One Woman Show

Or: Zero Degrees of Kevin Bacon

Well I'm going on month 2 of living in New York City and I can hardly believe so much time has passed already.  I feel like I just arrived here yesterday!  I've been busy with the internship at Christie's, frequent trips to the New York Public Library, cooking adventures with Phyllis and a healthy dose of arts and culture.  The only thing is, I haven't really made many acquaintances (from my generation) since I arrived!  I'm not complaining, in fact Phyllis has introduced me to some fascinating characters that make up her social network.

The Metropolitan Opera, Atrium

Last Monday I met Phyllis' friend Peter for an evening at Lincoln Center.  Peter is an 80-year-old actor and opera aficionado who kindly offered to pay my way at the Met for a performance of the Italian opera Ernani by Verdi.  He is a well-spoken, cultured gentleman who assumes I've "certainly already read about it in the Times" when he refers to anything (and almost always I haven't).  I met his friend Ingrid, a 50-year-old actress and voice coach and we (read: they) all spoke about 19th century librettists the entire night.  The performance was a real treat, as the Metropolitan Opera itself is a work of art, and the personally controlled monitor with electronic subtitles was appreciated.  But can I just say - 3.5 hours is too long for anything, let alone opera.  I don't even think I could manage an epic film for that long.  If you have to stop for 2 intermissions, the show just might be too long, everybody.  

© MetOpera.org

As I sat in the audience, one of the very few heads that lacked gray hair, I thought about the future of opera.  I appreciate the arts.  I'm white, female, middle class, educated-- essentially the target demographic for this Fine Art.  I've even taken several music appreciation classes, one of which focused on opera, but how the heck is my generation going to sustain and support this art form when even I can't keep from dozing off in the middle of Act II?  I pondered this question a bit over the course of the week, even discussed it at length with Phyllis over coffee and bagels, but truly dissecting that thought would be another post entirely.

blackberry cobbler night: I can die happy.

After a week at work with lots of post-sale activities and a standard "I have a friend who bought a Michelangelo drawing at a garage sale in Jersey" phone call, I welcomed the weekend.  The few girls I'd met via the internship at Christie's are all in the Visual Arts Administration master's program at NYU,  (you know, the program I was accepted to but then turned down because I would have had to sell a kidney and my first born child to make a tuition payment), and they're always very busy.  I went ice skating in Central Park with them one day last weekend but haven't held my breath for another invite, they have unimaginable amounts of reading and projects.  So this weekend I hung out with me, myself and I.

me and Central Park

Friday I did some reading and told myself I simply couldn't stay indoors all night.  When you live in NYC it's hard to justify laziness knowing what awaits you just beyond your doorman.  I ventured out into the blistery cool air and took the subway down to Chelsea to check out The Rubin Museum, or the museum of Himalayan art.  They were open until 10pm with a lounge, bar, DJ, free admission and several public programs.  I attended the "Talking Stick" storytelling session that involved artists, comedians, poets, writers and musicians interpreting works from the museum's collection.  I sat on the ground with 20 other people on the 6th floor of the museum as a 6ft tall Chinese guy did a spoken word piece with musical accompaniment about what it means to be Asian.  Another girl introduced a few paintings in the Modern Indian Art exhibition then read a short prose piece about a minnow.  A Jewish comic recounted crazy travel stories and a museum worker spoke of his first day in New York City as related to the theme in a painting.

13th Century Green Tara

I was mesmerized by this museum, the bustling activity, the liveliness of the people, the openness of the format, the accessibility of the programs, the friendliness of the staff.  As I descended to the lower floors to see the permanent collection a museum worker offered me a guided tour.  In the last 30 minutes of my museum visit I learned more about Buddhist tradition than I'd ever learned in my life.  The guide showed me a recreation of a shrine while explaining Siddhartha's life, then patiently described the parts of a painted tapestry that depicted the karmic circle of life.  I was so thrilled with the way my Friday night turned out, I left the museum feeling energized, knowledgeable and above all welcome.  Maybe going out by myself wasn't so bad after all...

Me and New York City

Saturday I went to Midtown after lunch to see my first off-Broadway play, per Phyllis' recommendation.  I managed a student discount with my Italian permit-to-stay and when I asked for one ticket the lady asked skeptically "…just one?"  Before the show I stopped into Shake Shack, a tasty burger joint where a free seat is prime real estate.  After finishing the last bite of my cheeseburger an eager couple was already asking if "we were done eating" referring to the people next to me.  I replied that I was finished but I had been sitting alone, to which the guy responded "Oh, I'm sorry.  Well I hope you're not alone for long."  Ummm, ok.  Thanks?  Then my one woman show headed to the theatre where I enjoyed the performance of How I Learned to Drive, and was thankfully flanked by 2 single theatre-going women on either side of seat F-110.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

In the evening I took the bus across Central Park to see an exhibit at the Met.  The museum was open until 9 and I was surprised how lively the building was.  The sounds of soft violin, piano, clinking forks and lively conversation wafted from the upper balcony and through the grand entrance as I escaped the bitter cold and checked my coat.  I perused the 19th century section without hurry, salivating over Rodin sculptures and feeling my heartbeat quicken when I recognize a Cezanne I studied last semester.  Something's beginning to happen to me in art museums with notable collections.  I'll see a study for a famous work by an artist and then try to remember where I've seen the painting before reading the label. I rarely ever get that chance, but over the past 2 years my visual vocabulary has grown tenfold with all the museums and collections I've seen in Europe, and once in a while I can give myself that mental high-five.

me at the Guggenheim

Today I dedicated to reading and thesis research.  Thanks to another of Phyllis' friends who worked at a foundation supporting emerging artists, I've got some leads on New York based arts organizations that may be worth discovering.  After seeing I'd worked all day, Phyllis insisted on taking me to dinner this evening, despite my repeated attempts to offer.  (Heart of gold, that one.)  I'm thankful she did because we ended up at Gennaro, an Italian trattoria on the UWS that she assured me was delightful.  Believe it or not it'd been over a month since I'd eaten pasta!  We stepped in the tiny restaurant and were ushered to the back where they'd found a chair for Phyllis and we were to wait for a table.  No sooner had I asked for a menu than I look up and realize I'm staring into the icy blue eyes of Kevin Bacon.  Whaaaat?!  This might even be better than my tap-dancing Jimmy Fallon sighting in Rockefeller Center a few weeks ago.  After a stifled giggle and quick text to people who might give a damn, I notice he's with his wife - a lady whose face I recognize but can't place her name until I imdb it later - Kyra Sedgwick.

unrelated snowy sidewalk picture of my neighborhood

I ever-so-slyly inform Phyllis of his presence only to realize she's never seen Footloose or Apollo 13.  Then I try to explain the 6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon game to her, but I realize it's not as funny if you haven't seen any of his almost-legendary performances, including the awesomely bad 90s SciFi flick Tremors (not just the first one, I mean II, III and IV).  But not to worry, Phyllis was busy getting her work published, traveling through China, and generally being too much of a badass to watch Kevin Bacon films.  

view of the skyline across Central Park

We had a lovely dinner and I enjoyed having a meal that reminded me of Italy.  I realize more and more how much I am thankful for her guidance and companionship here in the city - we really get along quite well.  And to think she's been living alone for decades!  The way I see it, if she can star gracefully in her own one woman show that continually has me riveted, then I must not be averse to continuing my (mostly) solo adventures in the Big Apple!