When the Furrier Flies

Liz had a Times photographer with her who shot some nice images here using a DSLR but this was an occasion where my S90 was probably a better tool for the job. A high-end point-and-shoot it is very strong in low light but its best feature in an occasion like this is its very humble appearance. No one minded me poking my toy-looking camera around or changed their behavior at all, which is very good in such a emotionally charged, intimate moment.

One of the best things about my job is visiting the myriad people and places along the Marathon route. The reason why it's such a cool event is because it's in New York: home of eccentrics, maniacs, and endless variety.

While she was writing her book about the Marathon, my friend Liz connected with an old man furrier (is there any other kind?) in Greenpoint named Irving Feller. When she heard he was going out of business, she had to make one last visit. She let me tag along.

Liz did a great job of describing Irving's sanctum of solitude, so I won't attempt (and fail) to duplicate her work. Instead I'll just share a few quick impressions.

She and I share a hearty reverence for the bygone and disappearing, the surprising and the gritty; all of these traits are abundant in Irving's musty piles of personal history. I never knew the guy, and I would not exactly call him friendly, but somehow I'm sad to see him go. For all his crankiness he's endearing and he possesses an integrity that demands immediate respect. He's not pretending anything.

Someone asked me what seemed the most valuable and in a room full of sables and minks, I did not hesitate: I went straight to an old dresser completely filled with ballpoint pen drawings Irving executed during the increasingly abundant spare time of a failing businessman and polymath artist. His daughter gave me one and I'll definitely honor it.

The streets of New York are lined with metal gates over storefronts with "For Rent" signs and each shuttered enterprise is someone's dream realized--and ended. What a privilege to be given entree into one such life story! The new is built upon the old, and there is much nourishment to be found in that composting soil.

Irving's place provided plenty of food for inspiration.

Running Into--and With--Old Friends

Courtesy New York Road Runners

Last night, I set out for an easy run at my old striding grounds at McCarren Park and I decided to represent the home team by wearing my North Brooklyn singlet. As usual, I started by cruising past the track to see if there was anyone I knew.

Not surprisingly, Coach Kiki was in the house, with a very full training class and that made me very happy. I was even more pleased to find a huge group of runners milling about the starting line, and they turned out to be my old buddies, the North Brooklyn Runners, along with some guests from the Dashing Whippets. They were about to start a track session and I was glad to join in.

McCarren Park has a beautiful track but almost always full of human obstacles—adults, children, soccer balls, bikes, strollers, and the like. Nevertheless, it was a quality workout and much, much better for the company. They had runners of all abilities and many, many interesting people to talk to.

Even though I live in Charlottesville, North Brooklyn is still my team for the time being and it was very amusing to explain my arrangement over and over during the recovery jogs.

Runner: “So you live in North Carolina?”

Me: “No: Virginia.”

Runner: “But you’re wearing the shirt.”

Me: “Well, I still live here part time. I used to live in the ‘burg but I still work for Road Runners so I’m back in the neighborhood on the regular.”

Runner: “I remember you: welcome back.”

Without fail, they all said that last part. I could not imagine a more friendly group and it really made my day to happen upon them.

The fellowship got even better when the group went to the Turkey’s Nest to rehydrate with huge beers served in Styrofoam cups. They can all run but some of them are dangerous pool players as well.

Running into friends is one of the very best things about the City. It can be a very lonely place but company often materializes in surprising ways, refreshing like a desert oasis. Those human interactions are a big, big deal for me.

It was an unexpected way to spend the evening: spontaneous and fun, and very healthy. What could be better?

The Proust in me gets loose

This lovely Beaux Arts building on the edge of a vast and wasted brownfield made me feel like I was inside a Hopper painting. I was feeling that Hopper loneliness on the inside as well...

Mere hours after writing that last bit about not feeling strange to be back in the old neighborhood, I lost it and started sobbing like a little girl. I was in the studio packing up Sebastian’s area and when my iPod served up “Coney Island Baby” by Tom Waits it hit me like a truck: the hours Sebastian and I spent at the Treehouse studio are gone forever. No more shark mask, scribbling on the chalkboard, “Play Tom Waits Daddy,” or bouncing on his tummy on the yoga ball. Nothing illuminates the relentless passage of time quite like a child growing up—except perhaps packing—and packing a child’s things can be downright deadly.

I quickly stuffed his past of the studio away as much to get it out of sight as the need to get it ready for transport to Virginia. Sebastian will probably never enter that studio again but I still need to keep working there through the autumn. I can’t be spilling tears on my drawings every time I notice his empty chair.

When I left the studio and went back to Mark & Amelia’s to go to sleep, I kept seeing the neighborhood in double-vision, always oscillating between was and what is. Walking down Bedford to the old apartment building, I couldn’t help thinking about the first morning Meredith and I woke up there. We were incredibly glad to be there and walked hand in hand down the avenue to Verb café for breakfast. Croissants in a sidewalk café felt like a little piece of Heaven to us.

We had high hopes for the neighborhood and for the life we would make there. I don’t mean to say that our hopes were betrayed or that our dreams did not come true; they did. More so, perhaps, than we had bargained for, as the single café multiplied faster than rats. I still prefer Verb and its contemporary Read/Rabbit Hole which were there when we moved in. Perhaps a good thing run amok, but Williamsburg is still fun and our life there was still good all the way up to the last day. And the time I spent there this past week was lovely. I don’t particularly begrudge the place what it has become. Everything changes.

Whether dreams live or die or come true or not, there’s something priceless about their wide-eyed early days when everything seems possible and we give Life the benefit of the doubt. The things about the neighborhood that came to drive us crazy were very present back then: noise, stink, bugs, crime, poverty but they were easy to overlook in favor of a more beautiful vision. So it’s not really about how the neighborhood was, as how we were.

Awareness of the passage of time can be a very troublesome thing, the source of many heartbreaks. I’m sure every parent sometimes wishes their children were young again and we occasionally wish something quite similar for ourselves as well. I think it’s sweet and it keeps us connected to something gentle and pure inside. Like any indulgence, nostalgia should be taken very sparingly but it can be a real treat from time to time.

Even when it hurts a little bit.

Williamsburg to Williamsburg

William and Mary's campus is just ridiculously beautiful. I felt sorry for the prospective students. It should be illegal to be so captivating. There's something to be said, though, for living in a beautiful place. That Williamsburg be more different from Williamsburgh BK.

It took me almost two hours to get from my apartment to the Holland Tunnel. Somehow, I managed to stay really calm and relaxed and did not join the futile klaxon chorus. I was officially on vacation. Finally, within feet of the tunnel’s waiting mouth I got pulled over and issued a $110 ticket for blocking the box (which of course I wasn’t).

Since the City Fathers cannot seem to win the toll-bridge tug-of-war with its residents, they seem to have reassigned the traffic cops from their former duty of moving traffic to the more feudal job of collecting tribute money for overland passage. The squeegee guy I had met half a block earlier was a lot friendlier. My primal yell: “I [no not love] New York!”

By comparison, I-95 was just gorgeous and a pleasure to spend time with, especially as I moved through Virginia. Everywhere flowers: in the trees, in the woods, and on the median strip. It was like driving through a tunnel of pink and white and the pale green of early foliage. Forsythia and tulip magnolia, followed by redbud, dogwood, crab apple, cherry, and a thousand others I could not identify. All the way from Wiliamsburg (BK) to Williamsburg (VA) I breathed easy and clean. Happy.

I unloaded my drawings at the Mascarelle and took a walk around my old stomping grounds at William and Mary for the first time in about ten years. Again, I was pretty surprised. Not by the beautiful co-eds (I had remembered them) but by how studious everyone is there: quite different than from what one encounters around NYU or Columbia. Definitely not fashion victims, I could see how I had fit in and why a parent would want their kids there. The $10,000 tuition+room+board part does not hurt either. The students don’t seem too distracted by the redcoats mustering across the street with their fifes and drums and occasional musket shots. It really is a little bit surreal but so calm it’s almost sedative (which, to my recollection, was the chief complaint.)

I felt a little sorry for the many groups of prospective students touring campus on such a perfect day. The combination of rigor, charm, and value is difficult to resist, especially with Spring in full explosion and Primavera definitely rules that place.

Even the police are friendly down there. I literally would not have made it to Charlottesville had it not been for a friendly Fluvanna County sheriff who told me how to fool my car into thinking its alternator was not shot long enough to limp to my destination.

Now that I’m here, it’s all about renewal: rest for the body and fresh air for the spirit. It’s Springtime in full force, with birds and bees and flowers and April showers.

Where the rubber hits the turf

During my workout the other day at McCarren Park, I saw a crew (two people) repairing the synthetic field at McCarren Park so I took the opportunity to ask them about the reported danger of the rubber infill. They said the danger was overblown and that one would need to physically EAT 21 cubic feet of the stuff to attain a measurable lead level. This sort of jibes with our thought that one should always be at least somewhat wary of what's underfoot in the City.

Still, I'm willing to run barefoot on the synthetic (carefully washing feet in shower afterward). This situation could not be more different from the dirt and gravel field that proceeded it, which even included screws, nails, and pieces of metal plate. A single person running across the field caused a major dust storm and during windy days, downwind soccer teams could not see the far goal.

Given the neighborhood's industrial past and high volume of trucks, I'm pretty sure that dust (which became airborn at the least wisp of breeze) delivered more lead on one afternoon than a lifetime on the artificial turf would do.

It's possible that the stuff is not as safe as it should be but I for one am grateful that it's there.

By the way, the repair team was not wearing dust masks or respirators. They had on rubber gloves but that's because they were using some nasty looking glue to hold the turf down.

A Convergence of the bad....

Any regular visitor to this blog knows how much I love invisible threads and hidden parallels. When talking about the Armory Show extravaganza of this past weekend, it’s impossible to avoid comparisons to ArtBaselMiami. One connection between the two whacked me over the head and simply demanded to be blogged.

It’s unusual to find a work of art that stands out in a big pond like like Miami, but there was one that was just head-an-shoulders below the rest in terms of badness. [Photo here--it's not for all audiences] It just reached a little too far in trying to be sensationalist and landed in the zone of the annoying--like a child in mid-tantrum who really really wants you to pay attention to him and winds up creating the opposite desire. Seldom do my friends and I all agree about all aspects of art but they were unanimous their sympathy for me needing to sit in a booth next to that horrible thing--doubly so since Bridge Miami was so dead there were no customers to distract me. I'll always remember that piece, but for the wrong reasons.

Back in New York, I'm gallery surfing in Williamsburg during the art fairs. There's one gallery that sits head-and-shoulders below any other in terms of ridiculous and annoying attempts at sensationalism. It's a good place to see naive comicbook art or lurid paintings of boobs with acne-faced teens (or occasionally satyrs) oggling or fondling them. Sebastian refuses to go in there and he's right. I don't want to validate them by creating a google hit for them, but insiders will know the place from its shorebird name.

What should I find in the back room of said horrible gallery but the same horses and erections from Miami! I wanted to high-five the room because it's seldom that you see such a perfect marriage between awful artist and awful gallery. I salute them and thank all parties for renewing my faith in God and humanity.

Don't get me wrong: the weekend was alot of fun. I saw much great work, connected with old friends and met lots of new people. It was like the Miami Fair but sleeping in my own bed. I skipped the big fair and went to a bunch of satellites. My fave was the Fountain Fair. It certainly had the best party. How many other art fairs could boast a below-deck, a mizzen-mast, an engine room, a murder lounge, a sunset couch, a roving band of pirates, a hotdog grill, and a burlesque girl in the old red-white-and-blue. America the beautiful...

All about Community

One real estate company that opened on the South Side during the recent boompainted its back wall with lots of friendly and encouraging terms that seemlike core values of an ideal company as upstanding member of a community. Infact, I think "Community" is one of their catch-terms along with such other novel concepts as "Integrity," "Passion," "Commitment," and "Family."


Walking by their storefront operation, I have always wondered if those terms are intended as reminders to their staff of core values that their employer honestly and demonstrably espouses, or if those are simply some words a focus group found gets people "in the mood" to buy overpriced real estate.


Given the almost entirely deleterious effect of the rampant and often predatory speculation that has transformed the neighborhood, I would doubt the former. Also given the ubiquity of equally admirable but transparently meaningless terms such as "authenticity" in real estate advertising, I imagine they must believe that it pays to seem like one really, really cares. Or perhaps they think they don't fit the stereotype and want us all (or at least their customers) to think they're a different kind of realtor; one that is more interested in building communities than in laundering hedge fund bonuses.


I really, really want to think the best of people, but some make it so much harder than it needs to be. One small thing this particular enterprise could do to help fool me into thinking they care about the neighborhood is simply shoveling their sidewalk, as they are legally obligated to do.In fact, they're almost always the last business on the Southside not to performthis small civic duty--and the Southside is not exactly known for its commitment to clean streets. If I recall correctly, they have sat out just about everysnowstorm this season.


What makes it more pathetic is that of all business ventures out there inthe world, one would think that a realtor would have a thick rolodex ofhandymen and maintenance-types they could call upon. They ought also be well versed in the laws--formal and otherwise--that govern storefront sidewalk maintenance, not to mention the ways of smart business. One would equally suppose they ought to have a clue about what it means to be part of a community.


At least their wall says they're all about it.

Running in the Neighborhood

People ask me all the time about running in Williamsburg so I thought I would devote an entry to a few resources for runners in the neighborhood.

Suggested routes

It's true that 11211 is one of the concrete-ridden zip codes in America. I try to make it my rule to limit the amount of time I spend on the roads and sidewalks and I am very blessed to work right next to Central Park. The lovely track/infield/woodchip loop combo at McCarren Park the gentlest neighborhood option, albeit a boring one as the miles pile up. If you're willing to run on the roads, there are some challenging and scenic routes in the neighborhood, particularly if you include the bridges. (Note: my legs are happiest if I limit the bridges to no more than once or twice a week, which is difficult since I live right next to one).

One of my favorite tricks to run either to- or from- work. I don't carry anything with me on the run (except my keys) and then I carry either my dirty work clothes or a clean set for next time on the following commute. It's a great time saver because it essentially eliminates the time wasted commuting, but it does require some advance planning.

I've mapped out a bunch of my most frequent routes in my running log, which I'm making public. Feel free to poke around and email me questions about the routes or if my training regime confuses you--it fairly unconventional. While you're in there, check out the amazing software I use. It's free and full of great tools and features. I recommend it everyone.

North Brooklyn Runners

There's a new running club forming in the neighborhood. At long last, someone has taken the initiative to do what a bunch of us have been too busy/lazy/distracted to do so far and display a little bit of leadership. I've pasted an abridged version of their welcome email at the bottom of this post. Of special interest is their schedule for group runs. Running with a group is a very good and very smart way to stay safe, motivated and inspired and if you're trying to get better or just get out the door, I suggest you try to meet up with them.

For my part, I look forward to meeting them and I'll report back when I've managed to do so.

Hi Peter!

Thanks so much for your email-- nice to hear from you! Turnout is getting consistently better as the word spreads and as the weather is agreeable. There are a lot of people who can't make it to the runs due to work/personal schedules but I've organized a buddy list for people who are want to additionally set up runs with a buddy in their training pace, etc.

Our schedule is below in the midst of all of the scoop on North Brooklyn Runners...


A little background...

I've been running in this area for a few years now, and running in general for fun and sport for over 10 years. In the past year, I started running more 'fun' runs through NYRR and have been longing for the camaraderie and motivation of having a 'team' to run with. There are plenty of running groups throughout Manhattan and Park Slope-centric Brooklyn, but nothing in our part of town. I'm really excited about bringing together runners in this area, of all fitness and experience levels, who just want perhaps a bit of team spirit, a running buddy, or who want to train for their next half-marathon and want to kick some ass (that's me!). I have this vision that people will find running partners, will share tips about how to run in cold weather, will run races together, and just make new friends! Whatever you're here for, you are very welcome!

North Brooklyn Runners is just getting organized we're just finishing up our fourth week of 'official' group runs. We have a schedule, which is posted on our Google Group (which I just added you as a member so you can read and post). There's about 45 of us so far, which is great, but we could do with some more reaching out-- pass on the word to any other runners you know around here!

The group is made up of all paces and experience levels. Some just want a community to run with, some want to get in shape, others want more group based training opportunities. Several of the group have run marathons, run a lot of half marathons, and some are just hoping to run their first 5 or 10K!

We run the gamut from former elite runners and serious runners to recreational/casual runners, and we like it that way!

Our current schedule is as follows:
Tuesdays 7:30am - Group Run - Meet at the Track
Wednesdays 8pm - Group Run at the Track - incl. warm-up and stretching and then running at your own pace and distance
Thursdays 7:30pm - Speedwork at the Track
Saturdays 9am - Casual Group Run and Coffee - Over the Bridge and back, coffee nearby afterwards

*track workouts meet at the north end (driggs side) of the track by the small lamppost and recycle bins; bridge runs meet at south 5th and roebling footpath entrance to the bridge.

Our turnouts are picking up as we get the word out further and as the weather is getting nicer. We're hoping to add another morning run or two and another evening as well, but need a few more people who are willing to commit to leading one at least for the next 4-6 weeks as we get better established. I'm also organizing a 'running buddy' list for people who want to find other people at their pace to organize runs with-- let me know if you'd like to be added to it!

Currently, we're working on a website, hoping to plan some sort of neighborhood 5K, and have a happy hour "social" in the works for early March-- keep your eyes/ears open!

See the full schedule, and races a few members plan to run, on the Google

Group (http://groups.google.com/group/northbrooklynrunners) and/or the

Google Calendar (
http://www.google.com/calendar/embed?src=jcbog05l530ul26v6nuk3n09oc%40group.calendar.google.com&ctz=America/New_York&pvttk=19f072ca275c7e0848a792edc914697f).

I hope you're able to make it out to a run soon!

We're looking forward to meeting you!

Death Imitates Art that Imitates Death

Lydia McKenzie is a Williamsburg-based photographer whose work recreates cold-case murder scenes in the neighborhood. Her first New York solo show awakens a killer who kills McKenzie’s models in a way that gruesomely imitates her photographs. That is the premise of Meredith Cole’s debut novel, Posed for Murder.

This fast-paced mystery is full of hipsters, cigarette-butt-filled loft stair-ways, local coffee joints, smarmy landlords, mafioso-wannabes, bad-Thai, vintage clothing, a Puerto Rican detective that’s too handsome for his own good, and a thousand other hilarious references to the peculiarities that make our neighborhood special. The prose read crisp, quick, and smart as a whip. It’s required reading for all Williamsburgers, Art World denizens or lovers of mystery, mayhem, and contemporary art.

Posed for Murder will have its official Brooklyn launch on March 13 from 7 PM to 9 PM at Open Gallery night in Williamsburg at The Front Room Gallery. Meredith will join Brian Wiprud at Word Bookstore in Greenpoint on March 10 at 7:30 PM for an evening of mystery. Friends of the Williamsburg Public Library is also planning an event (date TBD). The book can be purchased at Spoonbill & Sugartown, Word, retail locations nationwide, and online. More information on Meredith’s website.

WAGMAG Benefit

Give your sweetheart a one-of-a-kind gift this Valentine's Day.
Urban Orchard 5. Ink on paper 9" x 12" 2008.

This piece is in the WAGMAG benefit Valentine's Day at Front Room Gallery. It's a fun and affordable way to pick up original art. Here's how it works: $200 gets you a raffle ticket ($175 before February 9). Every ticket gets a work of art of your choice. The drawing determines the order of selection.

Last year I lost the lottery--second to last, actually--but I still got my third choice. It's a great Mary Westring print hanging in my kitchen and we enjoy it every day. When I invited Mary over for a glass of wine to see the print on the wall, she gave me another print. So $200 got me two great pieces that I love.

The show is free and the opening (which will be very fun) is open to everyone, but it's really worthwhile to get the raffle ticket. You're sure to get some great work and you'll be helping to support a great publication (WAGMAG) and keep it free.

Valentine's Day WagMag Benefit
Advanced Viewing: Jan 31st-Feb 14th
Viewing hours:Fri-Sun 1-6pm
Reception and Raffle of work Saturday February 14th, 7-9pm

Front Room Gallery
147 Roebling Street Williamsburg, Brooklyn 718.782.2556

We know what to do

On National Service Day, Sebastian and I braved the snow to clean a park that commemorates the sacrifices at Valley Forge.

With the inauguration of Barack Obama, we wanted to make a special effort to get out and do something on MLK Day, the National Day of Service. Barack put out the call and everyone was answering. We especially wanted to make sure that whatever we did would include Sebastian--he's the real beneficiary.

We went online to sign up and every single job was overbooked. They could probably use some help the other 364 days of the year. Undoubtedly and we may be so inspired on those other days too but I wanted to do something on THIS day. Then the thought came to me like a yell: Open Your Eyes! There's no shortage of work that needs to be done on the South Side.

I pulled on rubber gloves and Sebastian bundled up with his mittens, we grabbed some trash bags and took a walk around the nabe. We hit the "Bridge Plaza Playground" on South 4th and the Continental Army Plaza, two blocks of South 4th and a very unloved block of South 5th under the bridge.

Our work was hampered by the several inches of snow, which concealed much, but did not stop us from filling several contractor bags in about an hour's time. It is very fitting that the next day, the President's Inaugural address recalled that same harsh winter on the banks of the Delaware to remind us of what our ancestors endured for us and the sacrifices that we can/must make for our children.

In the year of America's birth, in the coldest of months, a small band of patriots huddled by dying campfires on the shores of an icy river. The capital was abandoned. The enemy was advancing. The snow was stained with blood. At a moment when the outcome of our revolution was most in doubt, the father of our nation ordered these words be read to the people:

"Let it be told to the future world ... that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive...that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet (it)."

The End is not the End

If you can only go to one gallery-closing party/wake this weekend, this is the one: death is not the end @ 31grand. They do death exceptionally well and have found a way to make it a cool mini-genre. More importantly though it will be a good party and no one deserves a toast (or a hug) than they do.

Hope to see you there.

Info: http://www.art2bank.com/press/breaking-news/31grand-death-is-not-the-end-c.php

Grass Clippings approach the cost of Weed

Editor’s Note: We try to limit CountryMouse to just a few anti-New York rants per year. It’s hard enough to live here without being constantly reminded of the dirt, pettiness, corruption, trauma, and various indignities that punctuate daily life here in Gotham. In this case though, we determined that since Country’s diatribe is not limited to New York and because there are broader points contained therein, we should run the piece and let the pieces fall where they may. Enjoy.

I stopped by the local health food store yesterday to pick up some vitamin C packets to help nail the coffin lid on my broncitis. I shop at this place because it’s the closest thing to reasonable in the neighborhood. For example Kombucha costs $4 there, which is the prevailing market price in the City, but a dollar less than anywhere else in the hood. Nothing can be described as ‘cheap’ around here anymore—except the quality of the new construction, which is more like ‘shoddy’ anyway.

Well I had paid my $1 for three Emergen-C packets and turned to go. The guy at the juice counter put a tiny (1 oz) paper cup in front of me, with a thick green liquid. Thinking it a free sample, I swigged that little shot down. (My assumption was not unreasonable based on the tiny product size and the fact that there’s usually some kind of crumbled nutrition bar on a little plate at that spot). On my way out, I asked the juice-barista what it was and he told me "wheatgrass."
Not unexpected at a juice bar.

As I reached the door, the store’s only other customer, a thickly-bespectacled hipster from England yelled, "Hey! I just paid for that!"

"How much?"

"Two fifty," replied hipster and cashier in unison. "It’s really good for you, full of antioxidants," added the man whose morning concoction I had inadvertently swiped.

"It had better be at that price," was my grumple (a grumpy rumble).

Of course, it's a fad-inflated supply-demand thing just like the kombucha. Still, its a sign of a dying society that folks pay the rough equivalent of $40/pound for grass clippings and then drink it. Sebastian goes most days without seeing a single blade of grass, apart from what I grow in my flower box to keep the soil conditioned. I can never shake the contrast between that and the amount of time I’ve spent mowing, playing on, and rolling in the green stuff.

I think humanity’s future is an urban one, characterized by much increased density. Yet the human need for green is irrepressible and comes out like, well, grass through cracks in our paved lives and this is a pathetic response to that need.

I’m sorry: I know you may like your wheat grass shots in your custom juice drink and I may have offended you. I myself have written many times in praise of chlorophyll’s nutritional benefits. But a little drop of sunshine on your tongue a few times a week is no substitute for clean air, a sky that you can actually see, and a soft earth to lay on. No wonder everyone around here is in therapy.

But ya know, it doesn't have to be like that...

More Sad News

Whoa! When it rains it pours!

I came to the Lucky Cat this afternoon to ask Lilah if she could host Sebastian's birthday party. She's done so before and it's always been a blast. It turns out that the answer is "no" because they're closing.

One of my favorite spots, I liked to go there for an afternoon studio break (their cookies are amazing), a late-night post-studio cocktail (they're right across from the studio), or an afternoon visitation with Sebastian. He loved the goldfish in the garden (where I once heard some lovely, passionate sex sounds on the wind), the croissants and we all loved Lilah and Sasha. She was so sweet to Sebastian and has been one of his many friendly guardian angels and godparents (in the most pagan sense of the word).

Just the other day, he asked if we could go to the Lucky Cat after the studio. It's part of the sudio ritual for him, along with wearing the home-made shark mask and working on one of his monumental paintings. It was getting toward dinner time so I promised him we'd come back this weekend in the afternoon. Maybe get one of Lilah's prime baked omlettes or devastating pizzas.

I guess not.

Again, you can't separate the Lucky Cat from Lilah's personality. So much that was great about the place--the incredibly laid-back ambiance, the delicious fresh and organic food, the biodegradable take-out cutlery, the eclectic music and decor--was the reflection of a personal and very inclusive vision. The Lucky Cat was reggae, soul, punkrock, and more than a dash of spicy Cali-Mex, all rolled into one old-school hang-out. There was a great generosity of spirit and a personal touch that's extremely rare. and that too few people seem to value or comprehend.

It's getting harder and harder to find that. It just got a little harder...

Harbingers of Doom

Maureen Cavanaugh is the perfect artist to close 31 Grand. Her self portraits always struck me as eerily like gallery co-owner Megan Bush. Maureen's been with the gallery for quite some time and a great exemplar of the gallery's marriage of quality, gloss, and psychological intensity.

I ran into Megan Bush on the street yesterday. When I asked her about her opening tonight, she told me some sad and sadly unshocking news. They're closing their doors after this show.

It wouldn't be completely accurate to define this as the end of an era. That happened two years ago when they moved out of Williamsburg for the LES. They were one of the first and best galleries in Williamsburg and were at the epicenter of the action in many ways. Their openings down by the waterfront were always packed and the art they showed there was edgy, witty and extremely (and often pains-takingly) well executed. Their shows have always been about vision but also about quality. They've always run the place the way a gallery should be run.

The gallery cannot be separated in my mind from the two dynamic women behind it, Megan and Heather Stephens. They're both super-smart, organized, and two of the nicest people I've ever met. The opposite of flaky. At the same time, I've always felt that they're plugged into something special and that 31Grand merits watching. With their seemingly unlimited energy, instinctive and un-selfconscious style, and great taste 31 Grand is by all rights a gallery that ought to succeed.

When I asked Megan what was wrong, she said just two words: "the economy." Of course no one is exempt from this financial storm but it's especially sad to see 31Grand go down because they are right at the heart of the contemporary scene, but also ideal trail blazers for the future artworld.

I'm going to the opening tonight and will report back. More details soon, including a possible closing party.

There Goes the Neighborhood

Real Estate speculation has reached an obscene level that is effectively destroying the fabric of New York. This very fine parody, created by Nora Ligorano and Marshall Reese was part of EyeWash's excellent Artwalking show on Bedford Avenue.

Pat McGeehan's piece in yesterday's New York Times should be required reading for anyone who wants to live in, visit, or even discuss Williamsburg.

He describes the plight of the Brooklyn Brewery, which in many ways is the very heart of the Williamsburg renaissance, yet has found it basically impossible to locate a space in the borough that will allow it to expand or--perhaps--even continue it's operations. It's not because the increasingly wealthy neighbors don't want a brewery next door. On the contrary, it's universally loved. The problem is that light manufacturing has been zoned out of much of the neighborhood and those spaces that remain are being held vacant in the hopes of getting a coveted variance to build luxury condos. I won't rehash the story: you should read it yourself.

McGeehan rightly points out that the plight of small manufacturers is not limited to craft brewers. Because he's writing about business, though, he completely misses the cultural angle, which is very dear to me, and which is at least as deeply troubling.

The brewery certainly was a pioneer in the neighborhood, in a relative sense. Even before their arrival, artists were here converting early-to-mid-century industrial spaces into studios. We all know that artists are being priced out of the neighborhood and have been for some time. It's even worse than that however. When you think about light industrial production, it pretty well matches what an artist does. So the vision of a Brooklyn without light manufacturing is one that does not include artists. Very sobering to think of oneself as completely anathema (as opposed to simply foreign) to the real estate barons that control the city.

So every time I celebrate a nice cafe opening across the street, I also hear my own clock ticking. It's a simple fact of an artist's life that one must constantly relocate ahead of gentrification's tidal wave. What's happening now though is fundamentally different: this is not artists decamping from a building or even a neighborhood. This is an entire city slowly evicting its cultural class.

That is why I stopped fighting for the loft law. Normalizing the inhabitation of industrial land has had the perverse effect of opening a door through which to usher artists out of the neighborhood. So in leading the charge for more housing in North Brooklyn, the arts community has effectively written its own ticket out of here. Beware the law of unintended consequences...

Midsummer Night McCarren

One arts advocate argued in a Greenline article that the concerts and movies are not a "Hipster thing." The preponderance of brakeless bikes would indicate otherwise, as would the total absence of Latinos or anyone over the age of 45. Not the case at the City's other outdoor movie sites.

The other night I headed over to McCarren Park to photograph trees for my next set of Nocturnal drawings. The combination of street and stadium lights results in visual effects that are strange and stunning. More on that in a future entry. For now, I would like to describe something else I found there.

People! The park was crowded like a weekend afternoon. The newly installed lights on the track have already had a dramatic impact on park usage in their first year. Late into the night, the track and infield were actually crowded—something that could never be said of summer evenings of yore.

If there were hundreds of people on and around the track, there were thousands next door at the Tuesday evening film at the McCarren Park Pool. It was an amazing scene, already eclipsing more established venues, like Bryant Park or Brooklyn Bridge, on its opening night. That huge pool was packed with people so that the enormous screen looked downright tiny.



That space is so enormous though, there was plenty of room for other stuff: several tents selling beer, tacos, ice cream, coffee, and other treats. Plenty of tables and lots of space and cool little corners for hanging out. I arrived late and didn’t care about the movie, but I had plenty of company in that regard. I just chilled out with a beer, chatted with strangers, and took in one of the nicest and coolest scenes I’ve experienced in quite a while. It’s free, casual, a great place to gather with friends.

Now I understand the loyalty that surrounds the weekend concert series. The Pool is one of the finest outdoor venues I’ve ever seen. Unfortunately, I’m starting to get the sense that this loyal constituency may become an obstacle to the facility’s impending restoration back into a pool. I’ve seen a number of quotes of late, attributed to various "arts advocates" decrying the renovation as some kind of blow to the local arts scene. That may be true in the strictest sense but the temporary stage and movie screen could be erected in any open space, while this is the North Brooklyn’s only shot for an outdoor pool. Who’s to say that the new Bushwick Inlet Park with its unmatched view of the Manhattan skyline would not be equally sublime?

It should be noted that the majority of the concert and movie goers come from outside the neighborhood and of the dozens of people I spoke to on Tuesday night, only a few lived in Williamsburg and none had been here for more than a year or two. Should our children be forego this needed resource in order to serve a hungry Manhattanites’ insatiable need for open space? They’ll be welcome to use the pool, and hopefully see their concerts and movies in some other location as well.

Put this long-time arts advocate and community organizer squarely in favor of the pool. It’s the best, most needed, and most appropriate use for the space. That should be obvious but in this community which is so much better at protesting than building, one can never be sure. I love the movies and plan to go back. But the pool will be an equally amazing place, and I would hate to see the arts consituency join in the petty intra-community squabbles that have doomed the renovation numerous times in the past. Let’s enjoy the movies and concerts for one last summer and then move forward.

Citymouse Take on the Rabbit Hole

Antique fixtures and rustic furniture give the place an Old World feeling. Or old New World.

A few months ago, we reported that the Read was relocating to the Southside--right across the street from our apartment! It's open, reincarnated as the Rabbit Hole, and Citymouse crawls over there on a regular basis for some serious blogging.

As anticipated, the food's exactly the same as before--which is very good. The ambiance is even nicer. The back yard just as cool. The interior feels more alot more French Rustic than the old place and we like it better. When asked what happened to the trademark free books and magazines, owner Lawrence Elliot explained that people actually used to [intentionally] put sticky things (some of biological origin) between the pages and he was fed up. So he rightly got rid of them.

Citymouse has only one complaint: we shall have to wait for our favorite Read combination (fresh Chocolate raspberry rolled scone paired with a cold brew) until they get their liquor licence. Then perhaps it will be the perfect cafe.

The advent of the Rabbit Hole makes a difficult dilemma all the more vexing: should we go to Simple or the Tea Room or the Lucky Cat or Blackbird or now this?

Such is the difficult life of the Williamsburg Citymouse...



No other reviews available yet; previews: Gothamist Gowanus Lounge

Where's the Love?

First the "Love" note got taken down, now the whole dialogue has been removed.

Someone took down the "Love is in the air" response to the recent mockingbird bulletinboard battle. That's just sad.

Of course, I blame it on the City Itself, which renders people utterly incapable of handling Nature's slightest caprice, all the while becoming caricatures themselves.

I reiterate: someone needs to take a little vacation from the city...

Love is in the Air, Part 2

It started with a note on the bulletin board at my studio building. Something to the effect of, “Hey everyone! Call 311 about that annoying electronic bird song device that always goes off around midnight.”

Hmm.. that’s odd… I’ve never heard it (though I’m not usually at the studio at midnight. I wonder if it’s a real bird?

A few days later, a reply:

“I think it’s a northern mockingbird. They sing their mating call at night. Let us know if you discover otherwise.”

Soon, another resident chimed in:

“It’s definitely more than one kind of bird.”

And back:

“I don’t think so. Listen to mocking bird (aka nightingale) calls. They imitate everything and only sing about 3-5 reps of each song. It stopped singing at 11:06 tonight.”

“That’s very interesting. Thanks for your advice.”

With a second sheet of paper now filled, the OP posted on a third sheet,

“Last night it was quiet. If it was a real bird, perhaps he changed shifts. More plausible it was a device and someone changed the timing. All last week, two calls at a time continuous from 11:00 at night to 4:00 or so in the morning. Does not match typical bird behavior unless it was a very loud mockingbird (perhaps with an amp) and OCD. I think it man-made.”

Too much fodder for ridicule to even bother with that one. Clearly, someone needs to a. get out of the city for a while, b. start preparing for black helicopters to descend, or c. pick up some ear plugs.

On yet another sheet, confirmation of the sound’s avian origins from a fourth writer:

“I asked a birder friend—male mockingbirds run thru all the different bird call sounds to attract a mate. They only sing around midnight and when they find a mate, they don’t sing anymore. Maybe you should just hope the poor guy gets a date…”

Then some wiseacre [not me this time] tagged the corner of this last sheet with some inspirational words that brought the dialog to a nice conclusion:

“Love is in the air…in every sight and every sound.”

Cue the music. "Hush little baby don't say a word..."