A dog growing out of my head

Photo by Marc Travanti

Ghoulish glitter

Halloween night.  In Brooklyn.  It began with a walk to Bergen between Court and Smith to visit a new art gallery/performance space called Invisible Dog.  It used to be a factory that manufactured--- among other things--- the gag dog leash.  I interviewed the Producer/Art Director.  A French man by way of Marseilles and Paris, now in Cobble Hill.  Lucien Zayan.  The current exhibit on the main floor has several large abstract paintings, a soft sculpture that could be a mushroom except its about 100X bigger and multi-colored, a video installation playing against the far wall, and a light box sculpture.

 On the second floor Lucien showed me the artist studios.  Four thousand square feet that he configured for each artist after he found out what they needed.  On the third floor an absolutely exquisite performance space--- gorgeous b/c he kept the rawness of the room and added polish.  The walls are now pristine white with modern lighting.  But he kept the original windows, sanded down the columns and rebuilt the ceiling using recycled wood from the space.  Again, 4,000 square feet.  This is how he makes his money.  He rents this space out: weddings, exhibits, photographers, film companies.  Pretty smart.  Then does what he wants on the ground floor. 

Apres l'interview, I walked over to Smith and Pacific to Bar Tabac.  A great little French bistro that every once in  awhile features Brazilian jazz.  I've had some GOOD times there.  They have outside tables, so I could watch the spectacle of little children, their parents, and even their pets parade up and down the streets in search of treats.  I saw not one but two dogs in lobster costumes.  I saw a infant dressed up like a hot dog; the bun part of the sling holding the baby.  A family walked by dressed up in Nathan's Hot Dog Attire, the signature hats, and aprons.  A six or seven year old boy, sporting a sinister mask, was clearly enjoying his new persona.  Little girls in long silver gowns wearing tiaras.  An entire family of bumble bees.  The waitstaff all dressed up; Adam's family.  Ghoulish.  Glitter.  A great chicken cutlet and Sancerre. 

Walked up to Court, over to Atlantic to get to the heart of the Halloween celebration--- the mecca for all children, my neighborhood, State Street, Joralemon Street, and all the little streets in between.  Its like Woodstock, Disney World, street fair, and art installation; all rolled into one.  The elegant brownstones and townhouses are decorated with skeletons, ghosts, giant spiders, pumpkins, witches and monsters.  Add lights and music. The owners are in costume.  The kids are in costume.   I walked through the ghouls and goblins, coffee in hand, said hello to a few neighbors, even scammed some candy for myself.  Trick or treat!

Then home to watch the Yankees clobber the Phillies.  Perfect.

Image:  Woman who works at the dry cleaners on Hicks, sweeping the sidewalk, dressed up like a fairy.

Tales from a hot city: Summer 1995

Peformance Space 122.  The year is 1995 or it might be 1996.  I was the Box Office Manager, then Director of Communications.  One warm summer night, Min Tanaka, a Butoh inspired dance company from Japan was scheduled to perform. As the Box Office Manager, I stood right in the doorway over looking dirty, filthy, sublime 1st Avenue.  Elizabeth, the 40 year old marijuana dealer waltzed up and down the avenue; she specialized in dime bags of mediocre weed.  She was someone you could always depend on.  The usual suspects began to arrive; East Village boys and girls with mohawks, black shit-kickers, tattered T-shirts, red lipstick, the occasional gray hair, the occasional straight couple.  When out of the blue, a long stretch limousine appeared, framed by the red doorway.  Out popped Sean Lennon and his mom Yoko.  That's Ono.

Sean took the lead, bounding ahead of his mother and another man (bodyguard? boyfriend?).  He said, We have reservations.  And handed me a hundred dollar bill for $20 in tickets.  His mom hung back, eyes downcast.  She wanted so desperately to not be recognized.  As if.  Her son, however, was a big aggressive.  A bit entitled.  I waved them in.  As if they would pay.  We all knew they were coming.  We were all agog but b/c we were also jaded New Yorkers, we didn't say a word.  They glided up the steps of the hundred year old school house--- definitely leaving the luxury of the stretch limo, incongruously parked--- waiting---- alongside Elizabeth, the drunks, the trash and the stink of the city.

Image: Chinese Malaysian dancer, Lee Swee Keong.  Xinhua Photo, 2008

Art, hookers, champagne and music

Party on Saturday night, October 3rd, at Brick Real Estate, transformed into Art Gallery once a month. Exhibit by Robert Edward Franklin, Gray Matter Study. Plenty of champagne, snacks, good music, and good people. Fellow Brooklyn-ites, fellow artists and professionals. We all talked apartments, housing; some live in an illegal loft in Chinatown, some live in Harlem, some live around the corner, and one couple told me about a flop house they had lived in--- midtown with two hookers in the other rooms; men lining up and down the stairs. One hooker was young and good looking, the other--- not so young. I asked, Did the not-so-young hooker get a lot of business? The answer surprisingly was yes. I said, Who? They replied, Jersey frat boys. Made perfect sense.