Sunday, November 06, 2011
Yesterday I went to the Whitney Museum of American Art. The Whitney is a pretty small museum, but I think it has one of the most interesting collections. I went primarily to see their retrospective on art from the 30s and 40s, but I was captivated by sculpture from their collection created by an artist I had never heard of named David Smith. Smith created abstract art on a large scale. His pieces are hard to describe. He used geometric shapes often, and painted many of the pieces. The one I liked the most, however, was small, maybe three feet high. It was simple and elegant, just a few pieces of metal representing "Lonesome Man." I think it is great. I spent a long time in that gallery.
One of the main reasons I moved to New York was to go to world class art museums. There are so many here, and they are always having special exhibits. Of course, the Metropolitan Museum of Art is huge and I can only see a small part when I go there, but places like the Whitney are fascinating.
The Whitney is on the upper east side, known for expensive homes and over-the-top shopping. Near the Whitey I passed a small store displaying framed photographs of famous figures. Photos of Abraham Lincoln and Vivien Leigh caught my eye. When I stared through the window I could see this was a store selling historical documents and autographs. Inside the walls were covered with frames. In addition to Leigh and Lincoln (imagine, a signed letter from Abe Lincoln) they had some sort of military document signed by George Washington. I wanted to go in, but felt it would be somehow inappropriate to enter without the actual ability to buy anything. (I suppose I could buy perhaps an autograph of George W. Bush if I sold my car.)
As I left the museum and walked south on Madison Avenue I passed stores for Gucci, Prada, Coach, Ralph Lauren , Donna Karan, and Vera Wang. I walked past art galleries selling Miro paintings and jewelry stores glittering with diamonds. Heck, even the food places were impressive—Godiva Chocolates, for example. The experience made me feel inadequate. Of course, I was far too intimidated to enter these establishments; I almost felt like I was trespassing just walking on their sidewalk. To see a piece of art being sold which is several times your highest annual salary is humbling. At the curb were parked a wide variety of Lexuses, Infinitis, and BMWs. The children in the $500 strollers wore clothes from Saks Fifth Avenue, and the women wore boots which cost about the same as my rent. All in all it made me want to win the lottery, write a bestseller, or marry a rich widow.
I indulged both my inner child and my nagging sweet tooth with a visit to Dylan’s Candy Bar. Dylan is Ralph Lauren’s daughter. She came up with the brilliant idea of opening a giant candy store, charging outrageous upper east side prices (about 50 percent more than buying the same candy elsewhere), making it chic and planting it in the middle of the most expensive real estate in America. It works. The place is packed with excited kids and indulging adults. I filled a bag full of sweets from glass bowls, just like I did from the local candy store when I was a kid, all the time thinking this is the ideal environment to spread disease, while wondering what pina colada licorice tastes like. (Really good.) I put over a pound of that junk first into a plastic bag and then into my mouth, where I am sure it will reappear in that bulge lapping over my belt. I don’t know what possessed me to spend far too much money on something which is, in essence, slow-working poison. I chalk it up to my desire for a “New York experience.”
At least I walked a lot. A store I had never heard of called Uniqlo has saturated New York with advertising. They even had the turnstyles as Grand Central covered in their ads. The store hawks cold-weather clothing with “Heattech” technology from Japan. Being a sucker for advertising and facing a cold New England winter, I bought myself a Heattech undershirt. I wore it today and it seems to work pretty well.
On the way back to Grand Central I ran into a street fair. They have these every weekend in New York where they will block off large sections of streets and fill them with booths selling gyros, cheap sunglasses, shirts containing LED displays which dance to music, and pashminas. I ran into a street fair last weekend and I think it was basically the same sellers. I bought a piece of grilled corn on the cob which was both smaller and less-tasty than the ones I annually bought at the Taste of Colorado. I should have gone for the Italian sausage or perhaps some shish-ka-bob. Still, I had a New York experience—paying too much for something.
One of the main reasons I moved to New York was to go to world class art museums. There are so many here, and they are always having special exhibits. Of course, the Metropolitan Museum of Art is huge and I can only see a small part when I go there, but places like the Whitney are fascinating.
The Whitney is on the upper east side, known for expensive homes and over-the-top shopping. Near the Whitey I passed a small store displaying framed photographs of famous figures. Photos of Abraham Lincoln and Vivien Leigh caught my eye. When I stared through the window I could see this was a store selling historical documents and autographs. Inside the walls were covered with frames. In addition to Leigh and Lincoln (imagine, a signed letter from Abe Lincoln) they had some sort of military document signed by George Washington. I wanted to go in, but felt it would be somehow inappropriate to enter without the actual ability to buy anything. (I suppose I could buy perhaps an autograph of George W. Bush if I sold my car.)
As I left the museum and walked south on Madison Avenue I passed stores for Gucci, Prada, Coach, Ralph Lauren , Donna Karan, and Vera Wang. I walked past art galleries selling Miro paintings and jewelry stores glittering with diamonds. Heck, even the food places were impressive—Godiva Chocolates, for example. The experience made me feel inadequate. Of course, I was far too intimidated to enter these establishments; I almost felt like I was trespassing just walking on their sidewalk. To see a piece of art being sold which is several times your highest annual salary is humbling. At the curb were parked a wide variety of Lexuses, Infinitis, and BMWs. The children in the $500 strollers wore clothes from Saks Fifth Avenue, and the women wore boots which cost about the same as my rent. All in all it made me want to win the lottery, write a bestseller, or marry a rich widow.
I indulged both my inner child and my nagging sweet tooth with a visit to Dylan’s Candy Bar. Dylan is Ralph Lauren’s daughter. She came up with the brilliant idea of opening a giant candy store, charging outrageous upper east side prices (about 50 percent more than buying the same candy elsewhere), making it chic and planting it in the middle of the most expensive real estate in America. It works. The place is packed with excited kids and indulging adults. I filled a bag full of sweets from glass bowls, just like I did from the local candy store when I was a kid, all the time thinking this is the ideal environment to spread disease, while wondering what pina colada licorice tastes like. (Really good.) I put over a pound of that junk first into a plastic bag and then into my mouth, where I am sure it will reappear in that bulge lapping over my belt. I don’t know what possessed me to spend far too much money on something which is, in essence, slow-working poison. I chalk it up to my desire for a “New York experience.”
At least I walked a lot. A store I had never heard of called Uniqlo has saturated New York with advertising. They even had the turnstyles as Grand Central covered in their ads. The store hawks cold-weather clothing with “Heattech” technology from Japan. Being a sucker for advertising and facing a cold New England winter, I bought myself a Heattech undershirt. I wore it today and it seems to work pretty well.
On the way back to Grand Central I ran into a street fair. They have these every weekend in New York where they will block off large sections of streets and fill them with booths selling gyros, cheap sunglasses, shirts containing LED displays which dance to music, and pashminas. I ran into a street fair last weekend and I think it was basically the same sellers. I bought a piece of grilled corn on the cob which was both smaller and less-tasty than the ones I annually bought at the Taste of Colorado. I should have gone for the Italian sausage or perhaps some shish-ka-bob. Still, I had a New York experience—paying too much for something.
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