A balmy, persistent breeze in Manhattan blurred the July evening into an autumnal memory. By now, I was a Chinatown bus regular, familiar with the various lines, their pros and cons, even their drivers. Snippets from different (mis)adventures melted into a slightly off-putting fondue.
While the Lower East Side north of Delancey is being infiltrated by frat stars and state school grads, the Lower East Side below Delancey is seeing a rebirth of creative, unique, and amazing stores, galleries, and my favorite, restaurants.
For May, the start of the warm, summer months, outdoor concerts, and general frolicking about, the theme was flower crowns. The class consisted of seven women, some who knew each other, with most working in some sort of creative field.
We spent that brunch and some time after passing the printed proofs for Margaux's work across the table like trading cards -- she was putting together an exhibition catalogue you can pick up at the gallery or online.
The thing about New York -- and other cities that thrive on outdoor markets and vending -- is that the possibilities for whetting one's appetite, establishing a relationship with vendors, and coming together to see the latest food offerings are endless. How can you go wrong?
Last night, I went to Beauty and Essex for an after work drink, or two. This is something rather rare for me seeing that most weeknights (Sunday through Thursday) are usually reserved for delivery, Netflix, and hopefully a trip to the gym.
When I sent the last draft of the book out for comments from the few literary figures I know I received the following from Christopher Davis, a distinguished novelist, teacher and literary critic. It sure brought joy to this writer's day.
Though orthodoxies exist, and while pluralism in art is not anything like a new idea, it seems that this is one of those periods of art when, outside some passing fashions, it would be difficult to identify any dominant movement.
It's a beautiful, moving film about a very tender subject: artists who die young but leave us an extremely important part of themselves. How do you preserve this? How do you keep this beautiful "self" alive when it's a piece of art?
When walking around NYC, most people don't pay much attention to the city's darker side. But beneath Gotham's glamour lurks a seedy past. A modern-day concrete jungle may conceal the sin and violence of yore you'll see the depravity that exists behind the present-day facade.
Over the past few weeks, renowned British street artist Banksy has taken New York City by storm, leaving a trail of spray paint in his wake. But graffiti is nothing new here: The city has long acted as a blank canvas to artists.
Sandy came, and before she arrived, it was all about Me. Me in my house. Me in my day job. Me, my aspirations and my battles with my lessons. Me, not doing what Me like to be doing. Me and my senseless emotional life. There were so many Me's, I forgot I was only one.
A bona fide politician actually put down his fork mid-air to listen to me. Not one minute was spent on fundraising or self-promotion. Nope. Instead, Adolfo Carrion, running on the Independent Party ticket, concentrated on us -- all young independent artists struggling to survive in New York City.