Midtown Flowers

Continuing on yesterday's running around, I was delighted to find that the Annual Macy's Flower Show was up again, thanks to the old eagle eye (as mentioned yesterday, I saw it on the bag of a passerby).  This year seemed a little less festive, perhaps indicating that the grand old department store is also feeling the pinch of the almighty Recession.  Whatever the case may be, there is always something to look at if one tries.

Years of having attended this event has guaranteed one thing- a large turnout of people jostling for photographs and taking up the small aisle space.  Placed as it is on the ground floor among all the bag and jewelry and cosmetics counters, it can be a bit of a bother to navigate.  As a rule, I have always thought it best to look upwards, where some of the best flowers are displayed.   Especially as I have never professed to being the least bit interested in people watching.

Red and White, Two of the Best Colors in One

Not quite feeling quite myself today, i nonetheless made every effort to make it through the day.   The first stop was a visit  on the last day of the very short run (only 6 days!) of the gorgeous show Infinite Variety: Three Centuries of Red and White Quilts at the Park Avenue Armory.  On exhibit was an awe inspiring collection of over 600 quilts displayed in the massive Armory space, which was really utilized quite well to showcase these wonderful works.  I had no idea that there would be so many people for what is essentially a folk art show, having been to many folk art museums and seeing the attendance scant at best- but this was one for the books as I overheard many people on the phone calling their friends to hurry up and come see the last day of this show!

An amusing side note is that in the accompanying pamphlet, the owner of the work mentions how in the 1950s these quilts were thought to be worthless and used as wrapping for other items.  Somehow I suspect those days are long gone, especially in the New York flea markets where everything including the Diet Coke can I just recycled is a bonafide antique and costs mucho money.

My eye and heart always being drawn to this.

Also a surprise was had in Midtown as well, where I had a lunch date.  While walking, I happened to glance at a passerby's bag and realized that- well, there was something I had to go see and it had started already.  That something, my friends, is the subject of tomorrow's post.

A Snow Odyssey

At the moment, the writing of the second book does not go smooth at all.  There are more loopholes in it than a politician's contract to the people.  So, I decided to detour today into the not so distant past- the so called blizzard that hit these environs not so long ago.  It being still winter, having gone out early this morning, it would not be any surprise should snow fall once again.  After all, wasn't it slushy just last week, although it was a lovely evening with drinks and old and new pals.  Well, here's to the arrival of spring.

Snowman Meets Monolith (on Terrace)

This Kind of Blue and That Kind

There is something absolutely beautiful about the night sky.  Even here in the city where there are little to no stars on any given night, the night falls wondrously into shades of blue, dark blue, deep blue, darkest blue, and finally into blackest and darkest night.

It is no wonder that the color associated with Christ is that kind of blue, whether one chooses to believe in that story or not.  It also so happens to be the color of the last remaining paintings of Loren Connors, which are even more mysterious and wondrous than perhaps even the night sky itself.

One cannot be blue when looking at this blue.

Radiant strings old and new

This morning, I had to make a visit to the cemetery. That sort of experience is quite draining, I find, and it is a stark reminder of the time that has passed and the people that have gone ahead of me.

Often I find myself having to do something to erase the memory of it as soon as possible. In this case, I attended the tsugaru shamisen duo concert of Yutaka Oyama and Masahiro Nitta at the Abrons Art Center in the Lower East Side.  Having seen only a short video of them yesterday for the first time, I was more than happy to experience their wonderful music in person.  Their youth, combined with their vigor of playing and sensibility, radiated throughout the performance, in which I found myself quite enthralled.

A moment of silence was held for the earthquake victims, when the entire space was darkened.  Despite feeling a tremendous sadness, hearing the music of these two beforehand and afterwards assured me that there is indeed a beauty in Japan that will emerge if not unscathed but ultimately glorious and victorious.

Oyama Nitta Duo Live.

Other Things

There are other things beside Japan that are on my mind.  Some are not worth mentioning, some cannot be mentioned, some are boring, and some are just downright nonsense.   I will say that I have picked up The Essential Gandhi again, and reading through it has given me many thoughts.  Now, whether any of it winds up as action remains to be see, but I do hope so.  If not, then it will be the usual case of mirrors facing mirrors, reflecting narcissism and absurdity upon itself ad infinitum.  The fault as usual will lie solely upon myself.

In the meantime, I will be sending a water filtration system to my friend in Tokyo, because the government has declared the water unsafe for infants.  It turns out they are sold out in Japan, and with good reason, as the nuclear fiasco has disturbed the calm of the nation. How this will be resolved is yet to be seen.  I will be following it with the utmost attention and hope that what passes for leadership there is actually doing something rather than the usual nothing.

Other things, too... but, some other time.

Mirrors facing mirrors at Moncler New York

We are not just us but we all together

I have read stories of hoarding gasoline, rice and foodstuff, seeing photographs of empty shelves at the stores in Japan.  While I do understand this, I do not want to accept that this is the only reality.  I believe that while the heart is essentially selfish, there is the opportunity for it to put down its own tendencies and to rise above itself.  And I don't mean donating a few bucks to some charity and considering it a done deal.

A personal case in point.  My partner's parents, based in Sendai (the epicenter of the earthquake and mass devastation), were thankfully spared from the destruction.  True that half of Grandfather's house had collapsed (the older part of the building), but everyone was safe.  I doubt that anyone could ask for anything more.  Anyway, seeing all the trouble around, they did not sequester themselves but actually went out into the community (they belonging to a sort of social / community group) and gathered what they could to help people who needed it.  They contributed a commercial sized bag of rice (we are talking about the 50 pound variety here), and they did not keep one grain of it for themselves.  Others were able to contribute what they had in terms of food and et cetera.

Something to keep in mind in this land of plenty, this land of waste.

A Losing Bid or Against Me As They Say

After a full day of work and nonsense and work and more of work, I decided to turn away from seriousness and talk about something quite nonsensical but important nonetheless.  True that the studio atmosphere and the flat is moving more and more towards minimalism, but every so often I find myself drawn to objects for whatever reason.  More often than not, I resist temptation.

But this was almost not the case a few days ago, when I went to Sotheby's.  There to view the collection of Song Dynasty ceramics, that being one of my current interests, I went there to examine with greedy eyes the lots available.  Of course I was not going to bid on them given the prices, but I thought that perhaps one day I very well might and to check them off mentally for future reference.

While there, I realized that there were other exhibits to go through.  In particular, I was drawn to Informing the Eye of the Collector: Chinese Ceramics and Works of Art from J.T. Tai & Co. for its mostly let's say lower echelon of works.  In fact, my partner and I had our eye out for one thing in particular, which happened to have the lowest estimated price in the whole auction.  Lo and behold, we found ourselves caught in the web of acquisition and registered to be bidders, got our application quickly approved, spoke with someone on the phone regarding the intricacies of absentee bidding and on-line live bidding, and quite some time was spent daydreaming about the object in question.

Come auction time, I have to say that I was unable to acquire the object, as it went over 50 times its initial estimate.  Next time, perhaps.

Not meant to be mine this time, or, Until we meet again.

For the time being.

Not that anyone had noticed, but I had taken a few days off from writing this blog.  Truth be told, I am absolutely exhausted by the whirlwind of events from the past week (and still unfolding).  And with the lovely appearance (and now disappearance) of a dear friend in town (only to be informed of the surprise appearance of another from the west coast), things to do for myself, ourselves and others, I thought I would take a few minutes out of a surprisingly hectic schedule to say something.  For I have missed writing here, if only for oneself, and perhaps read by one or two or three others.

I've quite a few ideas that I thought of writing about, and actually have the images (but not the text) to back it up, but in the meantime- just a visual from the not so distant past and a poem of sorts.

shimmering/all our days/and for the time being

The seed of hope.

Still reeling from it all, the news brings no respite from the storm.  But, inside was a piece of writing by the novelist Murakami Ryu (he of the edgy novels that informed part of my readings in Japanese literature) that got to me. In it, he mentions that despite it all, despite the overshadowing threats hanging over the nation, he has a real courage.  And I do understand and salute his statement:

"But for all we've lost, hope is in fact the one thing we Japanese have regained.  The great earthquake and tsunami have robbed us of many lives and resources.  But we who were so intoxicated with our own prosperity have once again planted the seed of hope.  So I choose to believe."

And it is not the "hope" of the all talk no action variety that wins popular elections, either.

The sun still shines. 

Be Ambitious

It would be ludicrous for me to remark on any current issue in the states right now (and usually do not anyway, as it falls outside the spectrum of my interest), as the events affecting Japan are very much affecting me.  True that I am adjusting in my way back to a certain normalcy, trying to write something here on this blog and et cetera, but this kind of normal situation is very much overshadowed by the unfolding events of Japan.  With that said, I thought back to something that is quite famous in Sapporo, but which I did not actually see the real thing of (the following was photographed at Sapporo Station, from a large poster).  Anyway, it rings true, and I have my own interpretation of what it means. Especially at this time.

The complete text is as follows: "Boys, be ambitious! Be ambitious not for money or for selfish aggrandizement, not for the evanescent thing which men call fame.  Be ambitious for that attainment of all that a man ought to be," (William J. Clark)

I would also add: "And Girls Too"

A Moment

The End

"This is the end of all of our movies by the way.  The end of your movie, the end of my movie, and I think  if we can realize that, and if we can always be aware that the end does come, it helps us appreciate all of the small things that happen in our life every day" (Tom Ford from the Directors' Commentary on A Single Man)

On the night of a special Oscar nomination screening of the film, Tom Ford happened to be there for a short question and answer session.  While waiting for it to start, I stepped out into the lobby to make a call.  It just so happened that he was standing a few feet away from me, and for some reason, he turned toward me.  I was not quite sure how to respond, to see him so close up.  But it was easy, because he smiled at me. and I smiled back.

It was a beautiful moment.

To, For and Of Sendai

There is a book in my collection which I must admit I have not read but the first few pages of, but which has nonetheless stuck in my mind.  It is the following words in particular, which I find quite apropo in relation to my present mood.

"(I laid down my pen, put the scattered sheets into)..the portfolio, covered the inkstand, and laid my hand in hers.  'Not to-morrow,' I said, 'not to-morrow. Let us go now,"

A page from In the Forest of Arden (1903) by Hamilton Wright Mabie

Death to the Idler

Sometimes, an idle life is all fine and dandy.  And, then, sometimes, it is not.  During the time of 9/11, I remember watching the second tower fall.  I remember the chaos of the next few days.  I also remember that in the air was a mood for change.  I thought I would change, but I did not.  Or, at least, very little.    Now, with the situation in Sendai, which is my adopted hometown, I feel very different.  And, if I should do nothing, then not only am I damned, I am not qualified to be human.

Night view as one leaves Sendai Station (Dec 2010)

100 percent

One love to Japan, my friends in Tokyo and Kanazawa, my family in Sendai and all my Japanese brothers and sisters.

And, Keats Live

This afternoon, while having lunch with a friend, a song from the late 80s whose name I cannot recall came on the air and I mentioned that it is quite a horrible song in every respect- singing, the music itself, lyrics which were not only unintelligible but unintelligent.  Nonetheless, like many people, I have a certain fondness for certain music that I grew up with, but unlike them, I would never listen to them on purpose.  Perhaps, for a lark, but to actually sit down and enjoy them at home or in the studio seems a bit nonsensical.  The basic premise is that those times are not only over, they're long dead.

Well, last evening, I had the fortune to attend a solo concert by Loren Connors.  Over the last ten plus years, I have seen him well over fifty times, maybe more (definitely not less) and in different capacities (with other people performing, including myself on two memorable occasions), but each and every time without fail is an absolutely beautiful experience.  Why, I even wrote a letter to Wire Magazine about this very topic.   You know, in the presence of such music, there is no need for words.

Loren himself, in speaking about art, mentioned the quote by Keats: "Beauty is truth, truth beauty." and he could well have been describing his own playing, if he were not so humble. Well, I can do it for him, because there is nobody's music, and I mean nobody's, who I would rather listen to.

Loren Connors solo, March 9th, 2011.

My One and Two Cents

While walking in the Lower East Side yesterday, I overheard one young fellow (most likely in his late 20s or so) who happily remarked without irony, "There's something really charming about being broke,"  I have no idea what sort of background he came from, as he may have been mentally and emotionally bankrupt as well as monetarily so, and I thought it a bit of a ridiculous thing to say, especially in light of the ongoing recession that is setting the world (or at least most peoples' world) ablaze.  I mean, I have an interest in poverty as well, of the monastic sort, but I very much doubt that was what he was referring to.

As a response, I thought back to the collection of pennies that I have started collecting again.  An uncle of mine gave me this Penny Folder in the late 1970s, and I had started saving some when I first got it and putting them in their respective positions.  Of course, this, along with many other things, I never finished.  Lo and behold, some thirty years later, I decided on a whim to try again.  Quite a fun project, as I actually look at the pennies I get back as change now.   And I believe I will succeed, even if it breaks me (but not the bank).

p.s. Should you have any older pennies, or also are trying to fill up your Coin Folder, would you like to trade?

Lincoln Penny Coin Folder 1950-1978 (with room for a few more)

Still missing quite a few, mostly the earlier ones and the ones with letters.

Running Away from Time

Today, having been caught up in a web of general laziness despite having written some words (and probably some more later, I assume), I decided to backtrack and look at some old photographs.  Not so old, in fact, as they were taken but a few months ago in Japan. But, as with most things, time sometimes seems much longer and people and places much farther away than they really are.

A river runs dry and re-emerges in a brilliant green.

Among the things that catch my attention is when nature returns to its original state.  When the works of man are erased over time, and nature continues on.  Without any regard for what has happened in the world, with no care of what passes for news, and with the rise and eventual fall of all things.

I had a dream last night of someone I hadn't seen in over ten years, maybe longer.  Maybe it was what made me think of these things this morning.

First Bloom

Today being a somewhat blah day, I thought that I would try to override a minor case of the blues by sidelining them with creative and not so creative diversions.  I was able to begin work on the second novel, ten pages' worth of pure gold (or at least ten pages of words), which I found to be a bit uplifting.

A childrens' book I borrowed from the ever resource filled public library was a fun way to breeze through centuries of Chinese history.

Finally, I have been following with much joy the rebirth of the house orchid.  A friend of mine told me of the difficulties of growing an orchid indoors, going on and on about how his boss has a greenhouse and such nonsense.  Never the sort to be deterred by even good advice (which it was not), I thought that was poppycock and proceeded to buy, enjoy the bloom of the orchid in its splendor, and water and wait.  Lo and behold, the first bloom that greeted mine eyes this very morning.

No greenhouse necessary for this here lovely specimen.

On the Walls

Yesterday had me looking at walls outside and now with this rain coming down driving me up the wall (having planned an excursion which is now postponed until later in the week), I found myself looking at the walls of my own living space.  Not that I don't usually notice their presence, but the few pieces of artwork that are in my collection are meant to be quiet works, ever so silent in their way but always there.

Not meant to be decorative but as something to evoke an atmosphere of calm, as well as of the infinite that could be suggested in the abstract.  When the reduction to the minimum is actually not that, but a movement towards an honest maximalism.  And, for times when a blank wall or a blank slate is not desired.

A bit of gold leafed glamor in the dining room area.

Evoking the ocean in color, a fragment from the small studio.

All this written to the tune of some military march on the radio, and the rain beats on with the drums.

Facing the Wall

The idle life of a writer such as myself is often beset by circumstances that inevitably draw me away from attempting to put pen to paper.  Such was the case yesterday, where instead of plunking down some words, I decided to reread something I had written (and not looked at) from a year ago.  Surprisingly enough, not only that I feel that it stood the test of time (if a year is enough time to evaluate anything), but most interesting for me is that the writing seemed not to stem from myself.

A conversation which began and ended on an entirely different slant last evening was on the varied nature of the writing of William Faulkner, whose commitment to the written language is way beyond the ken of most writers nowadays, and even while he was around.

So, while very much enjoying the spring weather which greeted the city today, I thought of writing as a bit like facing a wall, and trying to make sense of it.  As a graphic indicator, I decided to take some snaps of a wall which I often see on my daily walks and share it, as staring at walls is not as unattractive as it may sound.

Overpainted wall seen many a time but never documented until now.

Another view of the white wall.

Although not being able to write, as I was not quite able yesterday, got on my nerves, I promise to be more diligent in the near near future.

Girls' Day Again

There is a tradition in Japan called Hina Matsuri, which is Dolls' Festival, or perhaps what is better known as Girls' Day.  It is a  day (today, March 3rd) to celebrate the growing up and continued happiness of a young girl.

One of the customs is that a family with girl(s) would have a display of dolls arranged on a seven tiered platform in hierarchial order.  At the very top are the Emperor and Empress. Then, moving along down the  display are three court ladies, five musicians, two ministers and last but not least three servants.  Also on various tiers there is furniture (chests, lamps, tables, dishes) and accessories related to each figure.  Knowing this, I decided many years ago to assemble a set from paper, which was a time consuming but extremely fun project.

I also remember very well the small party thrown for the occasion.  It was a fun time and a memorable night when I met one of my favorite friends.  Anyway, every year since then (with the exception of last year), we have brought them back out for display.  They're really a lovely sight to behold.

The Hina Matsuri set in its entirety.

The Emperor, Empress and three ladies of the court.

There is also a boys' day, but that bears no interest for me at all, and is duly not celebrated.

Books Then, Now and Later

It often takes a bit of time for things to get off the ground, especially for idlers such as myself.  Well, leisure time being what it is, sometimes it does get a bit boring to do the same things over and over again.  So, I decided last month to consolidate all my so-called creative work into one entity, which was the updating (five years' in the making) of the studio website.

The website in its minimal maximal format.

While doing so, I had to sift through the small pile of books that I had done over the years. Not realizing it,  there were already seventy-three in all, including some that were not worth keeping and were quickly and happily tossed away.  Having assembled them all, I really wondered how time worked in its mysterious fashion.

Trying to make sense of the 73 books (studio time)

More to the point, I started thinking of the few works that I have developed almost solely on the computer. All digital works.  Yes, it is true that I have three childrens' books (completed, mind you) and also a childrens' or young adults' novel (one of five, actually, also completed) which have never seen the light of day.  So, I thought that once and for all I would do something about it.

And, so, this is the progress of March, which seems pretty good thus far and shows every sign of getting far far better.

A Walk in the Park

Today, I dashed out in the early morning and found myself feeling a bit down at the return of the cold weather.  True that this often does not stop the activities of the day, but it is a bit of a downer sometimes, this kind of chilly weather.   On colder days, I sometimes think of the many many other places I would rather be (although the lands of sun and sand were never meant for me).  So, I thought of Japan just a few months ago, which was about the same temperature, but was altogether much more different.

Along with two great friends of mine, I was taking a stroll in the Shinjuku Gyoen, once known as the National Park Shinjuku Imperial Gardens. A bit of a long name, the original. Anyway, whenever I happen to be in Tokyo, I do not immerse myself in the cacaphony of the city but rather avoid that like the plague that it is.  Instead, I opt for finding quite remote spots in which one can catch one's breath.  Quite often, to do so requires actually being in the vicinity of noise, but very easily, once one is in an environment such as the Shinjuku Gyoen, all the material and aural nonsense that encompasses the city disappears.

A moment or more of contemplation.

No trace of the Tokyo that is beloved by outsiders.

A very lovely feeling, but it was bittersweet as almost immediately after these photos were taken, I was on a plane back to New York City.