Welcome Overstimulation

The roof of 47 Pianos was briefly in sight as my Delta flight from Florida flew over the Jacqueline Kennedy Reservoir in Central Park.

Thanks to the excellent Palm Beach County Library, I started Yesteryear the next morning in my usual post-Central Park bike loop reading spot.  The reservoir's cherry blossoms were in abundant bloom, and it seemed as if all of New York were walking, running or biking past, making concentration on a time traveling trad wife difficult.

Despite the unseasonable heat--it was hotter in Manhattan than Lake Worth Beach--I walked along the Hudson River to Chelsea to catch a gallery show that was about to close.

"All One" by Jason McCormack (2025)

Surprisingly, the tulips on Pier 63 hadn't wilted.

"Two Strikes on a Snowman" at Picture Theory featured collages by Lucy Sante, a classmate of mine at Columbia long before she transitioned.

I found myself apologizing for referring to "him" when discussing her work with Rebekah Kim, the gallery owner who asked me what she had been like.  "A real beatnik.  We weren't friends but you couldn't miss him.  He wore a beret and smoked stinky European cigarettes.  He seemed way smarter than me, that's for sure.  And braver.  He truly lived the life of an artist in the East Village." 

"Crust" by Lucy Sante (2023)

When Rebekah mentioned she worked in several different galleries before opening her own in 2023, I recommended The Loneliness of Sunny and Sonia (now that I'm living on my own again, I make conversation where I find it).  The main show at Picture Theory paired the work of two artists, born on different continents forty years apart, whose visual works were as experimental as their musical compositions, although John Fahey is much better known as a guitarist.

Untitled by John Fahey

I had forgotten that Jean Dubuffet introduced the world to the concept of Art Brut. 

"Exaltador" by Jean Dubuffet (1973)

More art--and crowds--awaited on the High Line, just around the corner.

"In Mortal Repose" by Diana Al-Hadid (2011)

 It was great, if a little overstimulating, to be back home.

Fall Back

My autumn began with a very rainy commute to Williamsburg on the New York Ferry, past the United Nations which, in just a few weeks, would once again prove its utter ineffectuality.

After meeting Victor's boyfriend, I walked back uptown from 34th Street dock on the East River, waving at Albert.  Check out his handlebar message.

Fog shrouded the buildings in midtown.

My hardy umbrella--a gift from Florian's mother--depicts major tourist attractions in Germany. Little did I know on that rainy Sunday I would impulsively travel to Bavaria in early October.

Another long walk pulled me south along the Hudson River, past the development of the far West Side that has completely transformed the skyline from New Jersey.

Amtrak took me to see Christine in DC for just $62, round trip.  I'd never been to the Library of Congress before.

We also visited the Congressional Cemetery, equipped with a map that helped us find more than a dozen LGBTQ graves.  That was a first in my experience.

Halloween was just around the corner by the time I returned from my early fall travels.

I kept running into evidence of the turmoil in the Middle East on the Upper West Side. College students and New Yorkers have aligned themselves with either Jews or Palestinians as Israel retaliates against Hamas after the worst terrorist attack in the country's violent history.  

When I was at Columbia exactly a half-century earlier, during the Yom Kippur War, a pro-Arab demonstration would have been inconceivable.  The world has changed thanks to generational forgetting.  "Have you ever been to Dachau?" I wanted to shout.  It was fresh on my mind.

Autumn colors seemed to arrive later this year.

I spent a delightful Thanksgiving weekend in Boston with Magda, Joe, Dagny, Della, and Desmond.  We hit the Science Museum on Friday, a regular weekend destination for the family when it's cold outside.

They took me to Mount Auburn Cemetery, too.

Dagny gleefully scooted past all the Boston Brahmins buried there.

Thom and I caught Hell With Jesus at La Mama Experimental Theater.  Ivo Dimchev (center, with microphone) encouraged the audience to come on stage and take selfies with him.  We clung to our seats.

Solo travel and photographing holiday windows occupied much of my fall, but I still managed to squeeze in ten museum or gallery shows, including West Coast art bro Ed Ruscha at the Modern.  He painted this work to be seen in a rear-view mirror, like a billboard receding on Sunset Boulevard.  Groovy concept, man.

A guard instantly reminded me that photos at the Frick Madison were prohibited shortly after I shot this work by Barkley L. Hendricks, part of an incongruous but terrific exhibit that had lured me to the stuffy museum for the first time ever. 

Nor were photos permitted at the excellent Max Beckmann show at the Neue Galerie.

Self Portrait with Champagne Glass (1919)

En route to the Whitney I passed straw sculptures in the Meatpacking District.

Henry Taylor's wonderful B-Side includes portraits of seminal figures like Jackie Robinson and Huey Newton.

I'm no fan of daylight savings time, but it allows gorgeous twilight views from the roofs of the Whitney.

Look how far African American portraiture has come in this recent work by Jonathan Lyndon Chase which lets it all hang out

. . . compared to an early 19th-century self portrait of "Moses Williams, Cutter of Profiles."  The American Folk Art Museum explains the fascinating reasons behind the evolution.

First- and second-wave feminist art could be seen all over town.  But only Judy Chicago's retrospective blew me away.  "Herstory" at the New Museum was the unexpected highlight of the season.

"The Three Faces of Man" (partial, 1985) by Judy Chicago

Tracey Emin from "Lover's Grave"

Shary Boyle from "The Palace of Me"

Photos of the signature collars that Ruth Bader Ginsberg wore over her judicial robes were among several interesting exhibits at the Jewish Museum, including one that depicts the horrific events of October 7.

"Manet/Degas" at the Met showcases the work of French frenemies with loans from major museums all over the world. Both artists clearly adored women as much as painting.  

Lola de Valence by Edouard Manet (1862)

"The Singer In Green" by Edgar Degas (ca 1884)

As familiar as I am with Andy Warhol's work, I'd rarely seen the results of his collaboration with Jean-Michel Basquiat.