VA4RNNRS

To better understand the title of this offering, please click over to Liz Robbins' posting about on-the-run hydration on the New York Times' RunWell blog.


Notwithstanding its porn-star title, Dick Woods Road is a beautiful and wholesome place to run--and a very challenging Long Run.

Maybe it's just the time of year but I feel like I'm living in some kind of Arcadian Paradise. Simple pleasures like the morning run seem simply sublime during these last days of summer. It doesn't hurt of course, that Piedmont Virginia is stunningly beautiful. And the region is living up to its hype as a destination for runners.

Take, for example, my most basic can't-be-bothered-to-think-where-to-go run. It's an eight miler out-and-back that winds up the side of a mountain to Monticello. Half the run is through the lavishly (and expensively) landscaped Saunders-Monticello Trail. That portion is crushed gravel and about a mile of boardwalk, which allows the many seniors in the area to enjoy the Mountain Laurel, Rhododendron, and towering oaks. There is one gnarly interstate cloverleaf to negotiate at peril and a killer hill back to the front door. But on balance, what better way to start a day than a prance through the woods and a sip from the fountain at Thomas Jefferson's place?

That route is one of dozens in my quiver, each with its charms and challenges.

Today I needed a long run and I wanted to try something new, so I rode out to Dick Woods Road, a dirt country lane where the UVA runners like to train. Outrageous. Rolling hills and winding curves through the horse stable, pastures, and pocket woodlands that make this region so special. Up and down it meanders to the very feet of the Blue Ridge--a magnificent backdrop for training. The soft gravel surface leaves the body remarkably ache-free at the end, yet it also adds to the strength required to traverse its length (eight miles out and eight miles back).

All inspired from being quoted in Liz' piece referenced above (yes, I want you to read it), I decided to practice what I preach and stash a fluid bottle at the quarter-way point, which I would revisit and retrieve at the three-quarters point on the way back. That sets up a nice epilogue, quoted straight from my follow-up email to Liz:

So I did a long run today on a breathtaking dirt road that ended right at the toes of the Blue Ridge. On the way back I caught up with a fairly hot female runner and chatted with her for a while as we ran. Soon we pulled up to a crossroad where I had stashed a fluid bottle, I offered her a drink as it's a beautiful but very dry day and we had both already run about 12 miles at that point. Just then, she pulled up short, stooped down and seemingly out of nowhere she produced a bottle of her own from the tall grass alongside the road. We both laughed and went our separate ways (or, rather, paces).

Later, after as I drove back along the course to take pictures (I would not be caught dead running with a camera or cell-phone), I saw her going by in her super-dusty truck, fresh from retrieving her hidden bottle. We both smiled and waved.

All charged up from the lovely symmetry of life, flush from an invigorating run, and delightfully mellow with endorphins and some shockingly good Mexican food I picked up at gas station on the road to Ivy (who would have expected that?), I came home, cranked out this blog entry and am now ready for a delightful day full of beauty and happy surprises.

My Poussin Painting Weekend

So glad we could introduce one of our favorite people--Rachel Liebling (center)--to one of our favorite places--the Goshen Pass. This shot is from the porch of James' parents' so-called cabin. It's more like a compound than a cabin.

It is difficult to imagine a more relaxing or wonderful weekend than the one I just spent in the Goshen Pass. Looking back on it in retrospect, I see that it was special for reasons far beyond the fun and interesting things we did. It was a time when Life really opened up for us in all her beauty, and with a quiet message to embrace it now.

Our friend Rachel was spending the week with us and she brought all kinds of enthusiasm, music, good ideas, helping out around the house and playing with Sebastian. After school on Friday, we all loaded up and drove alongside the Blue Ridge to the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. We visited some studios, took a gorgeous swim (I can never help myself), and had a lovely dinner with the fellows. It was great to taste once again Chef Rhonda’s offerings but also to reconnect with the chef herself. She lives in Charlottesville, very close to us, and I hope to get together with her here in the near future.

After dinner, we drove into the sunset and through the fog of a high pass over the mountains and along the Maury River to the Cabin. We’ve been going to “the Cabin” for many years and it’s a major reason why we moved back to Virginia, so we could be closer and go there a few times a year rather than every few years.

Our friend James had a family place on the Goshen Pass, one of the most beautiful places east of the Mississippi. When his family’s lifetime lease on their cabin turned out to be considerably shorter than agreed, James landed on his feet by acquiring an even more beautiful piece of land with a cluster of Civil War era cabins, right across the river, just this side of where the pass closes in around the Maury and a narrow winding road. He and his friends have been renovating the cabins slowly and lovingly for the past ten years. Though the precise locale has changed somewhat, the atmosphere has been constant. So, the Cabin is more about the place, and a state of mind, than a single building. It's about the way we breathe there, and who we spend time with.

James and Marni on the steps of the under-construction cabin.
Photo: Sebastian. Note the waist-high perspective, which is always a dead give-away when he takes the camera.

In fact, we had thought that we would be sleeping in a tent this time, but since most of the cabin owners were away, we were able stay in possibly the most beautiful one. It was the best of both worlds: completely rustic but tightly constructed, beautiful and bug-proof, with a boys’ room that was paradise for our Sebastian.

Morning and afternoon, we skinnidipped in the Maury River, one of the cleanest rivers in Virginia and even from atop the tallest boulder, with which the valley is strewn, we could not see any signs of civilization. To the west, the Allegany Mountains came right down to the water, in an unfurling of ridges and laurel-filled pocket canyons. To the east, the Shenandoah Valley spread in Jeffersonian splendor. The water bounced through the rapids, clear and glistening in the last rays of August, the air so fresh and with a little hint of coolness. It was bliss to dip my head in the water and warm on the rocks.

After dark, we had a communal feast with James, his partner Marni, and our long-time friend-in-cabin-fun Nancy, who is renovating another of the cabins. We toasted Virginia with some champagne we had been saving, a house-warming and farewell gift from our friends Amelia and Mark. After dinner, a beautiful fire—another part of the cabin tradition. By the fireside, we reconnected with the man who lives on the adjoining farm, a bluegrass musician named Cochran and his artist wife and their artist friend who was visiting from (where else?) Greenpoint.

Other highlights included, in no particular order, bare feet in the dewy grass, morning sun on Castle Rock, a run through the silent and misty pass, chatting with old man mushroom hunters, a photo expedition with Sebastian, Lincoln Logs in a log cabin, a beer run that included getting lost (maybe the best part of the trip) and brunch at the Mill Creek Café, the kind of place that’s neither extraordinarily good, nor particularly cheap, but that must be visited.

You can rest easy: Virginia still has her share of freaks.

We drove home through the perfect summer afternoon, with dry air, blue sky, hills all around—Virginia was showing off her full splendor. We stopped by Springtree (the communal farm where Meredith grew up) just long enough for cookies and to show Rachel around the place. She had a bus to catch, so no time for a dip in the hardware, a garden tour, or peaches on the way back. We’ll save those for a later visit, which I sincerely hope will be soon.

After a sad farewell to Rachel back in Charlottesville, I felt a desolation much stronger than I have felt in some time. It is always sad to say farewell to a friend after a wonderful visit, and it’s always harder to be left than to leave. It was an amazing weekend and I was sad for it to be over, yet it is only as I am writing this that I understand the contours of that bittersweet feeling.

As I sat with my friends on the river that last afternoon, that slight chill in the air was important. It hid in the shadows and whispered in the breeze and it would be easy to miss it while baking on those rocks or swimming in the stream, which was still quite warm. But the message was there: Summer was beginning to take its leave, as it does this time every year and it is something that I always sense very acutely and it always leaves me a little melancholy.

Summer is my favorite season, it is when I feel most alive. Although I like the bustle of back-to-school and the brisk Fall air Summer’s passing always makes me a little sad, whether its about the changing of the Seasons or the Passage of Time. I am grateful for the winds’ whisperings because I hear in them an alert to be sure to embrace the Now, for it is fleeting. We still have plenty of time left, but we had better use it well, for it will not be around forever.

One final note: Thank you James. It's good to be back.

Patty Fab

Among the many cool and/or wacky things in this photo, note the sailboat whose bowsprit has punctured the lighthouse, fatally wounding it. The nameplate reads, "Brant Point, Nantucket."

During my periodic visits up to New York, my lodging consists of a cobbled together collection of couch surfing, spare bedrooms, house- and pet-sitting. There are some clear disadvantages to this approach but there are some great benefits, many quite unexpected.

For example, this current time, I wasn't sure where I would stay so I listed house-sitting availability on facebook. Right away my friend Patty said she needed a cat-sitter and the dates worked out pretty well.

It's fair to say that I knew Patty somewhat but not nearly as well as I would have liked. I was in for a very pleasant surprise when I first encountered her space.

From a realtor's perspective the place is very good but not amazing--big one bedroom in a nice building on a still-interesting block of the Upper West Side. But the way Patty inhabits the place is truly extraordinary, a real lesson for one such as me who is thinking about his own new space.

The apartment, with its many shelves and surfaces, is full of artifacts, talismans, books, mementos, and works of art by her hand and others', almost like a museum.

Here's a small example. Her shower curtain is made of clear plastic with many pockets, each with a postcard, from exotic places, with birthday wishes, vintage dime novel covers, or watercolor reproductions--a lot to look at and quite expressive. And that's just the shower curtain.

This is a place to spend some time looking around, a place that lifts me up simply by being there. In arranging to house sit and take care of patty's cats I was hoping to find a place to sleep between working, running, looking at art and all the many things to do in the City. I think that's how many New Yorkers view their dwellings.

Patty's place is about something more. It feels rewarding just to be there, to explore the many treasures she has collected and actually curated. It's a wealth that comes from within her, a very physical expression of the artist she is.

It's a gift she has generously shared with me and one I did not expect.

Sun of the Beach

Like our President, Sebastian finds himself in a gigantic hole, not of his own making...

It has been ten years since I’ve been back to Chincoteague, where I had had been every summer as a youth and I was surprised how little had changed. There are a few more beachy-schlockity shops crammed along Beach Drive but hey, it’s a beach town, right? Everything seems to have a fresh coat of paint and it feels more, well, prosperous. Of course we’re all upset that our favorite seafood buffet is replaced by “that Mexican Place” (actual name of the joint) but everything changes.

I always felt like it was a sleepy and depressed fishing town overlooking a once-spectacular-but-played-out fishery that resented the beach combers bunking in their spare rooms. Embracing the new reality has made the place feel more fresh and vital, while providing a reason to preserve what makes the place so different.

The nearby beaches on Assateauge, on the other hand, have changed a lot. There were once an elaborate network of bath houses behind formidable dunes. The dunes have washed away leaving a wide beach and two rows of oyster shell roads with parking and temporary facilities for showering, dressing, and answering nature’s call. Seems a lot more sensible actually and the beaches are flat and wide.

There was also something visual going on that took me a while to appreciate. The umbrellas and bathing suits and even the ocean seem much more vivid than what I am accustomed to seeing on Long Island. Finally, I understood: the light is much more intense. Northern light is filtered by more atmosphere, which gives it a pale, fleeting quality, whereas further south the light is more direct and brighter.

I suppose John Singer Sargent would prefer Nantucket or Montauk but I’m pretty sure van Gogh would chose Assateague.

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.

Time Flies

My last post talked about using my cell phone as an at-the-ready replacement for my lost elph. Turns out I'm not alone. One of the blogs I follow on the NY Times (Lens) has an excellent posting about cell-phone photos as an art form with tons of great submissions from readers. This shot is from Amelia & Mark's front window, where I've been staying. Thanks for putting me up guys!

Many people have asked if I feel strange to be back in New York. Same block, same building even! But no, it’s all very straight-forward and like when I lived here it was daily business: eating bagels, riding the subway, working the job I’ve had for ten years, annoying crowds on Bedford Avenue, subterranean studio, navigating (surfing, really!) the City’s complexities. It feels quite normal, really.

What does feel odd is being separated from my family and my home and all its comforts, even if many of them are still packed in boxes. I’m eager to get back to the projects I have begun back in Virginia. But no odd sentimental here-but-gone feeling I would have expected. I felt that way before I moved.

What is strange is the feeling that far more than three weeks have passed since we pulled up the stakes. That’s less time than I usually spend away during the typical summer. Maybe it’s because, as I just mentioned, my heart had moved quite some time ago. Maybe it’s because Time flows at different speeds; Hawking’s proposition that time flows in proportion to a body’s velocity. And my body has been in serious motion.

Interestingly, it’s not just my perception, everyone I talk to says the same thing,

“I can’t believe you only moved three weeks ago!”

I guess I’m living in a singularity.

A Most Dramatic Welcome

Ever since I lost my Elph, I've been trying my hand at phone photography to fill that spontaneous poloroidesque snapshot role that my SLR can't handle because it's too bulky or not convenient enough. This shot was taken while I was stuck in traffic in Newark,

This is a special moment for the blog: the first time I'm venturing into the City after setting up shop in Virginia. In a way, it's what we've all been waiting for: the CountryMouse gets his turn in the City.

I just got here and need to digest a little bit before I can say how it feels to be back (maybe it's the huge pork burrito I just inhaled?). The return trip was certainly momentous, beautiful and precipitous.

If I had very jumbled feelings about returning to the City that Never Sleeps, it was nothing compared to what was happening in the stratosphere.

Instead of the typical I-95 route, I prefer whenever possible to drive up I-81 through the gorgeous Shenandoah Valley to I-84 through Pennsylvania Dutch country. It's just as fast (if not faster) and so beautiful as to make the trip itself almost a pleasure.

Almost.

Anyway, it was a perfect summer day with that golden light falling softly over blue mountains, green forests, and tan fields of wheat and mature corn. All the way up, there were huge mounds of storm-bearing clouds to my right, the East, as I traveled North. When I turned East just past Harrisburg, I was exposed to a full-frontal view of a spectacular meteorological show. Those huge anvil clouds let loose in front of me with tons of lightning and black skies beneath the towering thunderheads. Never on me, mind you, always in front of me. It was like a show (or demonstration) set up specifically for me.

As I crossed the Lehigh River and then the Delaware, the most amazing and huge rainbow opened in front of me and stayed there for almost two hours, all the way into New York.

I-84 in New Jersey was a scene of post-apocalyptic destruction. An interstate strewn with huge trees and underpasses so badly flooded I was grateful for the gas-guzzling (but 4WD capable) vehicle I drive. I found out later that tornadoes had passed through.

Nearly out of gas from the traffic, I had to take a short detour into Newark, where I heard the quote of the day,

Man #1: “Muy Humido!”

Man #2: “Yeah, soon its gonna start to stink like Hell.”

Now I'm back in Williamsburg and the air is sultry with clothes clinging to bodies, suggestion in the air like the honeysuckle and wild rose smell back in Central Virginia. So it's not all bad.

That's why summer is my favorite time of year. I love the sweaty bodies and not needing (or wanting) to wear much. I like the long days, the dramatic weather, and the languorous erosion of the membrane that separates us from the Natural World and from one another. Not a complete dissolution-just a little bit closer and more connected.

A Shout Out to you, the Readers

Because there are so few comments on the blog, I had assumed that no one is reading it. Turns out, au contraire!!! I've been getting lots of feedback lately through other channels: Facebook, emails, even phone calls thanking me or commenting on something I've written. It means a lot to me to know that there are others relating to what I'm writing. THANK YOU!!!

We're starting to feel quite relaxed in our new environment. Note: that glass of wine is not bigger than Meredith's head--it's a trick of photography. We're not that relaxed--yet.

Maybe the best thing about moving to a new place is the joy of exploring a new environment. We‘ve been taking plenty of long walks all around the neighborhood. As a runner, I have an extended range and can poke my head all around the city and some of the environs, which are very runner-friendly. Charlottesville is very hilly and full of surprising little hollows and great views of the surrounding countryside which, at its best, can truly be called idyllic. It’s like the area around Woodstock or the Bay Area (without the ocean).

Like those lovely places, there is a wonderful appreciation for living life well. That means an amazing food scene, lots of great music, amazingly much public art, and a general desire to live life in a creative way. Those strolls around the area have provided plenty of ideas and inspiration in the form of gardens, creative color schemes, and front porches with swings.

I have a terrific studio lined up at the McGuffey Art Center, which is an old school converted into art studios—think PS 1 with studios instead of exhibition spaces (although they have that too). It’s a nice space, subsidized, and within a great community.

My lease starts in September but their board and director have been incredibly accommodating and have found me a subletter until after the marathon. I won’t be able to work there much until then (and residents are required to use the space on a weekly basis). They’ll take care of all the details such as payment. So I’m guaranteed a studio but I effectively start on December 1, which matches perfectly with what I’m doing with my New York Studio. They tell me that it’s because of the strength of my candidacy, which makes me feel pretty good. Perhaps that’s part of the payoff from the dues I paid in New York.

I haven’t really begun to explore the art scene here too much, being so focused on the house and the garden. I’m OK with that actually: I’ve taken a few weeks away from making art and from Road Runners (with occasional check-ins) in favor of setting up my new life in this new place. Hitting the ‘reset’ button is not something one can do too many times, it takes a lot of time and money. It’s perhaps even more rare to have a period of time in which so many of the usual concerns of day-to-day are put on hold in order to allow a real focus on setting things up in a smart way, just the way we want them.

So a few more weeks of intensive installing, gardening, unpacking, and arranging in our little house and yard, subjects of near-future posts.

Settling In

Wow, that was intense. Two weeks of preparing to move, moving, preparing to receive our stuff, and actually doing so has left scant time for blogging. It has been a whirlwind of motion and I’m only now getting my breath.

The reality is starting to sink in: I’m here now; I’m a Virginian. No more asking my in-laws about their state or their town. They’re our politicians and this is our somewhat off-beat place.

I have to say that I love it. I love the fact that I fall asleep to strange animal sounds, yet can walk to City Hall (where people are super-friendly) or to a concert or to an art opening. I love that I can see mountains from my street and that I can leave my bike on the porch. It’s Southern but there’s nothing strange about my rusty push-powered mower, my compost or my free-spirited ways. Organic living is at a whole ‘nother, sometimes over-the-top level here, yet there’s also the Virginia gentility. I feel quite at home here and that knot that resided in my chest in the City is gone.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m incredibly intimidated by the challenges lurking in my mosquito-infested yard, the mountains of boxes that need to be unpacked, and the sheer enormity of work I want/need to do on the house. But there’s something rewarding about pouring sweat equity into your own place.

Sebastian loves it. He has a yard to play in, a playground across the street, friends (already!) including a boy next door. He has an upstairs and a basement and his school is steps away. And it's a lot nicer than PS84. The pools around here have giant waterslides and couldn’t feel more different from the prison-like public baths of New York. Grandparents nearby.

He says: “I never want to move from this place.” I think it’s because he loves it so much but it could also be because moving is such a monumental hassle! (written 6/10)

Everything is all saturated

With the clock ticking I have a "bucket" of things to do and see before leaving.
On this day, it was Leandro Erlich's cool Swimming Pool at PS1, followed by a Solstice Celebration at Socrates.
Bucket metaphor courtesy of J-Dalt.

These last days before setting sail feel super-saturated. Each experience—a ride over the Williamsburg Bridge, a swim in the Met Pool, a drink with a friend, a trip to the health food store—feels like it could be the last of its kind. In some cases, it’s the literal truth. It is a blessing because it forces me to really pay attention, to take every interaction seriously. There’s no time for messing around.

The impending move is like a Sword of Damocles and it’s quite good really, forcing me to do—and say—the things I should have a long time ago. I too often chose to bide my time, luxuriating in the knowledge that whatever it was could always wait. Perhaps a riper moment would come along later. While each thing has its season, that can be a dangerous posture, an excuse that can be extended over and over until offerings are taken off the table, or we’re no longer in a position to accept them.

So it’s better to do things right away and not wait unless there is a very good reason.

Besides, an urgent life is richer, as I am now seeing so clearly. Small things take on a special value—an importance that is always there but too easily overlooked or taken for granted. Even my dreams have been really beautiful, rich and memorable. They make sleep an even greater pleasure than normal. Yet, when morning comes, I don’t want to miss a thing so I wake up super-alert and ready for another day and the sword that much closer. That’s how I live all the time, but the sword certainly clarifies things.

Maybe it’s not for everyone and I couldn’t always live like this but for now I like it. I am very excited about where I am going, but it also makes me happy that the place I am in makes me want to stay for one last song, one last dance, one last sunset…

A Nation of Artists?

A recent story on NPR about a new report from the National Endowment for the Arts really grabbed my attention. Basically it said that attendance (and box office) at cultural events from museum galas to craft fairs is down across the board but participation in the arts (the act of making art) is steady or even up in the United States.

The reasons for this go deeper than the current economic troubles. It looks to be more generational in scope as the audience figures are also skewing steadily older. I hope this is part of a macro-trend away from being a nation of consumers to a nation of makers/builders. That orientation between making and consuming is a pendulum that has swung back and forth throughout history and we’ve recently seen it go so far to the right it’s nearly brought the whole machine down.

I applaud the growing desire to create home-spun, living, neighborhood-based culture just as I do the explosive flowering (pun intended) of the home gardening movement. I am convinced that as Americans take more ownership of their own cultural experience, the more we will also appreciate the excellent work of art professionals.

That takes me back to the NEA study. If younger Americans appreciate art so much, (and what better way to show appreciation than by making a go at it oneself?) why are we not choosing to fund the arts by spinning the turnstiles at mainline cultural institutions?

Americans are not like Europeans: we do not particularly trust elite institutions with the decision-making or with the guardianship of our culture. We feel (rightly or wrongly) that we know our own needs better. We have a bias for mom’s oatmeal cookies over the critically-acclaimed fare at the bakery in town. It’s not a specifically about quality though: it’s about what feels right, what feels like home, what feels fresh.

A really dynamic culture needs both oatmeal cookies and delicate soufflés and while I applaud this sudden desire seize ownership of one’s own cultural landscape, the dedicated arts professionals contribute in important ways. Foremost, they (we) set a standard of excellence that no weekend painter can match owing to significant investments in education, awareness of best practices, professional-grade materials, and—most significantly—full-time attention and effort.

I envision a culture where everyone participates. Everyone sees themselves as culturally empowered, creative souls working to make all of our worlds more beautiful. At the forefront of this endeavor, professional artists light the way, inspiring the rest. That’s what a vanguard does right? But a vanguard only makes sense with an army behind it.

There’s been a lot of gloom of late about the decline in arts funding at the macro level, deflation of the Artworld bubble and justifiable questions about how that vanguard will pay its bills. The NEA study shows that from an institutional standpoint, those concerns are well justified.

But let’s don’t get too stuck on the institutions. They come and go like the tide. The real surprise of the story—the man-bites-dog part, if you will—is the real evidence that the roots are very much alive. The task before us then is to find the types of institutions and funding models that make sense in the moment we’re in to bring fruit from that healthy soil.

I have many thoughts on the subject, enough to merit a whole new thread on this blog. One idea that hit me right away was this:

I am fortunate to work with professional runners for my day job. That’s right: there are people who get paid to run. Everywhere you go, you see hobbyists running for a thousand reasons. Current science indicates that it’s a fundamental part of human biology. Kind of like art. At the front of this teeming host of runners, there is a pack of frontrunners who have dedicated their lives to what for many is a very admirable hobby, and they are making it work. There is a professional infrastructure facilitating them and the result is an inspired, healthy population chasing after them—and funding them.

Professional athletics is participant-funded, which sets it apart from other spectator-driven leagues. Sounds like there are some parallels to the cultural landscape I just described. The economics under girding professional running—race fees, subscriptions, shoe and apparel sales, corporate sponsorship, charitable foundations and development—may not be directly applicable to the arts and the model is not a perfect one but it might provide some ideas. In a future posting, I shall endeavor to investigate some parallels and glean some lessons.

For now, know this: the more people out there making art, the more excellent art we will have as a result. And the evidence looks good.

Bittersweet

When the sun's out, the City's grit can be beautiful. Other times it's plain ugly.

Leaving New York is going to be extremely bitter-sweet. I have no doubt that the decision was correct and I’m very excited about my new horizons (for example: being able to actually SEE the horizon!) and I know the next chapter will be great. I have been blessed with many notes from friends supporting me through the curiously difficult process of stepping away. I am very grateful.

Still, I cannot help but be wistful about the chapter that is now closing. The life we have here is simply wonderful, as if we have been somehow favored by angels or some divine force. It is somewhat counterintuitive to contemplate changing something that is working so well. We have many wonderful memories and the exact moment we’re in right now is very beautiful as well. But I know that the future-present will be very cool as well, if perhaps different.

This is not the first time we have pulled up stakes or thrown the cards in the air and they have always landed well and I’m sure they will this time too. There is something extra about leaving New York however. New York is all about potential and promise and it is easy to think that by leaving, we are throwing away some irreplaceable opportunities.

Yet that is precisely one of the things that bothers me most about New York. There is this collective mentality about this being the place to be and the idea that anyplace else is by default inferior and that the bold and ambitious can only get what they need here. The idea of Opportunity (as opposed to actual opportunities) is dangled in front of dreamers, idealists, and those who want to better their conditions like carrots before rabbits on treadmills.

I have been fortunate (and this time the angels have human faces) to have been engaged in some very meaningful pursuits and I have so far avoided going completely nuts with frustration. I got a lot more done and had more success before I came here and always I always profit enormously when I step away. I’ve never met so many unhappy people as I see when I look around the neighborhood streets and one ultimately has to ask, “Why slide backward and rarely get in the studio?”

I obviously cannot guarantee that I will be happier elsewhere but I am looking forward to not having the City at the table with me at all times, demanding constant attention and with an unquenchable voracity.

Don’t get me wrong: I love the City and I could write more than a thousand pages about its wonders and the amazing people that make it so special. I probably will do exactly that. What is more, I am not completely stepping away. In fact I will be in New York about the same amount of time in the as I will in Virginia during this next cycle. That says volumes about how much I love the place.

I foresaw this stepping-away quite some time ago and this split has always been there, which is why I started this blog. I now imagine many long bus rides where I will be blogging about how much I love the City versus how happy I am when I am away from it. It’s completely ambiguous and there will never be an answer. In absence of definitive clarity, I shall endeavor to sketch out what is in my heart from moment to moment and always keep searching.

That is what artists do.

Cast away your Earthly burdens

Sebastian has his wings unclipped and is flying high!

Finally Sebastian has his casts off. Whew…what a relief.

Between that, getting ready for a move, Meredith’s book tour, and a very sick cat that wouldn’t let us sleep at night, plus a job and an art career that don’t go on vacation, I must say that I had about all I could handle.

When life hands us a crisis, we just deal with each thing one at a time in the best we all can. That’s what I did and at the time although it was often annoying or tedious, it was always obvious that there were many out there with much more on their plate. For example, one reader wrote me a nice email of sympathy and she really knew what she was talking about: her child became paralyzed in a very similar mishap. So yeah: we’re pretty lucky.

It’s very good to be reminded of that in a way that is not permanent. After all—all the things that bothered me will soon pass or will do so very soon. Many people stepped forward and helped us out or simply offered emotional comfort and I’m hugely grateful for that as well.

I was gifted with a new understanding of what an impressive human being Sebastian is. He handled his predicament with astonish grace. I must say that before becoming a parent, I had no idea that my child could be a sort of role model is many ways. Parenthood is a two-way street in almost every way.

So you might say that Life’s dilemmas are gifts in many ways but I must say that they can also be quite exhausting. I’m quite relieved to have Sebastian back fully restored to health. Grateful for the lessons and looking forward to moving forward. Hopefully along a slightly easier path.

Atypical day of tourism

I had a cool day at work today: touring the marathon course on a bike. It didn't start so well though: only decaf in the house. Yikes!

Once I rectified the caffeine problem and waited for the rush hour blitz to relent, I took my bike to the L train, swiped my card and turned to the toll booth to ask the attendant to open the service gate.

Nobody home!

I was in a high-strung state of crankiness and all ready to start cursing the MTA, Bedford Avenue, and NYC in general when a woman on the other side of the gate opened it for me with an encouraging smile.

"Fellow biker," she said. She was holding a bike seat in her other hand.

I walked to the very end of the platform so as to minimize my impact on the fellow passengers but when the train arrived, all cars were pretty crowded. Now I felt a little ashamed because although I did far more than I'm required by riding off-peak and in the last car, I knew my bike would still annoy. When the door opened, there was plenty of room. And a lady with a loose dog. Not only was I well on the right side of right, but here was moral cover in the form of a passenger sure to be more annoying than me!

Actually, nobody was annoyed. We all got along and got on with our days.

I spent the day walking/biking six miles of the marathon course through Bay Ridge, Sunset Park and Park Slope. I talked to City officials, coffee shop customers, arts organizations, merchants, old ladies on the street, and moms on the playground. I really got a feel for the Fourth Avenue portion of the marathon and some interesting neighborhoods. It was a really fun day.

Except that I lost my camera along the way. Dang!

Moving On

Central Virginia is just ridiculously beautiful. We hope you'll come visit us!

By now, most people know that Meredith, Sebastian and I are moving to Charlottesville, VA, where we own a house. This is a decision we've been planning for several years and as you might well imagine, our feelings on the subject are a big jumble. Quite simply, we're very excited about what we're doing, but we also love the life we have made for ourselves in New York.

Here are the facts: we're leaving the first week in July. We'll be living in the Belmont neighborhood, which is sort of the bohemian area and very close to down town (a 15 minute walk to the city center). Sebastian will be attending Clark Elementary, the K-4 public school across the street. I will keep my job at New York Road Runners, which will require spending the majority of the autumn in New York, then scaled way back during the rest of the year. After the Marathon, I'll look for a second, and hopefully local, opportunity or something permanent and part-time like I have done in the past.

We're very fortunate to be able to step from one situation that is very good and into one that's even better. I am sure that we could be happy either place but at this specific stage in our lives and careers, Charlottesville is starting to make a little more sense. Here are some of the things we're looking forward to that we're not getting in New York:

• Contact with nature, Earth, Sky, green, and living things. That is the source of my art and sanity.
• Time/space to actually get work done. There's a lot to see and do in New York, but it's very difficult to actually get work done.
• Lower overhead. Speaks for itself, I think.
• Easier, more relaxed environment, especially for Sebastian.
• Slightly less dysfunction school system.
• Proximity to Family. Really becomes an issue with the advent of children.
• Ready supply of organic food and fresh eggs. We'll have our own private CSA.
• More affordable babysitters. Ever pay $100 to see a movie?
• Live in my own home. Not only from the American Dream perspective, but also from a standpoint of controlling one's own environment.
• We'll have our own garden and compost cycle, along with some more green-living efforts we're planning but keeping secret for now.
• Easier logistics. I love New York, but ya gotta admit: anything involvig any kind of logistics is 100 times harder than it needs to be.
• Larger workspaces. Related to the overhead issue, but there's also the possibility to work outdoors.
• Coffee/wine/dinner/etc on the deck or the front porch. What could be better or more civilized? We'll even have a front porch swing.

What it ultimately comes down to is wanting a change of pace. I don't expect Charlottesville to be quantitatively better, but it will be very, very good and certainly different. Meredith and I are pretty good about periodically changing things up. Each time we do so, we learn more and improve our lives.

This is not about bailing out of New York or quitting anything. It's about shuffling the deck a little bit and hopefully we won't lose anything. We plan to hang on to our friendships and the people that matter the most to us. Everything else is just scenery and we can always come back if we wish.

This blog, which voices both sides of my ambivalence about life in the city and the country, will take new turns. Perhaps the balance of power between Citymouse and Countrymouse will shift. That will be the subject of our next entry.

This Kid is Amazing.

I am astounded at Sebastian's high spirits. Of course, he moped for a few days after his accident (the extreme pain might have had something to do with it), but he has quickly moved on with his life and has begun to make lemonade.

One of his favorite tricks is to get on hands (or rather elbows) and knees and propel himself forward with his legs along the wood floor like a snow mobile. It's pretty hilarious and ingenious how he has quickly adapted to his new situation.

Time moves slower for children and a day seems like a really long time, so from Sebastian's perspective, he has had the cast on forever, even if it has only been ten days of real time. So he has already adapted and moved on.

There is a lesson in there for us: he's not wasting any time at all worrying about what he cannot do. He is finding the virtue in an undeniably adverse situation.

The City that Never Sleeps

Now there's an easier way to view some highlights from my City that Never Sleeps series. here. Enjoy!

Could be worse...

No tickling for 4-6 weeks. Sebastian still knows how to have fun though!

There's no too ways about it: it's not fun to have two broken arms. It's not much fun to be the parent of a kid with two broken arms either. He's completely helpless: he can't do anything that requires the use of his hands, which pretty much covers the entire spectrum of human experience. he can't even get in or out of a chair without help. It's alot of work, especially with Meredith away on her book tour.

It's impossible not to feel pity for him but I often find myself feeling sorry for pitiful me, who basically just had his life put on hold at an extremely busy time. At those moments, I try to remind myself that I'm not the one with the broken arms; he is. However cranky I may feel, he has it a million times worse.

Yet Sebastian has remained in relatively high spirits. He occasionally complains or moans or even yells but I think he's entitled. It can only be frustrating and obviously painful, yet he still does his cute little dances and makes his silly jokes and is [mostly] a fun person to be around. There are some very small side benefits as well: no more wiping his mouth on his sleeve at the dinner table, for example. There's always a bright side, right? Sometimes you just have to look really hard to find it.

I am very fortunate to have such a child, and he's fortunate to not be hurt much worse. We are, all of us, very fortunate indeed.

Feeling the Love

I didn't re-rock the Boston Marathon as I had vowed (travel schedule conflict) but I ran well in the Charlottesville Half. Fifth place and a huge personal best on a very challenging course. Very satisfactory.

Here's what made it great though. First of all several people who love me helped out from Toots' awesome pasta dinner and chocolate breakfast bites that fueled the run to Meredith and Sebastian waiting at the finish line. They certainly made me feel like a winner. The other thing I'll always remember is the dream I had the night before. After the usual pre-race tossing and turning I drifted into a deep sleep and dreamt that I ran super-well, took third place and picked up some prize money. It was like an angel leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Relax: you got this."

I'm surrounded by people who love me and I have a second reservoir of love coming from the inside. That's the result of good parenting and the one love cannot really be separated from the other.

April is one of the most amazing parts of the Natural Calendar and I’ve missed it the past few years by being trapped in the City. Here at Springtree it’s been soggy, misty, and lovely—like living inside a Nick Drake song. Everywhere things are sprouting from the ground or blooming from the trees. There is a very healthy tulip poplar along the walkway from one house to the other and it’s just exploding with vitality. I can easily see the progression from hour to hour as its leaves slowly, but visibly, unfurl. The orchards and forests and woods and roadside pastures are just riots of color.

Such a blessing to be here for Easter and to mark Spring’s arrival. Spring is the least assertive/aggressive of the seasons. She doesn’t seem to mind all that much if you don’t notice her presence—or her passage. Sebastian and I have been fortunate to be able to explore some of the wonderful things about spring that are so easily missed: violets in the grass, babies in nests, trees adorned in blossoms, the garden starting to show the first sprouts that will be the summer’s cornucopia.

When I was a child my mother would take me on walks through the woods and tell me about maypole dances and other pagan celebrations that we’ve somehow managed to lose. But Springtime endures, even if we don’t know how to celebrate it properly. She does her thing every year, quite in the open, and we are always invited to join in the bliss. Even if we as a people don’t take much time to savor it, I will make sure that I breathe deeply. And my child will know it as well.

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.

My newest drawing

Venerablis. Charcoal on painted birch plywood, 48" x 48" 2009

Here's the latest in my series of big tree drawings. It brings together so much that is good about the earlier ones and goes much. much further. In fact, the other day I had one of the earlier ones leaning against the wall along side so I could photograph it and I was almost embarrassed. Well, you want them to each be better than the previous.

I am especially pleased because this is part of the group of six major pieces that are going to William and Mary for their new law library. The drawings are meditations on wisdom, persistence, aspiration, ancientness, awe, and quiet power. I could hardly imagine a better or more appropriate setting than a library. I hope they impart something in today's scholars and tomorrows leaders.

I'm also really grateful to William and Mary for choosing my work in the first place, but for allowing me to include a work that was very much in progress at the time of selection.

China: We like your tower but not your "Freedom."NYC: Consider it gone!

The Port Authority has finally signed its first tenant for the 102-story tower to be built at One World Trade Center, formerly known as the Freedom Tower. A Chinese real estate interest has agreed to take five floors with a stunning caveat: they get to veto the name. Granted, there is no official quid pro quo, but the fact that the two developments (both of which have been in the works for almost a year) were announced in the same release unmistakably links the two phenomena.

So, just as the Chinese Government blocks its citizens from reading dissident (or even many mainstream) web sites, so they're able to censor the terminology used on the sacred 9/11 site. Not good.

It's all the more disturbing on the heels of Chinese grumblings about US monetary policy, the dollar as international reserve currency, and stimulus rules about foreign steel (which is standard practice world-wide for government construction projects.)

China is unmistakably starting to flex its economic muscles as well they should (from their perspective). I don't begrudge that nor am I overfond of the Freedom nomicker. After all the F word has indelible associations with the Bushies and has been used too often as a bludgeon against our overseas cousins. I can see why they or any entity would want to rid the tower of Pataki's unfortunate choice of names.

I am very disturbed though about what it says about us. First of all, the PA sold our freedom on a symbolic level for a less than 5% rental stake. How much would actual freedom cost? 40%?

More disturbing is the message about real estate. Eight years after 9/11, this behemoth office tower has exactly one tenant. Maybe it shouldn't be built? The thought of a hundred+ story darkened lighthouse keeping watch over the city is very grim indeed. Would it mean New York is officially done?

On the bright side, real estate gluts are good for artists but what tends to happen here in hard times is that you overpay AND have broken-window blight next door.

I do no wish to be a downer on a gorgeous Spring day but if that vertical shaft is a thermometer, today's reading looks rather chilly.

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Update: Coincidentally, today's Leonard Lopate show has an excellent discussion about the evolving meaning of Freedom.

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.

Season's Greetings

What better way to greet Spring on its first day than to get the he11 out of town?

That's what I did: after dropping Sebastian off at school I high-tailed it up to Rockefeller State Park Preserve for a beautiful long run through the woods and fields. I basically had the place to myself--my only company was birds, livestock, and a group of gardeners busily readying the place for the new season.

It was simply gorgeous, with a soft and filtered light, cool fresh air and birdsong everywhere. The snow flurry just made the whole thing somehow sweeter, as the 40+degree temps laughingly told winter to stop teasing.

It's Springtime now.

Growing when others are shrinking

Editor's Note: This is the first in our occasional series of profiles of people who are finding success through approaches that defy the conventional wisdom.

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Lisa Cooper and Joan Daidone have been slowly growing their art consulting business for several years now. This past winter, in the middle of the "Great Recession," they opened a brick-and-mortar gallery. At a moment when so many galleries are pulling down their huge garage doors and turning off the track lights, it's really refreshing and encouraging to see two smart women betting on the upside.

Unlike hedge funds, derivatives, or bundled and securatized mortgages, art isn't going anywhere. Art is integral to our very humanity and it has always been and will always be. In fact, I'm guessing that my modest art collection is holding its value far better than my 401(k). It wouldn't take much, right?

Of course that's not why we collect art and it's not why we make art.

Art as a touch stone for positive change is at the very heart of Lisa and Joan's mission. I met them at last year's Affordable Art Fair and we had a lengthy conversation about art's capacity to help us find meaning in our daily lives. It was very fitting to have the conversation at a venue designed to foster new collectors. They're very passionate about it--and they donate a percentage of their proceeds to two art-related charities. They know what they're talking about when it comes to art and they definitely walk the walk.

Good intentions are all well and good but they don't amount to much without a solid business plan. That's what is so exciting about their trajectory: they have been very careful and methodical. They started with art parties and appointment-only residential viewings. They added a few art fairs to their portfolio, which makes sense given the high percentage of revenue most galleries pick up on the art fair circuit. Now they have taken the next logical step, which is to open a brick-and-mortar gallery with regular hours. But they've been careful and smart about it: the space is in Riverdale and it's not huge. They have their overhead very much under control.

It is a smart combination of ambitious courage with an extremely humble and incremental approach that matches their mission of changing the world one work of art at a time.

They're growing when others are shrinking and you can only wish them the greatest success.

I have a feeling they'll do pretty well.

People we admire

Things have been going pretty well for Citymouse and Countrymouse of late. The career's going well, family life is rocking, a few irons in the fire and a chicken in the pot. Still, in these bleakish times we can all use a little good news right?

In addition to the usual Love/Hate the City Stuff, the Arcane Musings, the Neighborhood News, and the occasional self-promotion, we're adding a new thread to the blog about people we admire--particularly those who defy the conventional wisdom and do things in a new (and cool) way.

These people lift us up with their energy and the good example they set but on a more fundamental level, they give us new ideas and help us see things in a new way. Most people we know are quite open to suggestions these days.

Please email any suggestions or link us to stuff you may have written.

Enjoy.

Citymouse|Countrymouse

Computer Problems

Well the Blue Screen of Death finally check-mated me and took my computer down. But I overturned the board and made sure he doesn't do that again. I'll buy the next one from a different company.

While I'm waiting on the new machine, I'm computer surfing (or posting from my phone), which makes it more difficult to blog and a real big pain to post photos.

So please hang in there for the next few weeks while the photos are a little more rare.

Thanks for the patience.

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.

Old vs New

The other night some friends and I were [inevitably] talking about the economy. Someone noted that one of our artstar friends is really hurting, has to sell one of his houses and is being taken to the cleaners. "Suddenly he's back to being the old X." As opposed to the new artstar X. Of course that got me thinking.

I'm kinds getting back into the old Citymouse/Countrymouse guy myself. Suddenly not having any $ is cool and what a refreshing change. It's like waking from a very boring dream and the sun is shining. I'm cooking yummy things (instead of ordering takeout). I'm entertaining (instead of going out). I'm kicking butt in the studio. I decided not to run Boston (in part for lack of funds) and suddenly I'm kicking @$$ on the track.

Part of me likes this new paradigm. It favors the creative, the agile. I was actually better off before the bubble. And oddly more successful. Now the boom's gone and the old ass-kicking me is cool with that.