Thursday, March 26, 2015

Welcome to Staten Island!











If you’re looking for a lovely little outing that will take you out of Manhattan and across the water, hop on the Staten Island Ferry where the ride is swift and the view tremendous and take a trip to The Staten Island Museum.






My intention was to see the work of a contemporary artist unknown to me, Betty Bressi.  Getting off the ferry, I followed the signs for the Staten Island Stadium and just a short uphill hike away (on ramps most of the trek) I saw the small three-story brick building that housed an odd but pleasing array of exhibits. 


Taking the elevator to the second floor to see Bressi’s exhibit 
I first passed a small glass display of delicate and decorative porcelain medallion plates that were the gift of Edith Susskind.  Close at hand, I heard the sound of children’s high-pitched, raucous and excited voices mixed with the steady authoritative commands of the teachers and museum aides urging the children to clean up their mess, gather up their things and line up in their rows.  They’d been encouraged to make their own creations in the style of Bressi’s work which included weaving colorful strips of patterned paper and punching out designs on an old Underwood typewriter that stupefied them.         
Why?  Because when they pressed lightly down on the keys nothing magically happened!

As museum workers efficiently began folding up tables, gathering up materials and putting things to right, now alone in the room I was delighted by the exuberance, creativity, and color of Bressi’s work — see for yourself *



Betty began her work as an artist in the 40s and 50s in the traditional sensewith gorgeous drawings and watercolors of the things around her— a Japanese internment camp, flora and fauna.



















At some point she found her style and her stride and dove in to manipulating paper, wire, and characters on the typewriter to create her magical pieces.
























Though I love art, I am not artistic, but if I were, this is the piece I felt I might create if I only had the talent and eye of Ms Bressi.




And speaking of that Underwood typewriter — it reminded me of my lovely typewriter bracelet and so I decided to give it a go and see if I could create my own "letterset" ala Betty Bressi and here is what I did...

The rest of this little museum (now in the midst of a capital campaign to build a larger place for all their artifacts and combine with Snug Harbor) offered budding naturalists a look at the wonders of nature in their Hall of Science filled with fluorescent rocks, the delicacy of birds in their habitats and some crazy oddities preserved in glass jars — rather creepy to me, but probably fascinating to the younger set. 





Not being a naturalist, I was more engaged with their collection of Staten Island Ferries memorabilia — both the objects and the art that depicted the 100+ year-life of this maritime experience just a short subway ride away.







On this day I only had time to hustle back to the ferry and Manhattan — but not before sampling some of the easily accessible local eat’n’run restaurants across the street.  Fully expecting to sample the wares at a small Spanish café (not the full-scale highly reviewed Beso’s close by, but a little nondescript dive) featuring chicken, goat and ribs, but my nose led me to A & S Pizzeria — a local hangout where the slices looked divine.  I picked a delicious specialty slice, rich with finely chopped spinach and artichokes in a luscious Alfredo sauce.  Thin crust and crisp, the dough was still chewy enough to not feel as if I was eating a cracker.  I’m kicking myself that I didn’t order a whole pie!

With lots more to see and not enough time this time to explore, I’ll be back to visit Staten Island — 
that  Small Town in the Big City... and you should too.

* If you want to catch the Betty Bressi Retrospective, hurry — it's on view until April 8!


Sunday, March 22, 2015

A "Micro-moment of Positivity Resonance"

Something I've always loved about being in New York are the moments when I connect with a total stranger and come away feeling happy and filled — and as if I've had an intimate interaction.  Even though I may never see the person again, these random collisions have always been important to me, always given me something meaningful — despite their brevity and transience.  [In an earlier post, The Big Disconnect, I describe one such encounter.]

So I'm taking this wonderful MOOC on Positive Psychology [ala Wikipedia: "A massive open online course (MOOC; /muːk/) aimed at unlimited participation and open access via the web.]  in an attempt to bring more joy into my life.  Being a pessimist to the core, I'm learning so much about positive emotions about how they can impact not just mood but your physical well-being.  The professor, Dr. Barbara L. Fredrickson, brings research to bear in all her weekly "video lectures" along with some prerequisite academic jargon.

Professor Fredrickson gave name to these random exchanges I experience and calls them "micro-moments of positivity resonance" that strengthen our lives and enrich us with connection and love.   These moments can happen between spouses, parents and children, friends, between people and animals — as long as they're mammals — and even between strangers.  Lately, I have been blessed by these "micro-moments of positivity resonance." 

I'd been having a bad day, just dragging myself from one thing to the next, feeling low as I got on the subway.  One small space, not really a full seat, was available between two small children guarded by their standing father, and a slightly unkempt man who was muttering to himself.  I slid onto the edge of the partial seat not wanting to crowd anyone and not wanting to sit back and squish my backpack which contained food.

The father motioned to his kids to inch over and make more room but I said, "No, that's alright, I don't want to sit back." and this prompted the man on the other side to direct his muttering at me.

"Apologize to him, well that's somethin'. You need to apologize to ME. You don't want to sit next to ME you fucking bitch?  You need to apologize to ME fuckin' bitch.  Well you can just move your fat ass BITCH..." and more and more menacing mutterings.

My initial instinct was to turn to him and say, "You have no reason to be so mean to me. I've done nothing to you, in fact, I was trying to be polite by not sitting back all the way." but I didn't because by then I realized he was mentally unstable and who knew what he might do?  Still, I was so low it felt as if I might burst into tears from his ongoing verbal assault that I tried to tune out but couldn't.  I said nothing, stared straight ahead, and tried to hang on to myself emotionally.

As the train started slowing into the next station, the father standing on my left said, "We're getting off at this stop; kids stand up.  You should move over,"  he instructed me and I did.  Then as this family exited the train, from inside the car, another passenger — late 20s strong-looking guy — quickly moved to sit down next to me and positioned himself in a way that created a blockade between me and Muttering-Guy.  At the same time a 20-something young woman came to stand directly in front of me.  The young guy leaned toward me and said very gently, "Are you alright?" as the tears welled up in my eyes and I struggled to keep my composure.

Staring straight ahead, embarrassed that I was not in control of my emotions, I quietly blurted out, "I'm alright, really I am, REALLY," I stammered, "I'm just having a bad day."  As the tears started rolling down my face, this woman kindly began stroking the arm of my coat, telling me it was going to be fine, just fine.  And the young man soothingly iterated the same.  I think the tears in part were because I felt such gratitude toward these total strangers.  Though they knew nothing of me and little was said, between us there was a connection.  They had gone out of their way to insert themselves and shelter me.  It was a loving thing to do.

At the next stop I thanked them and got off the train.  In that moment I was reminded that New York is always a place where I have been able to fill my empty reservoir with the kindness of both friends and total strangers.

Soon, I'll share another "micro-moment of positivity resonance" that lasted an extraordinary and unbelievable THREE hours!

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Keith Haring at the deYoung

On a recent visit to northern California I was lucky to see the extraordinary exhibit of over 100 works from Keith Haring, the extraordinary artist who made his mark in the art world in the early 80s by painting silhouettes of little babies and men all over the subway.  I was living in Manhattan then and clearly remember seeing these images, talking to friends and work colleagues puzzling over whom was doing it and — what did these characters mean?

The deYoung Museum is hosting the US premiere of Keith Haring: The Political Line filled with visually exuberant images — whether in neon colors or stark black & white.  Haring made his views and his voice heard by creating (often at rapid speed and with no pre-planning) childlike scenes that upon closer examination made you stop short and think twice.


I knew about the work long before I actually knew anything about the artist.  I was surprised to learn that he was from Kutztown, Pennsylvania, went to the School of Visual Arts — literally around the corner from where I lived, and sadly, died from AIDS at the too-young age of 32.  But in his short life, boy, did he produce…




 



Years and years and years ago, my sister took me to the White Elephant Sale of the Oakland Museum of California where (before they had their own building to use for the sale) there were warehouses of treasures to be found and one I found — a Keith Haring address book that I've used ever since, even though the cover's fallen off and the alphabetical tabs are now hard to decipher.


My only other Keith Haring acquisition was just a few years ago at a Housing Works thrift shop on the upper West Side of Manhattan at Columbus & 74th.


It was a quick stop before heading to the airport and the place was mobbed.  Couldn't imagine why, but turned out they were having a huge sale and the place was crammed with sharp-eyed pickers (like me).  People had plastic laundry baskets filled with stuff so I didn't have much hope of finding a gem and just as I was about to abandon my search and head out of the store (because my bags were packed and we were due to leave for the airport) there I saw it — a large black-metal-framed square of Keith Haring's fancy.  Though it had no price, I grabbed the 24" square with it's broken glass and wormed my way to the check-out line frantically looking at the time.  Finally, the cashier looked at me and said, "The glass is smashed — we can't sell it that way," but I pleaded that I didn't care, couldn't get it on a plane in a frame, and was going to pitch the glass anyway.  

"Six dollars" she deadpanned and I gladly coughed over the cash and flew out the door mentally scrambling, I almost NEVER check baggage and already had two carry-ons.  "How was I EVER going to get this on the plane??" 

Two stores on the block and no luck finding a place that sold a shipping tube.  Running down Columbus Avenue my eyes scanned both sides of the street and then, thanks be, I saw a tiny, hole-in-the-wall framing shop!  I burst in to the small cramped space covered in frames when the owner came out to the counter (which was a wooden surface that spanned the complete width of the store, about 7 feet at most) and stared at me. Before he could say a word, I spewed forth with my story, the plane, carry-on, and the urgency of getting a tube I could fit the poster in.

Without any hesitation, this gentle gentleman flipped up his wooden counter and stepped out from behind it.

"I will help you," he calmly informed me in a thick Indian accent, as he took my treasure with him back behind his counter and proceeded to remove the broken glass, disassemble the frame, roll the poster, and climb up over his head to search the small loft of supplies he had tucked away above us.  He came down with two tubes, one was too short; the other was perfect.  Ignoring my chatter about metal edges, damaging the poster, tight spaces on the plane,he began to tightly wrap the four pieces of the frame and its hardware into the tube and because the cap wouldn't fit, added some foam padding inside taped at top to protect me from the sharp ends.  

Digging in my purse I only had $8.00 left to give him.  As he took my crumpled bills, he smiled sweetly and waved me on my way. It was a miracle.

Now hanging over a doorway (reassembled and protected by new glass) this cheerfully alive Keith Haring is mine all mine.


  

No stranger to pulling out the stops, Haring had the gift of drawing your eye into his worldview and bringing you over to his side — even if you weren't comfortable there…




SO, if you plan to be in San Francisco, you owe yourself the treat — this exhibit runs through February 16, 2015.  


And if you can't visit in person…well, there's always shopping online.
Visit the deYoung