Sunset Park on a sunny day

Sunset Park is home to Brooklyn’s rapidly growing (and largely invisible to the rest of us) Mexican community. About 30 blocks along Fifth Avenue, once home to a Scandinavian colony, seem to have been transplated directly from south of the border.

Spanish music spills out of shops and car windows, travel agencies advertise special fares to Chihuahua, Mexico City and Guadalajara, campaign posters for candidates named Ferrar and Gonsalez are tacked to the lamp posts, and the awning of nearly every shop is a riot of red, white and green (the colors of the Mexican flag).

There seems to be as much business conducted at curbside as there is inside the shops. Stroll along the street past the taquerias (taco shops) and panderias (bakeries), try on a sombrero and a pair of hurraches, buy a steaming tamale fresh from a cart, sip some homemade horchata and a flip through a stack of Thalia CDs. You’ll never think that you are in the US.

While I was taking photos, a well-meaning man approached, asking what I was going to do with the pictures. He then warned me to avoid photographing the adults who crowded the streets. “They wouldn’t like it,” he explained. “They might think you are … how do you say it? With the border patrol.”

Me? La migra? Hardly. But I know good advice when I hear it and after receiving the warning I stuck to simply taking pictures of the kids in the sunny streets of Sunset Park.

Mexican wedding cakes 

Street corner 

Sombreros and hurraches for sale 

Mural for Hector Pinero Jr. 

Selling horchata, tamarindo, watermelon juice 

Boy with Silly String 

Beauty shop doorway 

Inside Sunset Park bakery 

NYC Department of Housing Preservation & Development

Sunset Park 1939

Thalia

Greenmarket Morning

The Greenmarkets are a city-sponsored program designed to help regional farmers stay in business and give city residents access to fresh produce. The program started in 1976 and today nearly 50 Greenmarkets are located throughout the city on selected days during the growing season. The rules say that “all items must be grown, raised, foraged, caught, or otherwise produced by the seller.”

For many New Yorkers, the Greenmarkets are our only opportunity to interact with farmers, so every shopping trip becomes an education — for both buyer and seller. Many Greenmarket farmers have learned that we are happy to try new and exotic items, so, as the seasons change, the tables often feature products rarely (if ever) sold in most supermarkets: tiny lavender and white striped eggplant, cucumbers the size and color of ripe lemons, stalks of ivory-white rhubarb, baby golden-hued beets, pale green fiddlehead ferns, shiny, chocolate-brown peppers, deep blue fingerling potatoes, knishes stuffed with black beans and corn, ginger-flavored lumps of maple sugar, goat cheese studded with caraway seeds, red, yellow and orange nasturtium flowers and Japanese turnips sweet enough to be eaten raw like apples.

On summer Saturdays a Greenmarket operates on the plaza in front of Brooklyn Borough Hall and the Federal Courthouse. A bustling, green oasis in the middle of one of Brooklyn’s busiest areas, it is a movable community — a place where, once a week, the hustle and noise of the city seem to fade while people gather to snack on a fresh-baked cookie, search for the perfect centerpiece, exchange cooking hints, flirt and gossip.

This is a perfect, clear Saturday and season’s gorgeous, delicious bounty is filling the plaza. Sweet corn on the cob, crispy green peppers, tree-ripened peaches, fragrant raspberries, gigantic, bulbous leeks, carefully-packaged green and yellow squash blossoms and delicate, curling tendrils of garlic shoots are displayed next to stands filled with fresh baked goods, herbs and flowers, fish, meat, poultry, honey, eggs and cheese.

The turkey farmer was sizzling samples of his homemade sausage on a grill. At a bakery stand, a tray of broken cookies was available for sampling. A farmer who specializes in fruit spread her homemade jam on crackers and artfully arranged them on a paper plate while a girl nearby set out slices of ripe, juicy peaches. It was impossible not to taste and buy, taste and buy, taste and buy.

Banner hung on subway station entrance 

Flowers 

Sunflowers for sale 

Sidewalk sign 

Zucchini and basil 

Flower stand 

Bakery stand 

Peppers and eggplants 

Fresh corn for sale 

Sampling raspberries 

Greenmarket Farmers Market

Cornell University Community, Food, and Agriculture Program

U.S. Department of Agriculture Farm Service Agency

A midsummer night’s swing

This is the 17th summer of Midsummer Night Swing, the city’s largest outdoor dance party, which is held on the Plaza at Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts. Last week’s dance was rained out. But on Wednesday evening the rain that had been predicted never arrived … and the eager dancers did.

The band was hot, the drinks were cold and admission to the Plaza was free. Tickets to the fancy dance floor sold for $15 each but (as all New Yorkers know) you don’t have to be standing on a dance floor to dance. As the sun went down and the lights came up, the Plaza filled with fast-stepping jitterbugs who swirled, twirled and dipped the night away.

Information booth 

Swinging couple 

Faster! 

Feeling the beat 

Dancing under the lights 

Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts

Midsummer Night Swing

Archives of Early Lindy Hop

National FastDance Association

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

Brooklyn Mermaids

23rd Annual Mermaid Parade in Coney Island

Every year I turn on the news or pick up the paper and see the reports about “this year’s” Mermaid Parade. And every year I (once again) regret having missed it and vow that I will attend the next parade. Then I forget about it for another year.

But this year was different — I made the pilgrimage to Coney Island. The day was clear and sunny, the crowd was happy and friendly, and even after the parade ended, mermaids, mermen and sea monsters strolled and posed along the boardwalk.

Fresh from the sea 

Merdog 

Mermaids with attitude 

Wild Thing from the Deep 

There’s something fishy about this mermaid 

Mermaid 

King Neptune 

Brooklyn Merman 

Young Mermaid 

Blue Mermaid 

Pink Mermaid 

Seaweed Man 

Nippy Mermaid 

Mermaid Parade

Kostume Kult

Nathan’s

Views from the roof on a summer evening

I went up to the roof after a thunderstorm and shot a few photos while the sun sank behind the Manhattan skyline and dusk settled over Brooklyn. It’s easy to see why the French refer to twilight as l’heur bleu, isn’t it?

Brooklyn Bridge & Manhattan Bridge

Lower Manhattan

Statue of Liberty at Dusk

It followed me home

Just another part of city living: things that people have dropped or thrown or put out on the street. Every urbanite has seen and passed them without a second thought: a random glove, a newspaper, a shoe.

But not every item on the street is garbage or trash. Many useful objects are purposely left on the sidewalk, sitting on a stoop, placed atop a mailbox or recycling bin or propped up on a street-level window sill by owners who hope that someone else will want them.

Here are some of the things I’ve recently found on the street and liked enough to bring home with me:

Books (many books in many languages)

Magazines

Record albums

CDs

DVDs

Videotapes, including a copy of The Emperor’s Club marked “Academy Reviewer Copy”

Computer software (shrink-wrapped, unused)

IKEA bookshelf

Floor lamp with a glass shade

Two small paintings on Egyptian papyrus

Photographs

Paintings

Posters

Picture frames

Ceramic coffee mugs

Glass bowls

Dishes

Stainless steel thermos marked “The Santa Fe Opera”

Cut flowers

Money (yes, real cash)

Compact folding umbrellas

Large golf umbrellas

A rubber shark painted pink (who knows why)

Cashmere scarf

Silk scarf

Woolen gloves

Leather gloves

Wristwatch (yes, it works)

Necklace made of ceramic beads

Sterling silver ring

IVAR shelf unit
The Emperor’s Club

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

Found money

Night is falling quickly and patches of Henry Street are deep in shadow. I’m walking north, towards home, when I see a man crouching beneath a tree. As I draw closer I see that the man is accompanied by a dog, and he is, in fact, scooping the dog’s droppings into a bag. The man — well dressed, middle aged — stands and, holding the bag of dirt in one hand, the dog’s lead in the other, he briskly walks past me.

As the man strides north, a young couple approaches from the south. They stop and point to a spot in the shade beneath the tree. I can’t see what has drawn their attention. Did the man miss some of the dog droppings? The couple hurriedly confers with whispers and sweeping gestures. The young man darts forward, snatches something from the ground and calls after the older man, “Hey … hey, mister!” But the dog and his walker are moving quickly, fading into the gloom, and they are either can’t hear or have chosen to ignore the young man’s cry.

The young man returns to his companion and shows her whatever he grabbed from the sidewalk. He is clearly distressed that he couldn’t get the older man’s attention.

I am still walking north, I’ve nearly reached them, and I cheerily, brazenly call out, “Hey whatever that is, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it!” I expect a wisecrack in return, but the couple eyes me nervously and, without speaking, start moving away when the young man suddenly stops, turns and places the contents of his hand atop a brownstone wall. I watch them scurry across the street, see the object on the wall flutter in the breeze and walk over to see what he’s left there.

It’s money. Cash. U.S. dollars. Four dollar bills, carefully folded together. I pick it up and continue home with found money in my pocket.

Spring? What spring?

If it hadn’t been for a “Happy Equinox” e-card received today, I’d hardly have known that this was supposed to be the first day of spring. The sun never came out, the wind never stopped blowing. It was a good day to stay inside, sip steaming hot tea and listen to the patter of the rain falling on the windowpanes.

The e-card said:

At this Equinox claim the power of Life.
The power of manifestation
The power of budding childlike hope
Renewed as the year wheel pivots
At the moment of balance between darkness and light.Claim the power of hope renewed
From which will come manifestation of all your desires.
There is no fruit or future without first
Filling yourself with life now.
Embrace the Spring’s sowing and budding
That will drive you towards
Your Summer’s growth and Autumn’s harvest.

Live now.
Bite into a piece of fruit.
Smell a flower.
Suck on the tender crook of your own elbow.
Blow someone a kiss.
Think of your beloved’s open mouthed grin
Crooking at the corner of his or her mouth.

Namaste

A stroll down Court Street

Chilly but clear St. Joseph’s Day, perfect for a stroll down Court Street through Brooklyn Heights, Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens.

Went to the Cadman Plaza Post Office and sent out a big, heavy package, looked through the sale books at Barnes & Noble, browsed the local book section at Book Court, poked around the used books at the Community Book Store, flipped through the greeting cards and pretty soaps at Shakespeare’s Sister, watched the counter girl carefully placing meringues in a box at Sweet Melissa, and picked up some lovely food for the new few days. Lentil-rice salad and hummus from Sahadi’s, fresh-from-the-oven pita bread from Damascus Bakery, red grapes and lemons from a greengrocer’s stand, sfingi and zeppole (made specially for St. Joseph’s day) from Court Pastry, rice balls and home-made sausage with broccoli rabe from Esposito’s New Jersey Pork Store (easy to find — just look for the enormous ceramic pig dressed like a chef in front of the store) and (oh, my!) delectable pumpkin ravioli and walnut sauce from Fratelli Ravioli.

Lingered over a good book and coffee at the Brooklyn Bread Cafe, saw the crowds emerging from church clutching leaves of palm, basketball players running and shooting in Carroll Park, a pair of great danes straining at their leashes, two little girls playing Ring Around The Rosie (Mother’s comment: “You are NOT going to “all fall down” in the middle of Court Street. Wait ’till we get home and you can fall down there.”). Mix in a little flirtation with a stranger, a little sunshine, and end up with nice day out and about in beautiful Brooklyn.

Sahadi’s

Barnes & Noble

Community Bookstore

Sweet Melissa

Fratelli Ravioli

Brooklyn Bread Cafe

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

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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

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