On the way to NYC, taken from the train with raindrops on the window
From Renee's window. The snow and the flag made me think of Grandma Moses.
Memorial wreaths in Battery Park
Merchant Marine memorial
On the train home. Snow is gone but will come again.
I couldn't sleep last night. Not surprising; Renee usually goes to bed about 10pm and wakes up very early. Since we share her bedroom, I go to sleep at the same time and stay in bed until after eight, my usual wakeup. I've been getting 10 hours sleep and it finally got to be too much. The coffee I had with lunch didn't help either. So I lay there, almost too warm under a lovely down quilt, but with two blocks of ice for feet, and thought about anarchism and its various adherents; trying to figure out if any good had come from it. Most of the so-called anarchists during the 70s were nothing but common criminals: Weather Underground, Symbionese Liberation Army, the Unabomber.Certainly none of them brought about any good outcome. The most destructive group, the nineteen Muslims who destroyed the World Trade Center, were not anarchists, but nevertheless, wanted to destroy our way of life. It was a terrible disruption, but now, less than ten years later, New York moves along almost as if nothing had happened. The entrepreneurs on the streets work as usual. Panhandlers work the subways and skyscrapers continue to rise.
We took the unusually sparsely populated subway down to Battery Park. During the trip a man in a wheelchair, who had lost one leg, came through the car and collected money from almost everyone. Immediately following him two men with large conga drums sat down on their own chairs in the middle of the car and tried to put on a show. They had a lot of trouble warming us up. Most of the riders sat stone-faced throughout the performance. Too many hands out, I guess.
Emerging from the subway we saw lawns covered with Christmas wreaths, a 9/11 memorial sponsored by Wreaths Across America and Wal-Mart. Since 9/11 Battery Park has become the site of many memorials, including an interesting one for the merchant marine. (Photo to come)
We walked across the park to the Museum of Jewish Heritage, where we saw a very moving exhibit called Beyond Swastika and Jim Crow: Jewish Refugee Scholars at Black Colleges, which makes a horrifying comparison between segregation and the holocaust.
With only two, not so pressing things on my todo list, we went shopping, or I should say window shopping. I decided, while I was looking at new phones, that I really wanted another netbook. We went down to J&R Music Computer World so I could look at netbooks. They have the best selection I've found. I was so unhappy with that Asus I bought before I went to China I wanted to see, and try out, before I buy. Well, I'm still not sure. Asus has a new one that tempts me, but I still feel burned by them.
Julia met us in the store and we walked to Chinatown and had a lovely dim sum at the Chatham Square restaurant. Then we walked around Chinatown and down Canal Street, not as crowded as a summer day, but enough to send us back to the subway. On the way back to the apartment I stopped for my usual travel ritual: buy a new pair of shoes. This wasn't as bad as usual–just a pair of black Merrell's, which I had been planning to buy since I retired the last pair some weeks ago.
Metropolitan Museum day. We looked at Japanese and Chinese art, missed a show about Chinese lacquerware, and left with aching legs. Because of all the slush I've been constantly wearing a pair of Merrell fleece-lined boots. They keep my feet warm and dry and the gummy cleats on the soles keep me from sliding, but they're nowhere near as comfortable as the Merrells I usually wear. Sitting on the bus and subway to get to Columbus Circle was a treat.
Lunch at Whole Foods, more crowded than usual, then on to the Museum of Art and Design. This has always been one of my favorites, and I loved it even with aching legs. Their show Slash: Paper Under the Knife, is filled with wonderful cut paper creations. Take a look at the Teacher Resource for good photos of the conceptually most interesting works. We finished with Madeleine Albright's pin collection and then dragged ourselves back to the apartment to rest up before dinner, going to a place nearby that didn't require crossing a street so I could wear real shoes instead of the boots.
Very full day. We began with Hockney on 57th St. (He's in two places.) I wanted so much to love his work. I find it intellectually interesting–sort of–but I'm back to the question: what is great art? There was one piece, at Pace prints, I really admired. It was largely computer created and probably impossible to do without a computer program. Inspiring! (Hockney slide show) I like the pictures online better than the real thing.
On our way to the subway to go to Hockney two we passed an amazing gallery called Ana Tzarev. It was huge and filled with the work of Ana Tzarev, a woman I had never heard of. I'm not about to tell you I've heard of every artist, but the size and location of the gallery made me wonder about who bankrolled her. You can read all about her here and here. Amazing what you can do with money.
Hockney on 25th St. was a little more interesting. There was more work, more thinking about perspective, which of two paths to take, stuff like that, but no AH Yes moment, nothing to enter and get lost in.
Back to the subway to one more show, but first lunch. We stopped at Cosi's, a decent fast food place. Along with the ingredients for each dish were the calories. I must say it gave me pause: I selected my lunch very carefully and ate mostly vegetables. I'm not complaining. I was just amazed at how meaningful this was to me.
The last show was Serizawa at the Japan Society. I've known about Serizawa for years. His wonderful calendars were sold at Aiko's in Chicago. But I had no idea how prolific he was and how wonderful his work is.
The train ride in winter has a hypnotic quality–all the black tree trunks and branches against the white snow. The mountains stand out more; I tend to forget that Pennsylvania is so mountainous.The train was half hour late, not unexpected in the aftermath of a snowstorm. But they do seem to be maintaining it a little better. It was filled–every seat was sold for at least some part of the trip. The days of having two seats and lots of space are gone.
I didn't want to wait at the cab stand at Penn Station (it can be a very long wait) so I got on the subway and went to 53rd and 3rd, the only place with escalators to street level. No cabs were stopping there; at times as many as six people were trying to get a cab on that corner. Finally walked to 1st Ave., where I got one immediately.
Streets are relatively clean here, but corners are filled with dirty slush. There are big piles of plastic garbage bags waiting for pickup by trucks being used for street clearing. The joys of living in New York in winter, but I love it anyway.
My motivation for this trip to NYC is to see the Hockney show at PaceWildenstein. I first became interested in Hockney when I discovered his photo collages. I had little interest in his early paintings, particularly the swimming pools, but have enjoyed reading his thinking about painting and photography.
Some of his photographs bear some similarity to the Gigapans I was playing with. In a lecture he gave in 1983, he talks about photographs being an instant in time, whereas paintings are a record of time passing.
Why is a painting based on the camera (and with one viewpoint) more interesting than a photograph taken from the same spot and enlarged – even when taken with a large plate camera? And my conclusion was this lack of time, the static quality photographs have is due to the fact that it's the same time in every area of the picture. The removal of the hand (the removal of the body) causes this. The hand moving through time reflects the eye moving through time (and life moving through time). The evidence of the hand is our time. On Photography, © David Hockney, 1983
I would love to know what he thinks of the Gigapan, which is after all, a robotic hand moving through time.
He also compares the use of one point perspective in Western art to the multiple viewpoints in Cubism and the progression of images in Chinese and Japanese art.
http://www.youtube.com/v/cIfDdW9GKmA&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0
So what, you may ask, does all this have to do with the exhibit of his paintings in New York? Thinking about Hockney I came up with his photo collages, which are making me think about my own work. I would like to do a book about the Japanese gardens I visited. I would like a way to present more of the photos I took–I never posted all of them. Just as I did with the collage I made of the photos of the 300 year old pine tree in Tokyo, I often took multiple shots of views that didn't fit into one image. How do I present them in book form?
Here are some of the images I'm playing with:
I have a $250 certificate from United Airlines that will expire next month. This was my booby prize for that terrible trip home from Japan last year. I hate to let it fade away, so I've been trying to figure out some way to use it. Truth is I haven't wanted to get back on a plane. Our recent flight to Chicago was OK, but I think this was unusual luck. I have to complete the round trip before December 19. I'm still thinking about it, but the only way I can use the certificate from Pittsburgh is to make at least one plane change before I get to my destination. They won't let me use it on any non-stop flight. I can go to New York, making a stop in Chicago, or Atlanta. I just can't see doing that in December. It would probably be easier to drive. I'd like to go to New York before Christmas; I'll probably take the train. With any luck I'll never fly United again.
I often listen to podcasts of the Brian Lehrer show from WNYC in New York. Here he is interviewing Bernie Sanders, an Independent Senator from Vermont, who has sponsored a bill to deal with those "too big to fail" financial institutions, and also talks about our healthcare mess, including a unique take on the death panels. He's probably the most rational senator I've ever heard. Too bad there aren't more like him.
I'm not really an obsessive personality, but once in a while something will get to me. I think of these things as waking nightmares. When I lived in New Jersey and worked in upstate New York I constantly worried about being hit by a truck as I crossed the George Washington Bridge twice each day. After 9/11 when my Chicago friends asked me if I was worried about a terrorist attack I realized I was much more concerned about those trucks. Over the years I've had a number of these concerns, most of which never materialized.
When I lived in Chicago my concern was about the possibility of getting stuck in Cabrini-Green, one of those notorious housing projects unwisely built very close to the most desirable areas of the city. On New Years Day, 1985, I went to visit a friend, mistakenly sailed past the North Avenue exit of the highway, and foolishly got off at Division Street, putting me right in wrong place. I was driving a VW something; I don't remember the model, and it had an electrical problem that the dealer hadn't been able to find. Needless to say, as I got to the stop sign in the middle of the area, the car stalled. Two men came over and tried to help me–actually, one tried to help–I wasn't sure about the other. The car wouldn't start, they pushed it to the curb, I gave them whatever money I had (about $25) and left as quickly as possible. I also got rid of that car as quickly as possible.
My most recent waking nightmare is about falling: either on my face or breaking something important like a hip. Friday morning, after finishing my tutoring gig at the library, I decided I would take the bus to the Strip if it came before my usual bus. I got there, had a fish sandwich at Benkowitz, went to the Society for Contemporary Craft to see the current exhibit and continued walking to downtown Pittsburgh. It's not very far, about a mile and a half. I got to Penn Station and decided to take the bus on the East Busway, giving me about another half mile walk on the other end to get home.
The area had been newly fixed up. There was a park-like place in front of the building and the walkway leading to the bus stop was newly paved with red brick. I never saw that the pavement was uneven: my foot hit and I went flying, landing on my knees forehead and nose. My glasses cut into my forehead, my nose was broken and I've never seen so much blood except on television.
I laid there for a moment unable to move, decided I'd better do something or I'd be soaked in blood. A man passing by came over to help me. He was wonderful. I'm sure he must have had some EMT training. He helped me sit up then moved me to a shady spot. He picked up the book and jacket I was carrying and helped me take my bag off my shoulder; picked up my hearing aid, which came off when I took the bag off, and found the case for it in my purse; each time showing me and telling me exactly what he was doing. I realized how vulnerable I was and how very fortunate that he had stopped to help me. I wish I knew who he was. I'd like him to know how much I appreciate him.
Someone else called for help. The police showed up, my good samaritan left, the paramedics came. Everyone was great. The paramedics cleaned most of the blood off my arms: I looked like I had been bathing in it. They took me to the ER at Shadyside Hospital (my choice) where I was cleaned up, CT scanned, (fractured my nose), the cut was glued (not a good place for stitches) and Steve and Charna came and took me home. I look terrible–like one of those Kabuki masks you can see here, but I feel OK, even went out for dinner with the kids on Friday night. So, don't worry Carol.
I found this on a street in NYC, of course. I've been feeling very bitchy–lots to complain about–this expresses it perfectly. My last night in New York really set me up. Renee went to sleep about 10:30, still jet-lagged, and never heard a thing. I got in bed about 11 listening to sirens. New York is always noisy; twenty eight floors up we still hear everything from the street. The sirens and flashing lights continued to such an extent I began to think of 9/11 and finally got out of bed to look. I saw nothing out of the ordinary except for a helicopter hovering overhead, making the flashing light. I tried to turn on the TV, but Verizon has been at work in Renee's apartment and, somehow, I didn't press the secret button combination. Left in the dark, I didn't fall asleep until the copter finally went away, about 1:30.
I'm usually a good sleeper. My last 22 years in Chicago and the subsequent 8 years in New Jersey were spent very near or, in Jersey, next to highways. None of this ever bothered me. It took a helicopter to get me really worked up.
What was it all about? You can read about it here. It involved three police officers, a woman and a pit bull. The helicopter, no doubt, was one of the media outlets. Did they really have to remain there for an hour and a half? There ought to be a law about using those things in heavily populated areas. It was much too close to my building for comfort.
My next post will be about brown water in Pittsburgh. I'm just waiting to see if the water department answers my complaint about that one.
100 Books Before I Die 
