NEW YORK: RAIN

First stop this morning was Madison Square Park, the small park just across from the Flat Iron Building between 23rd and 26th Streets. We here to see the installation of sculptural works by Allison Saar--a friend from Los Angeles who follows in the footsteps--well, her own, really, but I was about to write "of her mother, Betye." We were glad to have stopped by. The installation consists of five works, each in a different location...

... the whole activating the park with the genuine, compassionate humanity of these figurative pieces: they celebrate the rootedness of our species in the earth we inhabit, the love we are capable of sharing, and the deep joys and sorrows of existence. We had missed the opening the previous evening, but were glad to note that other passers-by were sharing our interest, and were busy taking their own pictures. We also noted, as we left the park, the presence of another figure huddled against the rain...

... with a poignant relevance, we thought, to Allison's work.

The light rain that had started while we were in the park turned into a steady soaking and soon a downpour as we walked north on Fifth Avenue. Our intention was first to ride the subway up to the Eighties, take a walk in Central Park, then to wend our way slowly down to the Museum of Modern Art with occasional stops at galleries along the way. Clearly, the heavy rain scotched this plan, so instead we continued, somewhat stubbornly, northward on Fifth, ducking into a hat shop at one point to escape the wet. Big mistake. Well, for the pocketbook, at least. I succumbed to my old taste for hats, seduced by a fine--and not inexpensive--Italian job...

... AND a fisherman's cap, appropriate to the day; and Ellie, not to be outdone, found herself a cute Greta Garbo topper that became her well.

On, then, somewhat the poorer, through sheets of rain, to the Modern, on 53rd Street. The streaming gutters at each crosswalk left us with sodden shoes and socks and, by the time we reached the museum, our trouser legs were also waterlogged. Ellie's waterproof jacket had proved a lot less than waterproof, resulting in the necessity of buying a t-shirt at the gift shop before venturing into the museum. Since it was now already lunch time, we headed first for the cafe for a bowl of hot soup and a salad. Then on, up the escalators...

... to the giant de Kooning show.

What to say? Impossible, of course, in a couple of hours, to take it all in. The artist's massive lifetime production, along with the variety and emotional intensity of his work-and our own fatigue--left us overwhelmed by his creative genius. Of special interest was to note how the work proceeded, not through distinct periods of figurative work and abstraction, but very much as a continuous flow throughout his life. He worked in the space between the two, back and forth, always pushing forward to explore new territory. The controversial late works, whose simplicity some attribute to senility, made perfect sense in the light of this development--the final reduction of his argument to the simplest possible terms.

Exhausted by the time we reached the final galleries, we had nothing left for the rest of the museum.

We debated for a while about the means to return to our inn, but ended up with the same old Shanks's pony, walking down 7th Avenue and through Time Square, window-shopping...

... as we continued on Broadway down to 23rd Street, all through a now less penetrating rainfall.

A nap, a shower, fresh clothes, and we were ready to meet up for dinner with Ellie's nephew, Danny and his fiancee, Rachel. Good food at a local French restaurant, and a long talk to catch up with family and other matters. We got back in good time for a relatively early night and a well-earned sleep!