BETTER ART THAN POLITICS

We lazed around in our hotel room for a good long while yesterday morning, then suited up, California style, for the the New York cold (it wasn't really that cold; just seemed that way to us!) and hailed a cab on Madison to head north to the Metropolitan Museum. Big mistake! the traffic on Madison was the worst I've ever seen, slower than walking pace in places, Heavy traffic, yes, but the real problem was the delivery trucks and construction trucks double-parked on either side, leaving st times a single lane up this busy thoroughfare.

Arriving at the Met, I used my privilege to pick up pre-arranged guest tickets and we head up to the Michelangelo show on the second floor. What a treat!

The show consists mainly of drawings, though it included a few sculptures, and required a lot of close viewing. Remarkably, despite the anticipated crowds, it was relatively easy to spend close-up time with each drawing and get a marvelous, intimately physical feel for the hand of the master. I plan to write more about the exhibit when we return to Los Angeles. Suffice it to say, here, that it was inspiring to be able to watch a great mind in the process of creation. Such is the nature of these drawings--some spontaneous, quickly made, cast aside, others immaculately finished. Looking carefully, you feel that you can actually see the mind of a genius at work.

We took the elevator down to the first floor and strolled past Louis XIV furnishings, Fabergé eggs, and through the great hall of Baroque sculpture...

... for a leisurely lunch at the restaurant overlooking Central Park. How petty our politics and politicians look in this perspective! A good reminder of the great sweep of history and our small place in it...

After lunch, we returned to the second floor to see the David Hockney show. Having written the Abbeville Modern Masters book about Hockney some twenty years ago, I was familiar with much of his work up until the mid-1990s, but its was still a pleasure to see some of the early paintings again. They stand up well, both to the passage of time and their adjacency to the Michelangelo exhibit. Hockney's work was long disparaged, I think, particularly this side of the Atlantic, where the powerful mainstream ploughed through its various fads and fancies. Hockney stuck obstinately to his own vision, and does so to this day. And an exiled Brit myself, I particularly enjoyed the period of his return to his northern English roots and his passion for the Yorkshire countryside...

There is something distinctly working-class, down-to-earth about his vision that I find hard to translate into words, along with a kind of joyful, infectious innocence that shines gloriously in this deeply cynical world.

We had intended, hoped, really, to see the Edvard Munch and Anselm Kiefer shows at the Met Breuer, but after Michelangelo and Hockney, we had neither the time nor the eyes for any more art. We did a little Christmas shopping in the marvelous Met store, then headed south in a taxi (the weather had turned quite nippy by this time) for a return to our hotel. On arrival, we were told about a wine and gift-wrapping party on the 16th floor--which seemed a little odd, but turned out to be quite charming. We met the artist and some members of his family who own and operate the Roger Smith Hotel, which has traditionally been a haven for arts-related folk from the West Coast. A delightful interlude, which made us feel right at home!

For dinner, on to the Greek seafood restaurant on 48th Street, Avra...

... where they managed to find a table for us amidst an animated crowd of fellow diners. Good Greek food. And, yes... expensive! It was a pleasure to return to our room and watch a television program about the brains of birds.