All posts in category Art

Coachella East

Coachella is a music festival not far from Palm Springs, CA. It has bands of all kinds. In April, Coachella Facebook statuses/pictures dominate my daily feed. Flying to California from New York is very expensive. In the City, we have our own special festival sans the bands. The Frieze art festival is a magical event, which happens once a year. It’s on Randall’s Island, (in between Queens & Manhattan) which has a baseball field & plenty of lush green land.

Krista invited me to go with her. We met up and rode a magical boat to the site. “This is like Coachella east,” said Krista. While giggling at her comments, I looked up and yes indeed it felt like Coachella (just from the boat ride). There were the obvious subcultures, hipsters, trendy old people & hippie types.

In the grand tradition of New York, artsy types there were plenty of folks in all black, blazers & big glasses. The boat ride provided us with spectacular views of the City. From the high rises of Sutton place to the curiosity of Roosevelt Island, the boat ride showcased the diverse landscape of the concrete jungle.

As the boat docked, tents dominated the typically remote terrain of Randall’s Island. Entering the tent was like dying and falling into a world of endless eye stimulation. Every type of art from pop to avant-garde & the obscene to traditional were well represented. As I walked from gallery to gallery, my artistic senses were alive. I felt inspired by the level of creativity, as did Krista. It really made me want to take up painting & sketching again.

After a day of feeling artsy, we gathered up in a school bus with the rest of the social outcasts and art enthusiasts. The bus dropped us off on Fifth Avenue across from the Guggenheim. It hit me. The folks, who live in glorious apartments along Fifth Avenue, traditionally collect the art scene at festivals like Frieze. The rest of us visit museums like the Metropolitan Museum of Art & The New Museum for our art fix.

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by alasnyc on June 2, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, daydreaming, New York City, offbeat, walking

Posted by alasnyc on June 2, 2013

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2013/06/02/coachella-east/

Quack Says Duck

New York weather is radical like Sylvia Plath, Jackson Pollack & Joan Crawford at a dinner party. What could be the most beautiful day; eventually ends becoming a humidity induced rain shower, followed by a rainbow, but more rain. On one of those quintessentially humid (& seemingly rainy) New York afternoons, I waited for Tony outside the Plaza hotel.

The forecast called for rain showers. In my own grand tradition, I left my umbrella on the subway. As I waited for Tony to arrive from Queens, I was praying to the weather gods. Please weather Gods don’t rain on my parade. Naturally if Barbara Streisand landed from the heavens and started singing “Don’t rain on my parade,” I’d be ok with that. Tony showed up with a surprise.

“Here, it’s going to be raining.” He handed me an umbrella. Unlike the generic umbrella bought at the local bodega, this umbrella was bursting with character.

The handle had the face of a duck. I smiled and proclaimed, “Oh my it’s a ducky umbrella.” Though, the rain didn’t appear that day, we had a wonderful day at the MOMA (Museum of Modern Art). While admiring all the avant-garde gems at the New York legend, I was most excited about the umbrella. While an hour previously, I had fear torrential rain with my new cute umbrella, I longed for it.

Ducky (as I lovingly named my umbrella) & I wandered the streets of Manhattan together. He kept semi-dry and refreshed in the most intense of storms. One day, my life changed.

I took Ducky to my favorite deli in Midtown. It’s where I go before work to enjoy a bagel & coffee. The forecast called for severe thunderstorms, but the morning was bursting with sunshine. I took Ducky out anyways. Hours after leaving the deli, I forgot Ducky. “Oh no, my quack is missing.”

However, the weather was still sunny and gorgeous, till I left the office. As I got on the subway to meet a friend for coffee, it looked like rain was on its way. I thought, Ducky was gone for good, no need to check the deli. As I exited the 6 train at 23rd street, the skies over Manhattan were dark and haunting. While, I sat with Jenny over coffee, a major thunderstorm hit. No umbrella in sight.

While walking down a rain soaked Broadway, I stepped into a Duane Reade & bought a new umbrella. “$11 bucks for an umbrella?” that’s not right, I told the cashier. She didn’t really care & I bought a very boring umbrella to keep dry.

As I walked toward the West Village for supper, the umbrella wouldn’t open all the way, leaving me partially soaked. Walking past the perfectly adorned brownstone residences, I proclaimed “Ducky, I miss you.”

As time went on, I returned to my deli. There in a shelf close to the cashier was Ducky. He was safe & sound. I almost kissed his beak, until I wondered where that beak had been.

From then on, Ducky & I enjoyed our rainy days together. We loved walking from the East Village to the West Village with rain pouring & fashion by David Bowie playing on the iPod. What can I say? We’re always going to be New York boys.

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by alasnyc on May 12, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, East Village, life experiences, New York City, Uncategorized, walking, West Village

Posted by alasnyc on May 12, 2013

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2013/05/12/quack-says-duck/

Arty Farty

“What do you want to do, when you grow up?” was a question, I was asked often as a kid. My answer was simple ” I want to be a writer in New York.” Often, I would get a sarcastic grin and have the same annoying question, “Why, would a nice boy like you want to live in dirty old New York?” Feeling a great sense of confidence, I smartly replied “Cause the suburbs are stupid. I hate clean & detest conformity.”  Even at the tender age of thirteen, I knew my ideal life path.

As I sit at the New York public library contemplating my big plan, my dreams are becoming a reality. When I finished my copywriting portfolio and moved back to the city from California, a strong feeling accomplishment accompanied me. Although, my portfolio was done, I had to make the hard copy look like a charming collection of paintings at MOMA. Therefore, I went to the arts supply to buy the binder and necessary material to make this arty vision, a reality.

The art supply shop was an unexpectedly delightful journey. The blank sketch books, paint brushes, kitschy notepads, art magazines and sea of other creative types running around with their portfolio binders made me feel right at home.

However, my artistic utopia was tested. As I glanced into the hard copy of my ads, there was white lining at all ends. In order for it to blend into the black portfolio page background, the white needed to be cut out. Fear raced across my right brain. “What if I make a mistake?” “What if I cut too deep and leave the edges uneven?” What if I accidentally cut through the middle?”

Then it hit me “if I am going to be creative, I need to take risks.” Creative life like the real world isn’t always cut in a perfect straight line. Sometimes, a little unevenness makes life more interesting. So, I started the snipping process, which was nerve wracking. Surprise, I did cut one end of an ad unevenly.

Utilizing a little scissor magic, I quickly fixed it. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but it survived. From then on, I lost fear and became universally creative in the most intense situation.

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by alasnyc on February 4, 2013  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, life experiences, Lower East Side, New York City, offbeat, Uncategorized

Posted by alasnyc on February 4, 2013

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2013/02/04/arty-farty/

My Life As A Broadway Musical

My inner campy boy just wanted to revel in Broadway musicals. However, my more jaded side didn’t want to hear anything that had to do with a lavish Broadway number. I just wanted to listen to cool people music. Mr. Campy pants persisted, tugging at my pea coat begging to play.

For years, I proudly proclaimed, ” I don’t like show tunes.” During my lunch breaks in Times Square, I would walk around unfazed by the extravagant advertisements for the hottest Broadway shows. It made me the gay Scrooge of Times Square. “Bah humbug,” I proudly proclaimed while passing the theatre marquis. It was a far cry from my youth.

As a teenager, show tunes were a campy escape from my conservative Catholic school upbringing. I secretly daydreamed of performing lavish Broadway numbers to adoring fans. In my head, I was the master of ceremonies from Cabaret, joined the cast of Rent and even tap danced in performance of Chicago.

When I didn’t tap dance and sign autographs for brain cells posing as fans, I eagerly bought tickets to every musical imaginable. One day, I simply lost interest and didn’t appreciate the art of a good show tune.

Then, my alter ego, Mr. Campy pants spoke to my heart. “You’re feeling down and stressed, remember your youth?” he said to me. ” Oh shit, I don’t wanna go there,” I replied. “C’mon, you know you wanna be the Patti Lupone of your brain’s Broadway stage.” he said while throwing Playbills in my face. “The key to happiness is through a song note.” I rolled my eyes “fine, here we go.”

I pulled out my iPhone and listened to the Cabaret music station on Pandora. Something spectacular jammed my brain. Songs from Anything goes, A Chorus Line, Avenue Q, West Side Story and even Phantom of the Opera emerged after years of being buried in the cemetery of quirky interests.

The whimsical show tunes brought me to a land long forgotten about. Sitting in the balcony of a New York theatre, while eagerly anticipating the first musical number. Standing in line for Cats. It even brought me back to that theatre in Madrid, where I watched Cabaret performed entirely in Castilian. Therefore, the music lifted me from a state of perpetual back to a happier time in life.

After a journey into show tunes land, Mr. Campy pants and I felt satisfied. The adventure even tickled my creative senses. It made me think about my life as a musical.

The set would have the Manhattan skyline one side and rugged mountains on the other side signifying my life in New York & California. There would be dancing copy machines, flight attendants and coffee cups.” Oy, I got dumped,” ” I’m nervous, somebody get me coffee,” & ” the Catholic school waltz” would be featured on the soundtrack.

Show tunes has delighted audiences for years. Thanks to Mr. Campy pants for getting me back to a happy place. Today, I have a renewed love of all things Broadway.

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by alasnyc on November 29, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, Broadway, daydreaming, gay, Musical Theatre, New York City, offbeat, Uncategorized

Posted by alasnyc on November 29, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/11/29/my-life-as-a-broadway-musical/

Lower East Side

The New Museum is sandwiched between two very gritty buildings on the Bowery. It’s a modern white building housed in the epitome of old New York, the Lower East Side. The downtown neighborhood is also one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city.

Regardless of the hipsters and yuppies giving it a less than edgy vibe, I still love the Lower East Side. Old tenement buildings; bars, cafes, coffee shops and social hotch potch of residents make up the neighborhood’s character. It’s also home to Katz’s, which has the best pastrami sandwiches and The Sunshine Cinema where I loved to watch indie films.

As I walked through, the Bowery listening to Florence and the Machine, I decided to finally make the voyage to the New Museum. When I arrived, they told me to visit the top floor observation deck. Views of the city still excite me.

My most touristy outing I ever had in New York was going to the top of the Empire State Building. I was sixteen at the time and thought it was beyond cool. When I actually lived in the city, going to the top of the Empire State Building never interested me. I labeled it a tourist activity.

Instead, I would partake in the most quintessential of New York activities, admiring the city from the top of a rooftop. Being on a rooftop of an apartment building says, ” Hey you made it.” I have fond memories of having parties on Lower East Side rooftops, while rain clouds threatened my the sunny disposition. I’ve also been locked out of a rooftop, which was nerve wracking. Looking back, it was glorious.

I took the elevator to the top floor of the museum and stepped into the observation deck. I roamed around taking pictures. To one side there were the red brick co-op buildings of the Lower East Side, the Williamsburg Bridge and the projects, while the Financial District was on the other side. The Village and with the buildings of Midtown towered ahead. It gave me a deep feeling of serenity in the high-strung wonderland.

While standing there in the town, which inspired so much of my creativity, an epiphany struck me. I need to move back to New York. As of recent, I’ve been calling California home again. Personally, I never found the outdoorsy and car centric culture of Southern California appealing. It served me well. However, when I left New York, my heart stayed in the city. Therefore, my goal became shinier than the holiday lights of Grand Central Station. It was time to work hard and move back.

I had a wonderful time at the New Museum, observing modern art and staying cultured. Staring at the Manhattan from the museum observation deck was more than inspirational. It reiterated that New York is where I belong.

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by alasnyc on October 15, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, life experiences, Lower East Side, New York City, Uncategorized, walking

Posted by alasnyc on October 15, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/10/15/lower-east-side/

Square Shaped Brain

Conformity ran rampant in my Catholic school upbringing. Even in art, my teachers were against any notion of self-expression. In eighth grade, I was given an assignment to draw the Flat Iron Building using pastels. Vigorously, I plugged away capturing every aspect of the legendary New York icon.

However, my teacher hated my approach to drawing. Skeletor, as I like to call her insisted that the picture did not look like an exact replica of the Flat Iron. I argued, that it was my artistic interpretation. She made me change the picture, but I revolted, resulting in a low art grade.

Although, my parents were conservative, they loved my rebellious nature at times. When I brought home, my Flat Iron building picture. My mom took one look at it and said, “your bitch teacher doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” The next day, my dad bought a frame for it and displayed my work of art in their bedroom.

Growing into adulthood, everything I was taught about art was wrong sans the biographies of famous painters. I was fortunate enough to have visited many museums around the world from Paris’ Musee Orsay to Roppongi Hills’ Mori Art gallery center in Tokyo. It opened my eyes to the notion/cliché that art is really in the eye of the beholder. No museum better exemplifies this than the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

MOMA (as it’s often referred to) is one of my favorite slices of Midtown. I wander each level with sense of curiosity. The most recent exhibits have challenged what I was taught in school.

A crumbled map, toy collections from Russia and the set of Peewee’s Playhouse were being examined like a grand Vincent Van Gough painting. Even the surrealism of Salvador Dali would take art enthusiasts time to translate the meaning.

It harkened me back to the days were my modest art was persecuted by the institution. I thought to myself  ”if a crumpled up map and pictures of trailer park constitutes art, then my Flat Iron drawing can fall in the same category.”

After rebelling against my very conservative Catholic school, I found myself fighting to express myself both socially and creatively. Although, I was told that my expression was wrong, it never detoured me from mastering the art of breaking the rules. I loved every moment.

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by alasnyc on October 9, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, daydreaming, life experiences, New York City, Salvador Dali, thinking outside the box, Uncategorized, walking

Posted by alasnyc on October 9, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/10/09/square-shaped-brain/

Dirty Filthy Art

Studio 54, CBGB, seedy 42nd street, burned down buildings, disco, punk, Andy Warhol and the emergence of hip-hop all characterize New York’s past. The city’s gritty past has always fascinated. My mom told me stories of visiting the city in the 70′s.

She told me of seeing freaky people on the subway, burnt cars lining the streets of the South Bronx and the smell of garbage rotting. Instead of turning me off from New York, she managed to develop my fascination with the city.

The New York, I called home was very different from the decadent decay of the 70′s. Cupcake shops, a slew of Marc Jacobs shops and family friendly Times Square were more of a main stay. Therefore, I always looked for New York’s edge. One ghost of Manhattan past, which is still around is graffiti art.

When I walk anywhere from Nolita to the East Village, I keep my eyes open to graffiti. Nowadays, there’s less edgy graffiti. There is almost mural art, which randomly shows up in buildings from the Bowery to Layfette Street. It marks today’s interpretation of graffiti art.

Authentic graffiti art often shows up in the doors of tenement buildings in the Lower East Side. I never really understand the writing, but the flamboyant letter fonts and sketching represent urban edge in the midst of gentrification. The most fun and unexpected place to see graffiti art is in bathrooms.

At bars and coffee shops, which line Ludlow Street, the bathrooms feature art on the walls. It is both an obscenity for the eyes (i.e. lots of penis drawings) and magical art. I sometimes, take longer in the bathroom just to observe art on the wall. It’s my own private modern art museum without the high-ticket prices.

New York has less graffiti these days. Recently, the New Museum had a display of an apartment door covered in art by the most famous street artist, Keith Haring. It displayed a time when the city was low on cash, but rich in experimental art. However, mainstream New York gets, it still lures the creative types. Although gentrification maybe here to stay, the city still is an exciting place to live. It also retains an appreciation for thinking outside the box.

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by alasnyc on October 1, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, daydreaming, East Village, Keith Harring, life experiences, Lower East Side, New York City, offbeat, Uncategorized, walking

Posted by alasnyc on October 1, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/10/01/dirty-filthy-art/

Artists

When I was a kid, my mother took a trip to Mexico City. She told me about how amazing it was to visit Frida Kahlo’s house. During the visit, she brought back Frida’s biography. The book was filled with pictures of Kahlo’s most intense paintings.

As an impressionable child, the images shocked and frightened me. It actually gave me nightmares for a while. I didn’t tell my parents this. However, many nightmares the paintings gave me, curiosity took over. I still looked at the book and developed a great degree of fascination with her art.

As an adult, I grew to admire and understand Frida Kahlo’s art more. In Buenos Aires, I went for a trip to the Museum of Latin American Art. They had a Kahlo painting on display. I was beyond excited to see one of her paintings in person.

Also at the museum was a Diego Rivera painting, Frida Kahlo’s husband. My mom loved his art too. She actually bought a bevy of posters to decorate our house with. Till this day my family home looks like a Mexican restaurant. Unfortunately, we don’t always have chips and salsa.

Seeing a favorite artist’s painting in person is one of the true joys of life. I remember seeing my first Andy Warhol painting at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and Claude Monet at London’s National Gallery. It’s the equivalent of seeing a piece of history only read about it in books.

My most memorable art experience happened in Madrid. Spain’s capital is the nation’s high culture hub. The Prado is a shrine to the Spanish creative senses. I learned about everyone from Goya to El Greco in those proper walls of art. Nothing could prepare me for seeing Pablo Picasso’s Guernica at El Centro De Arte Reina Sofia.

That day, I entered the museum and scrambled to see the painting. In a dark room shining brightly from a distance with grey, black and white hues was the Guernica. It was grander than I anticipated.

Staring at the painting is an emotional experience. The significance and history behind it make it a historic piece. I analyzed the painting carefully. Standing up close to it then taking a seat to see it from afar. The cows and men all perished during the Guernica bombing were there with Picasso’s Cubism style of art.  It left me glued; the hues depicted were bleak and perfectly captured the misery of that dreadful day. The Guernica was one of those pieces, which was hard to leave.

I roamed around El Centro de Arte Reina Sofia. It was very accomplishing to see the vast art collection. However, I’ll never forget the Guernica. It’s been years, since I last met eyes with Picasso’s masterpiece. I am truly eager to see and analyze it again one day. I’ve been lucky enough to experience Mexican, Impressionist, Pop, Renaissance and even Avant-garde art in my lifetime. Going to museums will always be one of my favorite pastimes.

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by alasnyc on September 6, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, Buenos Aires, Frida Kahlo, life experiences, London, Madrid, New York City, thinking outside the box, Uncategorized

Posted by alasnyc on September 6, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/09/06/artists/

Playing Photographer

My father and I were driving through Palm Springs. Rather, than heading toward, the town’s main drag. We took an unexpected path. As we went up a side street, kitschy homes from the 50′s and 60′s welcomed us.

Heading to the foothill of the mountains was  glorious. The mountains of Palm Springs are a tall and magnificent sight. However, I’d never come that close. Stop, I exclaimed excitedly. The rocks were imposing hues of brown and black. I was inspired to take photos with my iphone.

As we continued our journey further up hill, the desert town was lush with green palm trees from the slight hill. I kept stopping the car to take photos. Capturing my life via the lens of a camera and mobile has been a significant part of my life’s story.

Abroad, I would walk the streets of Tokyo desperately wanting to have my picture taken in front of the many sights I dreamed of. The only two words, I know in Japanese are konishiwa and arrigato. At first, I was intimidated to walk up to perfect non-English speaking strangers to take my picture. Sometimes, I was shot down. However, most of the time they politely obliged.

I pointed to the camera and they took the photo. Arrigato, I proclaimed. Thanks to the kindness of Tokyoites, I have pictures in front of the Imperial Palace, the fashion frenzy of funky Harajuku and drinking coffee in Ginza.

Than there were the times, I didn’t want to stop people and just took the photos myself. In London, I photographed myself everywhere from Piccadilly Circus to Trafalgar Square. Therefore, I made an art form out of taking self-portraits.

My cameras have captured the grand avenues of Paris, the bohemian chic of Buenos Aires’ Palermo Soho neighborhood and even the austereness of Plaza de Cibeles in Madrid. However, there have been photographers who actually wanted to use me as a subject.

Now, I don’t have any male model like qualities, unless, I suck in my chubby cheeks and pucker up my lips. While walking around New York’s Washington Square Park, I was approached to pose for the New York Times style section. Wow, I was intrigued, although I didn’t love my outfit that day.  After taking the picture, I was told that if they were going to use my image, I would receive an email. Needless to say, I didn’t get an email, but I was very flattered nonetheless.

Photographers I admire include Mario Testino, Wegee and Annie Lebovitz. I especially love the desert photography of Ansell Adams. On my recent trip to Palm Springs, I didn’t plan on taking photos. However, the mountains, rock formations and white sands inspired me eyes. I didn’t want to leave without making a memory of my trip. Although, the desert is inspirational nothing tops grey skies and old buildings.

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by alasnyc on September 2, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Art, Buenos Aires, California, fashion, life experiences, London, New York City, offbeat, Palm Springs, Paris, Tokyo, Uncategorized, walking

Posted by alasnyc on September 2, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/09/02/playing-photographer/

Traffic Jam Of The Poetic Mind

Haiku, narrative, soliloquies make my heart pound with beautifully illustrated words. Poetry is therapy for the grid locked brain. This is a form of writing which is expressive and all around fun. Like most interesting experiences in life, I fell into poetry rather than seeking it out.

As a high school student, my mom grounded me for a month. Due to a bad report card, I could not watch TV or listen to music. Home became a four-wall hellhole. In order break free, I had to rely on my own creativity to substitute for cool tunes. During that time, we were studying poetry in school.

During my month confinement, I discovered the Harlem renaissance through Langston Hughes’ eloquent words. The Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman and Maya Angelou’s poetry opened up my senses like spicy Indian curry on a rainy London night. Not only, did I admire many poets I also wanted to write my own poetry.

Growing up in a very traditional American home, I had a curiosity about the world outside my own community. It inspired my poetry. I wrote about Paris, Cubism, cigarette smoking, the Mediterranean and even homoerotic thoughts. I kept all my poetry quietly hidden in a three whole notebook with a Versace advertisement as the cover.

My goal was to share my poetry. I went to my first open mic night in college. The poets were grand. It was in the basement of this old independent coffee house. In the middle of summer, it was a gathering place for humidity and intense heat along with free thinkers.

However, poetry served as an exodus for the uncomfortable conditions. The poets were very talented and even performed free-style rap and songs they wrote, which intensified the poetic experience.

They were a tough act to follow up, but I gave it a shot. I went up on stage and was schvitizing (sweating) under the bright spot light. The crowd had faded into the darkness.

The first couple seconds of my story of rhymes was intimidating, but then I warmed up to the idea and soon my confidence grew. I made it through my first poetry reading. The audience applauded as I whipped the sweat off my brow.

From then on I continued with poetry readings. The open mic stages of obscure basements felt as cozy as my modest New York apartment.

As I grew older, I also expanded my appreciation for poets, reading the works of Allen Ginsberg, Sylvia Plath and Gertrude Stein. The four wall confinement I experienced as a youth brought a revival of creative thinking. Therefore bringing my mind from traffic jammed Fifth Avenue to a speedy Downtown 4 express train.

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by alasnyc on August 30, 2012  •  Permalink
Posted in Allen Ginsberg, Art, beatniks, coffee, life experiences, literature, New York City, offbeat, poetry, Uncategorized

Posted by alasnyc on August 30, 2012

http://coffeencardigans.wordpress.com/2012/08/30/traffic-jam-of-the-poetic-mind/

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