Overheard in the subway yesterday: "The problem with New York is that there is so much to do you can't leave it". This was a local giving directions to a tourist from Liverpool and who claimed he's been "temporarily living in NY" for the past 30 years. So much to do, so true. Certainly New York with all its surprises isn't for everyone. Alligators in the sewer, rats caught in the third rail, sardine-packed subway cars with all the RSS (Really Stressed Subway riders) passengers are only some of the added pressures in life here. I for one have paid my dues and often ask myself how many more dues does one have to pay?
There's a good chance you've had enough of my NY ramblings so I'll carefully tread on that but will make one exception. My good friends and I have a great appetite for anything NY, stuff that may not appeal to everyone but will thrill others. So if you're one of the latter, tag along on our Manhattan escapade.
Last month, while nervously waiting in the hospital sitting area for Maria to wake up from a snooze after another rotator cuff repair, I stumbled on an article in the Smithsonian about the book of Carl G. Jung. The Red Book which for decades had been kept by Jung's heirs in a secret vault in Switzerland, is now released for public viewing and publication. It was intriguing and my initial response was where can I find it and the answer was there - the Rubin Museum of Art in NY. This museum in the Chelsea district which also has a vast collection of art of the Himalayas and its surrounding regions is the host of this never-before-seen book. So off we went to RMA.
The Red Book featured C. G. Jung's active imagination and fantasies which many believed to have been the center of his work in analytical psychology. It is my interest in calligraphic illustrations, as in the Book of Hours, and not the psychoanalytic content that drew me to this rare exhibition. Jung typed his manuscripts in calligraphic scripts onto parchment pages and painted elaborate representations of his dreams and fantasies. Bound in red and nearly 100 years old, it is one of the most artistic works in illuminated style I've ever seen. It is a painting. A priceless work of art.
There's a good chance you've had enough of my NY ramblings so I'll carefully tread on that but will make one exception. My good friends and I have a great appetite for anything NY, stuff that may not appeal to everyone but will thrill others. So if you're one of the latter, tag along on our Manhattan escapade.
Last month, while nervously waiting in the hospital sitting area for Maria to wake up from a snooze after another rotator cuff repair, I stumbled on an article in the Smithsonian about the book of Carl G. Jung. The Red Book which for decades had been kept by Jung's heirs in a secret vault in Switzerland, is now released for public viewing and publication. It was intriguing and my initial response was where can I find it and the answer was there - the Rubin Museum of Art in NY. This museum in the Chelsea district which also has a vast collection of art of the Himalayas and its surrounding regions is the host of this never-before-seen book. So off we went to RMA.
The Red Book featured C. G. Jung's active imagination and fantasies which many believed to have been the center of his work in analytical psychology. It is my interest in calligraphic illustrations, as in the Book of Hours, and not the psychoanalytic content that drew me to this rare exhibition. Jung typed his manuscripts in calligraphic scripts onto parchment pages and painted elaborate representations of his dreams and fantasies. Bound in red and nearly 100 years old, it is one of the most artistic works in illuminated style I've ever seen. It is a painting. A priceless work of art.
From the lower gallery we proceeded upstairs to view the rest of the RMA permanent collection. One exhibition Mandala: The Perfect Circle explored the circular diagram that symbolizes the world of a deity and which is also widely used as aid in meditation. Precise and technical, it is created in colored sand or painted in cloth with warm spicy colors bursting in reds, greens and oranges.
The art work depicted the cosmology and philosophy of the cultures and religions of Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism. With due reverence and speaking of rotator cuff tear, Maria wondered how much pain and suffering the deities with many arms had to bear if they had been afflicted with this condition. This was somewhat of an extension of her experience. Judy added: "It'll make any orthopedic surgeon happier and richer." Bad girls!
True to its promise, the RMA provided a dramatic and exceptional exhibit of Himalayan objects of art which are numerous, very colorful but to the inexperienced viewer like me may seem redundant.
After this heavy dose of culture and religion, we were ready for some light entertainment so we scooted to the Rockefeller Center. The brightly lit towering Christmas Tree is gorgeous, and as expected, one could easily get lost in the crowd or have their picture taken by a total stranger unless they are 7 feet or taller and could steer clear of all the camera lenses around. Five minutes, that's all and four of us decided to leave The Tree for the tourists.
Lather up, Celine. She got her triple-milled French bar of soap at L'Occitane before we escaped the mob at the Rockefeller channel gardens. Having sworn off McD or Burger King, we were now in search for decent grub.
Celine suggested the Palm which we never got to since Maria was so hungry. We instead ended up at Le Pain Quotidiene. Sounds like we're having French tonight. Turns out it's one of those Belgian invasions - it's an international chain of bread/salad/sandwich/bakery European style. The tartine of chicken with smoked mozzarella, greens and a slice of melon stood up to the test. At Midtown hefty prices, it was okay to splurge for something this good and well presented. I'm no Francophile, but this was great, filling enough and healthy. Is this why French women don't get fat?
More interesting was the conversation we struck with our waiter. George is a transplant from the Polish district of Hamtranck, Detroit, who for the last two months has been renting a room from a Russian family in Brooklyn. The kid from Ham what? has a knack for languages, about six he claims he speaks but not fluent enough, except French, to land him a job at the United Nations. It was interesting. One never knows what's behind that apron-donning host or hostess, this one is also an artist. NY is the stepping stone. He seemed happy here at LPQ but here we were as usual dispensing of our motherly wisdom, wishing him much luck in searching for a better job.
Back in the days, say 1970's I wouldn't have said a word to him. Now I have more time to talk and listen. Look out! You can't leave now, welcome to New York, George!
