New York City in midwinter is a convergence of human and material riches, audacity, industry, intelligence, and imagination. We are all immigrants, and we all work for a living and care about the same things, so our many differences diminish the more we look each other in the eye and tell the truth.
The occasion of our visit was Alexandra's BFA thesis show, and she was kind enough to invite us. Gven and I were looking forward to it, to say the least, and it gave us the excuse we needed to break out of our midwestern rut, take off and visit Jessi on his own turf, see where he lives, where he works, what kind of folks he hangs with. Long story short, we liked what we saw, and it was a very, very good trip.
We went directly to Hotel 17, emerging from the Lincoln Tunnel onto 34th Street and across Manhattan to 2nd Avenue, then a few blocks south to 17th Street. Our room on the seventh floor had a nice view facing the street, half a block from Stuyvesant Square, a pretty little park facing the brown stone St. George's Episcopal Church and the red brick Friends Meetinghouse and Seminary, standing side-by-side next to a statue of Peter Stuyvesant and his wooden leg.
It was a short walk for Jessi to the hotel after work, giving us just enough time to shower and get dressed. The Tisch School of the Arts was another short walk down Broadway, and we took the elevator to the eighth floor, where it opened immediately to Alexandra's photos in the hallway with Alex and her family standing in front of them.
Introductions all around: her parents Rhonda and Dennis, her sister Caroline, her aunt and uncle Caroline and Gary, her other aunt and uncle Jean and John, their family friends the Tortorellos. We talked about our day; we looked at photographs up and down the hall; we talked about our kids, about photos, about finishing college, and how nice Alexandra looked dressed up; we talked about our various Ohio connections (such as Gary playing football on the 1968 national champion team, Go Bucks!), about the more shocking photos on the far end of the hall, and the fact that there was wine in a room down the hall.
When it was time to go, we all congregated on the sidewalk and began the trek a few blocks south to McDougall Street for dinner. Our entourage stretched out a block or more, with Dennis leading the way and several clusters of people walking along in the windy evening. Move over, Chicago, the Hawk is out tonight. Cafe Jacqueline was warm, charming, quiet, and our group sat at a long table that was conducive to conversation.
What can I say? Everything about it was delightful. Naturally there was lots of talk about food and cooking and what was on the menu. We ordered dinner, revealing our true characters to one another, and enjoyed a beautiful meal. A few moments stand out in particular: hearing about Caroline's experiences at Tufts and plans for her junior year in Rome; understanding how Alexandra's changing majors from photography to anthropology to linguistics and back to photo makes total sense as a liberal arts journey culminating in her show, entitled "Field Studies"; and Dennis's toast to his daughter's completion of four years of college and ten years of horses, so now he gets a well-deserved break.
After dinner we walked to their cars, and the family group headed home to Connecticut, while Jessi and Alexandra took Gven and me out for coffee and dessert at Veniero, a little cafe on 1st Avenue that has some special history for them. They took the subway back to Brooklyn, and we went back to our hotel to collapse happily and sleep.
We slept late on Friday and took a leisurely walk through the East Village en route to breakfast with Jessi and Alex. We stopped at a yarn shop, a bicycle shop, and a community garden. We had a great breakfast together at The Sidewalk on Avenue A, then walked with Alex to the station so she could take the train to Connecticut to spend the day with her family.
Jessi and Gven and I spent the rest the afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum, just wandering, looking, absorbing. I was most taken by a couple of small pieces by Paul Klee and Max Ernst, and Magritte always turns my head around. It was a little exhausting, so we went for a cup of tea and a bagel, restored ourselves, and headed for Free Friday at the Museum of Modern Art in midtown.
Different crowd with different energy, totally different architecture, not as overwhelming as the vast embarrassment of riches that is the Met, the MoMA was very busy yet user-friendly. An Alexander Calder mobile kind of hypnotized me with its qigong quality, and I looked at Warhol's huge Mao for a long time. There is also an amazing shark in formaldehyde called "The Physical Impossibility of the Mind Conceiving Death" or something like that.
We were so ready for dinner, and Jessi led us to Veselka, a Ukrainian restaurant on 2nd Avenue that was so right. We ordered pierogis and Lvivski beer, relaxed into that little bit of Eastern Europe, imagining we were in Kiev, and in a way we were.
Energized but winding down, we took the subway to Brooklyn to see Jessi's house, The Fort, in Crown Heights, where one housemate after another assured us that "It's always this clean." I'm sure it is. By this time, Gven and I were two tired but street savvy city dwellers, so we took the subway back to Manhattan and our hotel to once again collapse happily and sleep.
We were going to try out a different, tiny breakfast place, which incidentally has the best borsht in the universe, but it was a busy Saturday morning and we ended up back at the Sidewalk for another excellent breakfast. On the way, we explored some more. I looked and looked for Parker Posey walking down St. Mark's Place and other cool streets in the East Village, but surprisingly we didn't bump into her. By the time we sprang Gven's car from the garage and headed back through the Lincoln Tunnel to New Jersey and home, it had been an exciting 48 hours in the city for two midwesterners.
We had a fabulous visit, thank you. I can't call it "A Moveable Feast," as Hemingway described Paris in the 1920s, because, let's face it, you can't live well on a shoestring, getting by in an unheated flat by wearing a sweatshirt as an undershirt, but it is clearly some kind of feast, by golly, and it was a special treat to have Jessi and his sweetheart Alex introduce us to their world.
The occasion of our visit was Alexandra's BFA thesis show, and she was kind enough to invite us. Gven and I were looking forward to it, to say the least, and it gave us the excuse we needed to break out of our midwestern rut, take off and visit Jessi on his own turf, see where he lives, where he works, what kind of folks he hangs with. Long story short, we liked what we saw, and it was a very, very good trip.
We went directly to Hotel 17, emerging from the Lincoln Tunnel onto 34th Street and across Manhattan to 2nd Avenue, then a few blocks south to 17th Street. Our room on the seventh floor had a nice view facing the street, half a block from Stuyvesant Square, a pretty little park facing the brown stone St. George's Episcopal Church and the red brick Friends Meetinghouse and Seminary, standing side-by-side next to a statue of Peter Stuyvesant and his wooden leg.
It was a short walk for Jessi to the hotel after work, giving us just enough time to shower and get dressed. The Tisch School of the Arts was another short walk down Broadway, and we took the elevator to the eighth floor, where it opened immediately to Alexandra's photos in the hallway with Alex and her family standing in front of them.
Introductions all around: her parents Rhonda and Dennis, her sister Caroline, her aunt and uncle Caroline and Gary, her other aunt and uncle Jean and John, their family friends the Tortorellos. We talked about our day; we looked at photographs up and down the hall; we talked about our kids, about photos, about finishing college, and how nice Alexandra looked dressed up; we talked about our various Ohio connections (such as Gary playing football on the 1968 national champion team, Go Bucks!), about the more shocking photos on the far end of the hall, and the fact that there was wine in a room down the hall.
When it was time to go, we all congregated on the sidewalk and began the trek a few blocks south to McDougall Street for dinner. Our entourage stretched out a block or more, with Dennis leading the way and several clusters of people walking along in the windy evening. Move over, Chicago, the Hawk is out tonight. Cafe Jacqueline was warm, charming, quiet, and our group sat at a long table that was conducive to conversation.
What can I say? Everything about it was delightful. Naturally there was lots of talk about food and cooking and what was on the menu. We ordered dinner, revealing our true characters to one another, and enjoyed a beautiful meal. A few moments stand out in particular: hearing about Caroline's experiences at Tufts and plans for her junior year in Rome; understanding how Alexandra's changing majors from photography to anthropology to linguistics and back to photo makes total sense as a liberal arts journey culminating in her show, entitled "Field Studies"; and Dennis's toast to his daughter's completion of four years of college and ten years of horses, so now he gets a well-deserved break.
After dinner we walked to their cars, and the family group headed home to Connecticut, while Jessi and Alexandra took Gven and me out for coffee and dessert at Veniero, a little cafe on 1st Avenue that has some special history for them. They took the subway back to Brooklyn, and we went back to our hotel to collapse happily and sleep.
We slept late on Friday and took a leisurely walk through the East Village en route to breakfast with Jessi and Alex. We stopped at a yarn shop, a bicycle shop, and a community garden. We had a great breakfast together at The Sidewalk on Avenue A, then walked with Alex to the station so she could take the train to Connecticut to spend the day with her family.
Jessi and Gven and I spent the rest the afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum, just wandering, looking, absorbing. I was most taken by a couple of small pieces by Paul Klee and Max Ernst, and Magritte always turns my head around. It was a little exhausting, so we went for a cup of tea and a bagel, restored ourselves, and headed for Free Friday at the Museum of Modern Art in midtown.
Different crowd with different energy, totally different architecture, not as overwhelming as the vast embarrassment of riches that is the Met, the MoMA was very busy yet user-friendly. An Alexander Calder mobile kind of hypnotized me with its qigong quality, and I looked at Warhol's huge Mao for a long time. There is also an amazing shark in formaldehyde called "The Physical Impossibility of the Mind Conceiving Death" or something like that.
We were so ready for dinner, and Jessi led us to Veselka, a Ukrainian restaurant on 2nd Avenue that was so right. We ordered pierogis and Lvivski beer, relaxed into that little bit of Eastern Europe, imagining we were in Kiev, and in a way we were.
Energized but winding down, we took the subway to Brooklyn to see Jessi's house, The Fort, in Crown Heights, where one housemate after another assured us that "It's always this clean." I'm sure it is. By this time, Gven and I were two tired but street savvy city dwellers, so we took the subway back to Manhattan and our hotel to once again collapse happily and sleep.
We were going to try out a different, tiny breakfast place, which incidentally has the best borsht in the universe, but it was a busy Saturday morning and we ended up back at the Sidewalk for another excellent breakfast. On the way, we explored some more. I looked and looked for Parker Posey walking down St. Mark's Place and other cool streets in the East Village, but surprisingly we didn't bump into her. By the time we sprang Gven's car from the garage and headed back through the Lincoln Tunnel to New Jersey and home, it had been an exciting 48 hours in the city for two midwesterners.
We had a fabulous visit, thank you. I can't call it "A Moveable Feast," as Hemingway described Paris in the 1920s, because, let's face it, you can't live well on a shoestring, getting by in an unheated flat by wearing a sweatshirt as an undershirt, but it is clearly some kind of feast, by golly, and it was a special treat to have Jessi and his sweetheart Alex introduce us to their world.
No comments:
Post a Comment