Banner sitting

July 7 brought news about the terrorist attacks in London. July 8 brought an opportunity to send a message of support to the people of London. In response to the bombings, Art Aid decided to create a banner and have people sign it with messages of solidarity and sympathy. They asked for help with the project.

“What is needed: several volunteers to take shifts throughout the day Saturday and Sunday to watch the banner, make sure it is not taken, and to explain to people (it will be obvious) … I may be pushing it, but I want to have a piece designed, printed, installed at Ground Zero over the weekend, and shipped to London on Monday. I think time is of the essence.”

Four banners (one for each bomb) were produced and hung for signing at the site of the World Trade Center and I spent some time as a banner sitter.

Banner 

Reaching up 

Tough Guys 

Red, white and blue 

Visiting from the Dominican Republic 

Close to the bottom 

Searching for the right words 

Teaching the next generation 

Fillling up 

Visiting from Birmingham, England 

Before locating the banner, I spoke to the Port Authority Police (who gave me a bottle of cold water) and entered St. Paul’s Church.

I was relieved from my post by representative of the September 11th Families’ Association. After banner sitting for hours in the blazing sun, I cooled down with a tall cup of cold coffee and, thanks to a sympathic clerk at Century 21, a generous slathering of after-sun lotion.

ArtAID: Art in Service of Humanity

Port Authority Police

Poland Spring Water

Saint Paul’s Chapel

September 11th Families’ Association

Starbucks

Clarins After Sun Moisturizer

Century 21 Department Store

Pride on parade

The Annual Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender Pride March is one of the most colorful, popular and peaceful public events in New York City. On this, the 36th anniversary of the March, it is important to note that only three and a half decades ago, the police routinely raided the city’s gay bars and arrested the patrons.

Today, not only do the police march in the parade (along with the mayor, both of New York’s senators, and numerous other politicians), a specially-painted NYPD recruitment van actually serves as a parade float. The center stripe down Fifth Avenue is painted lavender, the lights atop the Empire State Building glow with the same hue, and a rainbow flag flies above Brooklyn’s Borough Hall.

My two moms rock the world!

NYPD recruitment van

Proud teens

Proud women with water bottle

Celebrating 26 years together

C. Virginia Fields and Al Sharpton

Proud family

NYPD t-shirt with bridal headpiece

Rainbow braids

Proud daddys

Rainbow scarf

Senior with cape

Mirror sunglasses

Girl with pride bear

Proudly polyamorous

God’s property

Pride on crutches

The bride of pride

Green eyelashes

Proud with black feathers

Proud with rainbow feathers

Proud with yellow feathers

Proud with red feathers

Proud veteran

Heritage of Pride

Rainbow Flag

C. Virginia Fields

Interview with Al Sharpton

Polyamorous NYC

Writing, escaping and dissolving

Tonight I attended a writing workshop organized by the NY Writers Coalition. The idea of the workshop is that each person writes and then — if they wish — reads their work to the assembled group. The session begins when the facilitator reads something or makes a reference that the writers can use a starting point.

There are strict rules:
1. No one has to read or comment on anyone else’s writing unless they so desire.
2. Writers can read only things they’ve written during that particular workshop.
3. Comments should focus on feelings or reactions to the piece or its structure; no critiquing.
4. Do not assume that the writer is discussing his or her own feelings or experiences.

The first session tonight began with the facilitator reading a poem by New York chef/poet Frank Lima.

Frank Lima 

I’m Tired

February 21, 1994
I want you to grow old with mei.e. to catch up to me
as I am becoming increasingly weary
of writing poems to you

the poems have
discolored my life

I’m tired of the mysterious truth
after I touch you
I’m tired of not knowing what you think about
I’m tired of women who have the same name as you
they don’t know that I’m tired of them too

I’m tired of the telephone
of its beige lips
telling me they love me
and that you don’t
that you’re a figment
in my ear

I don’t want my poems to wear out anyone else again
I don’t want to die and have this machine at
my bedside holding my hand
draping me with its affectionate black ribbon
wondering who will turn it on when I’m gone
wondering if my soul will become a kiss again.

Interestingly enough, the pieces we developed — without any planning or discussion — were very clearly divided by gender. The women wrote pieces that included references to escaping to Tahiti and drinking cocktails while being immersed in warm water; the men wrote about a heavy, pervasive weariness that extended down into (and even dissolved) their bones.

We speculated about the commonality, and someone mentioned that while it could be a coincidence, it could also be interpreted as dipping into a collective unconsciousness. Usually, that sort of reference would make me uncomfortable — or at least, skeptical — but tonight, it seemed as though it might be a logical explanation for an extraordinary occurrence.

NY Writers Coalition

Frank Lima

Tahiti Legends Vactions

Grand Central Spring Festival

Some kind of spring gift fair/festival/promotional catch-all has opened at Grand Central Station. Today I went from booth to booth exploring the vendors and the wares they were selling.

Most fun: Radio station CD101 (Their slogan is New York’s Chill Station) was handing out free CDs with music from various smooth jazz artists. I asked for one and they gave me two.

Most enticing: a booth promoting trips to Tahiti (no, sadly, they weren’t giving any away).

Most entertaining: The jewelry salesman who told me that he is also the Red Bastard. The what? “Check out my Web site,” he said. So I did.

Red Bastard

Most irresistable: A silver charm saying “Vagina Warrior” made by a company called GK Designs. I bought one and will give it to mom for Mother’s Day. She’ll either love it or hate it, but I’m not sure which.

Vagina Warrior

About Vagina Warriors:
“Since V-Day launched its very first event in 1998, the movement has encountered incredible women working to end violence against women and girls in their communities. These women have often experienced violence personally or witnessed it within their communities and dedicated themselves toward ending such violence through effective, grassroots means. They have been the very heart of V-Day since it was conceived as a worldwide movement to empower and enable local activists to raise awareness and funds locally through V-Day benefit productions of “The Vagina Monologues.”

“This year, V-Day’s 2004 events and campaigns will celebrate these women whom Founder/Artistic Director Eve Ensler has dubbed ‘Vagina Warriors.’ Each V-Day production will select and honor up to three Vagina Warriors in its own community.In every community there are humble activists working every day, beat by beat, to undo suffering. They sit by hospital beds, pass new laws, chant taboo words, write proposals, beg for money, demonstrate and hold vigils in the streets. Every woman has a warrior inside waiting to be born. In order to guarantee a world without violence, in a time of danger and escalating madness, we urge them to come out.”
http://www.vday.org/contents/press/release/0312021

About the charm:
“The jewelry is a representation of the Strength of all women. It is a reminder for all To “Stop the Violence” against women here and world wide. A percentage of all sales will be donated to VDAY.ORG.

CD101
Red Bastard
GK Designs
V DAY

Sunday Brunch in Paris

A blazingly gorgeous spring Sunday. Sunny enough to debate about whether to take a jacket (… or will it be so warm that I won’t need one?). When I first moved into this place, back in 1998, I could look out the window, see passers-by on the street, and — based on what they were wearing or carrying — decide how to prepare myself for the outside world. If the pedestrians were rushing by with umbrellas, I made sure to carry one with me. If they pulled their scarfs up over their noses, tight against the wind, I’d remember to wear gloves and a muffler and a hat.

But those days are gone. A few years ago, a developer began to build on the lot next door and, as the building rose, I gradually lost my view of the street. Now I look out upon walls, windows, roofs, but no people or dogs or cars, and wardrobe decisions are more of a crap shoot.

Brunch at L’Express, a French bistro on Park Avenue South, with a friend who is preparing for a first trip to Paris. I brought along a little gift — an illustrated guidebook purchased when I visited the Musée d’Orsay, the impressionist museum housed in a former train station.

Musée d’Orsay 

Guidebooks are odd things. You buy them when you go someplace, then bring them home and put them on a shelf forever. Why do we bring them home? Does anyone ever spend a quiet evening leafing through an old guidebook saying, “Ah, yes, that’s where the ladies’ room was at Vatican! Funny, I remembered it as being on the other side of the gift shop. Good thing I kept this guidebook handy!” So, the guide and a map of Paris will travel with someone who can actually put them to good use, and I’ll have a tiny bit less stuff in this tiny apartment. For good measure, I threw in a few more guidebooks: Delphi, Windsor (England) and Brighton Pavillion.

Then, having disposed of the excess books, walked over to the Strand Book Store and bought about a dozen more. In my own defense, they were all from the 49 cent cart. Okay, the price is no justification — they’ll still take up precious space — but I just couldn’t resist.

Strolled through Union Square and wound up at the new Whole Foods Market — three floors filled with fresh, fragrant, exotic dishes. Even though I’d only intended to look around, I snagged a chilled container of fresh, crunchy Gus’s Pickles and carried it, sloshing around the bag full of books, all the way home to Brooklyn. And, miraculously, not a single drop of pickle juice spilled.

L’Express

Musée d’Orsay

Strand Books

Whole Foods

Ashes and Snow

On this cold, windy but bright Friday, I went to Pier 54 (near W. 13th St.) on the Hudson River to visit the Nomadic Museum. I’ve heard that on most days there are long entrance lines, but today there was no waiting. I walked right inside and the colossal space was nearly empty.

The Nomadic Museum is a 45,000-square-foot temporary space made from paper tubes, tea bags and 148 metal shipping containers. The building, which resembles a cross between a warehouse and a cathedral, is devoted exclusively to “Ashes and Snow,” a multi-media exhibit of the work of Canadian photographer Gregory Colbert.

The show opened in March and will remain in New York only until June 6; the entire museum and its contents will then be disassembled, shipped across the country and remounted in Los Angeles. Organizers plan for it to then continue its travels to Beijing, Paris and other stops that haven’t yet been announced.

Boy and Elephant 

The structure is the result of a collaboration between Colbert and Japanese architect Shigeru Ban: they have created a mobile museum that is moving around the world to exhibit 199 large-scale, sepia-toned photographs of people and animals and a black and white film edited by Oscar winner Pietro Scalia and narrated by actor Lawrence Fishburne. The photos, the film, the lighting, the music and the space itself are awe-inspiring. At the end of the one-hour film, the narrator intones:

Feather to fire
Fire to blood
Blood to bone
Bone to marrow
Marrow to ashes
Ashes to snow

After seeing the exhibit, I stopped into the Chelsea Market for a little nourishment: a soft, sweet pumpkin muffin and rich, dark coffee at Sarabeth’s Kitchen. Also picked up a loaf of potato onion dill from Amy’s Bread; with a bowl of steaming hot pea soup and a little salad, it’ll make a nice, homey dinner.

Ashes and Snow

Chelsea Market

Sarabeth’s Kitchen

Amy’s Bread

Christo’s Gates

On February 12, 2005, Bulgarian-born artist Christo watched as a project 26 years in the making came to life. All over Central Park, free-hanging saffron colored fabric panels were unfurled from 7,503 orange-painted steel gates. The work of art was intended to remain in place only 16 days; the gates would then be removed and the materials recycled.

The last day The Gates stood was a chilly Sunday. I braved the cold to see them and realized that there is no way a photograph can convey their effect, casting a golden glow over the wintery landscape, reflected on the icy paths and in the chilly water of Central Park Lake. The cloth furled and unfurled in the wind, throwing shades of orange across the snowy fields and transforming the frozen park into a beautiful, magical space.

Path with gates

Walking under gates

No cars allowed  

Gates and benches

Gate post

Gates reflected on the pathway  

Looking towards the lake

Gates through the trees

Gates at the lake

Gates on the roadway

A parade of gates 

Proudly guarding the Gates 

From inside the Time Warner Center (inspired by a photo taken by the biblioholic) 

Christo and Jeanne-Claude: The Gates

The Gates: An Experiment in Collective Memory

Happy Year of the Cock

Chinatown Lunar New Year Parade and Festival
• 1:00 PM-5:00 PM; Mott St. to Worth St.

Explore Chinatown

Celebration of the Chinese New Year