever happens). 

 The container which is for toting about a gallon seemingly had no liquid inside but still it is highly inappropriate to bring in an item which can be used for pouring gas into an art institution( and possibly putting people and or artworks at risk).  This man then tried to talk himself in saying somebody who worked at the museum needed it and asked him to bring it.  Finally, the gentleman agreed to go outside and discard the item and later was in  partying.  At the reception which was held in the great hall of the museum (while the art was on the second floor in the photography department’s galleries) they were playing David Bowie’s “Fame” … and I thought maybe they should be playing the great  chameleon’s “Putting out the Fire with Gasoline”.

The occasion for the opening was for “The Pictures Generation” an exhibition which takes its title from  a play on words {like David Reed’s “Moving Pictures”}  though in different context}  The content therein of the double meaning therein was a group of artists ostensibly starting with John Baldessari and a group of students which he tought at Cal Art in the late nineteen seventies and others who like the aforementioned moved to Nyc form places like Buffalo  and produced pictures influenced by all kinds of media which produced other pictures first and foremost being the television. 

This large exhibition curated by Douglas Eklund focused in on a loose knit group he thus termed the “Pictures Generation” which gathered stregnth and  produced hype and steam Downtown (in Manhattan the capitol of the Big Apple).

My co-worker ( from atop the red double decker bus ) Michael Zwack was a seminal figure in this group and was duly included here.

This set the stage for this evening (April 20th) opening where I was joined by architect Johannes Knoops mc’s Rick McGregor ( a great producer of among others things excellent youtube videos)  and briefly Tom Orzo ( of the Orzi). The opening was a scene   David Salle, Mary Boone, Charles Cowles, Ron Warren, Benard Tschumi, Eric Mitchell, Michael McClard, Jerry Salz and Roberta Smith (seperately), Ned Sublette, Peter Schjeldal, Eric Bogosian, and Robert Longo were just a few of the names who abounded in the surround.

Then it was off to the after party with Michael and his wife at the Meatmarket spot 9C  with its great  wooden floors and hor s’oerves mostly of egg salad with salmon on top on crostini making the rounds.  The champagne flowed and both pictures generation artist  Robert Longo and curator Eklund were in attendance.  Next it was off to the home of artist Charles Clough a Buffalo compatriot of Zwack’s for some more champagne and then home on the A train.

A couple of days later it was off to the Omega  center in Rhinebeck, new york  for a oneness blessing weekend with Uttamaji/ Matthew and much of the Portchester healing circle led by Gabriella attended and then down to Fort Lauderdale to fly to the Bahamas so there was nto much time for seeing the exhibit again between working and making it down to the sunshine state to make it over the atlantic to land in Nassau -but when I get back the show will be review here.  So  stay tuned, then search it,  click it , and get down.

TourBus dream wackiness

Just had another dream to do with tour guiding. I was in Las Vegas to write something at a fancy resort hotel  involving art and was going to attend some event and there in one of the great cafes sat the art citic Dave Hickey(who I had interviewed before) and a colleague. I went to the table to say hello to the art personae and I saw that it was the wrong table and it was the customer servce manager from where I worked at the double decker bus company a  Pakistani man and I said sorry ( I was supposed to be at work but these were not people from my department so how would they know then I turned around and there was chief executive officer (then the head of the concern as according to the time and space continuum in this particlar dream space) and I said “not too big a faux pas”. 

 It turned out to be some company convention where some secret deal was going down and where the insiders  from the company were being indoctrinated into a new order (or they were getting a big share as the company was being taken over).

So then I was on the flight or double decker bus ride back home and there were scores of employess as well as others on the plane or double decker bus ride .  The tour guide Ron Whitacker was sitting around leading a conversation with some other tour guides spewing out their usual conspiracy theories when I tried to get in a word edge-wise and tell them that I had just seen a whole slew of management in Las Vegas but Ron motioned that it was Patricia Gonzalez’s turn to talk next.

Then the CEO was again there and sometimes  he got up to switch posistions in the vehicle which  later was a plane rahter than a bus he did so with a bodyguard.  At one point Ron Whitacker was reading a short story which invoved some type of wooden tub and the CEO said something about a hot tub with  a  Southern accent. Then people cheered for Ron to read to keep reading and he did.  There were a few blonde ladies sitting next to me and I asked them if they worked for Grey line and they feigned ignorance.  Also a few seats back therewas a female and male cheerleading squad in seats together on what in that dream flash was a double decker bus.

Finally a person dressed in sort of a carnevale mask  and porecelin  body armor  with aztec elements came up to me sat down and said that he knew who I was and that he wanted me to serve on “the board of humanity” he walked me away as he said he was going to reveal hs secrets to me and I asked him if he practised the Aztec art of human  sacrifice and he said that he did and he walked me to a room I went into the barren chamber and there the dream ended

God of Carnage

Giving a tour on a red double decker bus the other day and coming downstairs a customer said ” can I ask you a question?”………….. and proceeded to query whether I could give away two tickets to “God of Carnage” for that day’s matinee performance asking “can  anybody use these” and I said  to paraphrase yes me (I had done back to back downtown tours and fufilled my bid requirement and so timing things this sudden theater goer realized he would be free).

I could not find anybody to take the second seat in the orchestra on such short notice not even outside the theater.  However having told a few around including the lady who scanned my e-ticket on the way in just as the curtain was about to rise someone came in and asked if the seat was free saying that the lady at cancellation line told him a seat was available and he would gladly reimburse me for it and I said sure.

When thc curtain came up and stars James Galdofini, Marcia Gay Harden, Jeff Daniels, and Hope Davis were already seated at the scene of all the action of this play without an intermission as the characters who were initially civil discussing the outcome of a fight betwen their sons in the polite neighberhood of Cobble Hill, Brooklyn.

This drama by Yazmina Reza who also composed the highly successful “Art” was all action as the polite get together devolved from freindly into a violent four way episode where the spouses not only attacked the other couple’s partners but their own with multiple humiliaitng moments for all.

Galdofini and Gay Harden had perhaps the best exchange when she said “stop acting like a Neanderthal”; and he yelled out ‘I am a fucken neanderthal”.  I do not want to give too much of this play away so run to see the human dynamic display for yourself -otherwise known as the social  world wrestling federation on Broadway.