nyc 06

I have been summoned by Edelman Public Relations, the advertising arm of the MFPA to join with 2 other member artists and come to the Bryant Park Hotel in midtown Manhattan and deliver a presentation to invited media outlets and a large group from a local Boys and Girl’s Club. What a tremendous offer! It was barely a year ago that I went with Anne and Amanda and the memories being so fresh I knew I’d have a ball.

Only this time Anne would not be joining me. She preferred to remain home and keep to her schedule. We both had confidence that my new attendant, PC, would manage just fine and she was thrilled to see NYC for the first time. We had both researched the internet for our respective interests and I would serve as tour guide and art interpreter.

We left around noon for the 5.5-hour flight. I secured bulkhead seating and opened the John Grisham book, “The Broker” that I had picked up at the airport bookseller. I hadn’t read one his page burners for a while and this story appeared similar to others I’d read. Featuring a lobbyist released by a controversial presidential pardon who hides out under CIA cover in Bologna, Italy while different government’s agents tighten the noose for his role in stealing a satellite network hijacked by others who have already been killed. The in-flight movie, “Ice Age 2” is enjoyable and also helps pass the time.

We land at JFK Airport and after some typical hassles with the transfer from my seat to my wheelchair, we arrive in baggage and meet Kim who has already retrieved our bags and escorts us to where Bernie has the van ready. We learn that they are engaged and will wed later next month. Our enthusiasm and conversation causes us to miss one exit and we turn back around once before arriving at the Sheraton on the Hudson. At Lincoln Harbor in Hoboken, New Jersey we check the wheelchair room that has an awesome view over the Hudson River but is anything but accessible. No matter, another room is secured and we are informed that breakfast will still be complimentary in the executive lounge in the morning. Good thing too. We’ve not eaten anything but some beef jerky and pretzels we had with us.

In checking the late news we learn that a prominent doctor has blown up his own Upper East Side brownstone in a suicide attempt to keep his wife from getting it in pending divorce proceedings. No one is killed but there are 7 injuries, his being the most severe. Even though our clock is 3 hours earlier than local time, we are wiped out and fall asleep easily.

We rise the next morning and get me duded up for my New York debut. We wait outside the executive lounge in a very hot hallway for some time before Bernie shows up with his key. Except that his key won’t open the door either. The hotel is under some construction and we wait some more until a supervisor comes and lets us in. the pickings are meager and I settle for a mini bagel and orange juice. We’re running a little behind now and I see when I’m downstairs that Robert is already in the van. His electric chair is longer than mine though and I’m unable to get in. We switch places and are off towards the Lincoln Tunnel and our rendezvous with fame and fortune. Bernie handles the crushing traffic with patient ease and delivers us to the swanky location. Bryant Park itself is a tranquil oasis nestled behind the city library and the lush green and small merry go round delight the eyes and temper the gritty urban core. Bryant Park Hotel is opulent and efficient with black walls and elevators lit in slightly sinister red lights. The Loft room is already a buzz of activity with various representatives from Edelman prepping the space with MFPA products, many terrific paintings on display, refreshments and an interactive area for people to try their mouth at painting.

My space is easily set up and PC lays out the pictures I brought with me as well as some personal press kits I had prepared that held my resume, statement, CD-Rom and small original painting. In a matter of minutes I am beginning a detailed painting of office buildings, pedestrians, cars etc. all rendered in bright complimentary colors. We are scheduled to alternate breaks for meals but I am driven to make the most of the opportunity and will eat when all is said and done. Members of the press begin to arrive and I’ve soon shared my story with Reuters and many women’s magazine reporters. Things seem to be going well and I get a wink from JM, the American publisher who is on hand to make sure all goes according to plan.

Robert has a large portrait of Superman going that he will refer to in his remarks to the children and Cindi has an exquisite watercolor mostly finished that depicts the American Flag as a rainbow in back of the World Trade Center. I have also brought paintings that were done in response to Sept. 11, 2 of a series of 25 that are mandala in shape with hundreds of small figures that are falling, rising, dancing and otherwise assembled in a pattern that inspires dread perhaps but also signifies hope and calm.

The children arrive and are directed to sit before our tables and await further orders. It is a large group, mostly minorities and some have apparent disabilities. I ask one of the Edelman agents to see if anyone is having a birthday and will sit for a portrait. One handsome young man obliges and sits to my side and I begin his likeness while Robert begins the story of his life, accident, discovery of art and his elevation in our wonderful organization. There are a few questions before Cindi begins her remarks and I have my subjects features defined and begin the shading and details. Cindi is a true professional and is inspirational and able to draw out more questions from some of the more reluctant students. Her spirit brightens the space and gives me time to finish my portrait before I’m called on to speak. I get a round of applause when we show off the painting and I relate my own story and cover a few items that round out the story of the MFPA and it’s importance in our lives.

Next it’s time for the kids to try their hands at mouth painting. There isn’t enough room for us to circulate and give directions so I paint 2 more portraits of the children while answering questions and speaking with more reporters. Everyone is called to attention and rise to depart for their buses. I finish the watercolor that I’m engaged in while Robert and Cindi begin striking their sets and having some well deserved nourishment. I feel good about the event and am hopeful that we have generated some interest and that our stories and art will further the objectives of the MFPA.

PC and I snack on some food while thanking the Edelman people and I’m glad to give one of my pins in gratitude to each one to remember our time. We arrange for Bernie to pick us up in a few hours and remove my tie before emerging onto 40^th Avenue and head towards Times Square. It hasn’t changed one iota from our visit last September. The crowds, lights, noise and bustling energy throb and pulsate and the heat raises the pitch even more. We step into the Hard Rock Café for a souvenir pin and give PC a chance to soak up the atmosphere. Before long she’s as ready as I to explore other avenues and I’m happy to know my way around and direct our steps toward 5^th Avenue and Rockefeller Center. Sheryl Crow will be singing here for the Today Show the next morning and we already know we won’t be making it. PC buys a pair of soft sandals at a nearby boutique and we spy a Barnes & Noble Bookshop for an iced tea and a chance to watch the passing parade of humanity and cool off.

We have plenty of time to stroll down 5^th Avenue and pick up bus passes on our way and check a couple galleries in a half hearted attempt to locate a small etching for my collection. What stories could be told about the characters we pass and we linger by the steps of the library before entering Bryant Park and circumnavigate the park before settling by a table near the merry go round. Before long Kim and Bernie are there and we enjoy a long and pleasant conversation about our group and recap the PR event. We should have allowed for more time to drive back to New Jersey and dinner at Ruth’s Chris with the others as traffic builds to a crawl and 2 hours later we finally arrive, hot, hungry and exhausted. Cindi has had even more difficulty with a broken bus lift but arrives via ferry with tips for getting to the Empire State Building in the morning.

We all enjoy a sumptuous meal and discuss fully the event and plans for the upcoming convention in Vienna. I then discover that it is Kim’s birthday and have one last pin to present to her. There is a stunning, orange full moon rising over the twinkling lights of Gotham and though darkness has descended, it is still humid and quite warm, even here by the water. The pressure now lifted, PC and I will have 2 more days to delve deeply into the cultural treasures of New York and be available if any media outlets request a follow up interview.

Cindi has already been requested to appear at the offices of Better Homes and Gardens in the morning for a special interview and we catch a ride with them after a filling breakfast in the hotel café. Traffic again slows our progress and Bernie narrowly avoids a ticket for an illegal turn in an attempt to drop us off before continuing on to the interview. We have the address for a Harley Davidson store nearby and PC picks up a few T-shirts and other merchandise for friends back home.

The famed collection at the Frick is my first destination and we enjoy the view along Central Park as we near this small but exquisite museum. I’m obligated to enter through the basement and pass garbage bags and security cameras before sitting amazed at the outstanding pieces of art presented in a superb setting. Magnificent paintings by Rembrandt, Goya, Vermeer and many others that have been featured in art history books that I have studied since I was a kid. I’m able to share my knowledge with PC and we would have enjoyed seeing the temporary exhibit on Etienne Leotarde but still had designs on seeing the Guggenheim Museum and wrapping up at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

It’s a fair hike to the Guggenheim but PC has become adept at moving my chair up and down the curbs and the heat is only mildly oppressive. We are pretty hungry by the time we get to Frank Lloyd Wright’s spiraling edifice. The admission is free for me and we stop in the crowded museum café for a quick panini before embarking on a tour of the collection. I am underwhelmed by the featured exhibition by a gifted architect/artist/designer from Japan, Zaha Hadid. It is probably just as well since we desire as much time as possible at the Met. There are selections from the permanent collection by Pollock and Kandinsky that are well worth viewing and it is instructive to see how Pollock arrived at pure abstraction through the figure and Kandinsky achieved the same through the landscape. The building’s exterior is undergoing major renovations and the unusual curving architecture is squared off with scaffolding that provides more shade for the milling crowds outside.

I’m excited to view a comprehensive exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum by an artist that I am only casually aware of, Anne-Louis Girodet de Roucy-Trioson. The exhibition features over a hundred paintings and drawings that describe his theories, techniques and inspirations that educate and amaze. We are determined to stay until closing and I’m delighted to introduce PC to art movements, artists and subject matter that describe in detail the creative efforts of history’s most talented people. We really don’t take in the collection in any chronological order but let the museum surprise us as we wander freely. There is also an incredible showing of Rembrandt’s drawings that I’m familiar with in reproduction and there are also many of his extraordinary etchings to view.

We make an attempt to dodge the museum guards who are getting into position to sweep the galleries of visitors. We pass through the ancient Egyptian rooms and get our pictures taken in the vestibule of the temple of Dendur. Our last galleries are in the American Wing and I wonder if I would feel comfortable in Frank Lloyd Wright’s room for very long. It’s so composed to reflect his particular vision of tension.

We’ve seen the rain coming down and heard the thunder. It appears as though a front of nasty weather is brewing and it’s heavy by the time we reach the exit. We wait for a while and make a dash for the bus when it lets up slightly. By the time we get to 49^th Street it has abated and we casually stroll over to Rockefeller Center for a mediocre Chinese takeout dinner. We have some time and relax in the plazas on our way to the Eugene O’Neill Theater for tonight’s major entertainment…… “Sweeney Todd”

This bitter tale of murder, revenge and mistaken identity unfolds on a dark stage where a cast of 10 sing, play instruments and act their roles set in London in the 1890s. The barber of Fleet Street does his dirty work to the end and his blade slits the throats of his victims who don red streaked lab coats and become the undead. For some reason it was quite chilly in the theater and when we went outside at intermission to warm up we noticed that the air was heavy and I feared it might rain some more.

We had some idea where the ferry landing was but not sure how long it would take to get there so when the show was over we bolted out the doors. The crowds severely impeded our way and the going was slow but PC was reluctant to head down the side streets where we might get rolled. It started to rain. Then it started to rain HARD. We ducked into a small eatery and asked directions to the ferry landing and couldn’t get any help. With no choice but to push on we struggle through a gale with lightning booming overhead. My glasses were useless and PC’s sweatshirt was a sponge. We were both soaked to the skin and the flash floods down every street submerged my shoes completely. Knowing we were close we stopped at a garage and got proper directions for the last 3 blocks and are relieved, weary and drenched as we get our tickets for the crossing over to Jersey.

PC is elated that we had made it and we congratulate each other while waiting for the passenger ferry. It’s dark and we can’t make out exactly where we are pulling in but I have an uneasy feeling when we dock at a terminal rather than the dock. We discover that the Sheraton is a good 2 miles away and then to our continued bad luck we find that the only shuttle buses operating aren’t accessible. We ask the driver to leave some teabags in our room to warm up when we finally get there and start rolling. The rain has stopped and the warm air is not unpleasant and the lights of Manhattan are entrancing as we roll along the freshly paved sidewalks. Before long though we encounter construction and no curb cuts or even road shoulders. The traffic isn’t too heavy and we manage to get around it and pass by a Charthouse Restaurant just before finally getting to the Sheraton.

There’s no tea in our room but we are both so drained that we probably wouldn’t have had any anyway. There’s no way my shoes will be dry by morning but we hang our clothes on the shower rod and assail our pillows for a well deserved night’s rest.

For our last full day in New York we have decided to see the Empire State Building and explore Greenwich Village. We catch the water taxi and are happily surprised that a shuttle bus on the Manhattan side is easily summoned to deposit us at the tallest skyscraper in town. Cindi had told us that she had no problem getting ushered to the front of the line on account of her wheelchair and indeed we are escorted to the express elevator and soon are taking in the 360 degree view. We can see across the Hudson River to New Jersey and appreciate the distance we negotiated the previous night. It’s a beautiful sunny day and the light haze allows a view of 10 miles in any direction.

After a few souvenirs we descend to the street and get our heading for an excursion into the creative heart of New York. I love the atmosphere in Greenwich Village and the balanced blend of homes, businesses and schools lends a neighborly feel to an otherwise busy urban scene. We hear some music emanating from a street corner off Union Square Park and enjoy a spirited version of the reggae classic, “Rivers of Babylon” by a quartet of saxophone and percussion.

In negotiating a curb cut my left front wheel rides into a crack and the tire begins to come away from the rim. In a flash a well-dressed man reaches out to help reset it as PC holds the chair up. Next time we’re not so lucky. An abrupt stop wrenches my right front wheel and now the wheel wobbles wildly when we go too fast. A hardware store sets us a little better with the purchase of an allen wrench set.

I notice the famed Cedar Bar, where artists, writers and performers have gathered for decades and stop in for lunch. The wonderfully appointed space features a finely carved bar and we adopt the one table by the window. I can feel the ghosts of Pollock, de Kooning and Gorky debating the various aspects of visual preoccupation. PC has a large beef melt and I the chicken salad. We ask if there are any souvenir coasters or matches but there aren’t any now that smoking is prohibited. As we’re paying the bill one of the cooks, a corpulent fellow with a long mustache, slips us one of the menus. Washington Square Park is very close and I’m anxious to see if the pin I placed near the arch is still there. Sure enough, the broken concrete has protected it well. I notice that someone has tied a thin blue cord around the post’s head. We take some pictures and we relax and enjoy the scene. One fellow asks us to a rally in support of protesting a plan to cut down many of the trees.

My friend Sharon has recently opened a new yoga center near Union Square Park and I’m looking forward to feeling its healing energy and leave her a note along with a book of my father’s illustrations. Jivamukti continues to grow in scope and depth every day. The new franchise is a haven of spirit, heart, mind and body. It features a café now and I am reminded of Sharon’s first venture in the restaurant business, “You are What You Eat”, an establishment in Interbay where I spent most of my time when I was first moving from home.

We next head towards 3^rd Street where we catch an uptown bus and get off on 40^th. It’s a bit of a climb as we make our way west toward the Transit Authority and arrange for transportation to Newark Airport tomorrow. It’s a creepy area and the rush is at a mad pace. I wait for PC to get information and see a pimp try to hustle some beautiful blond triplets. The river crossing is trouble free and we’re soon resting in our room and preparing for dinner. I dictate a few postcards and catch up on news while PC begins packing.

We had a hilarious and rather embarrassing incident over dinner at the Charthouse Restaurant. The fabulous setting looking out at the New York Skyline is exquisite with the setting sun gleaming off the building’s glass. I order a salad with my Mahi Mahi and am about halfway through it when I look down and see a small bolt swimming in my dressing. It was a bit of a shock and I’m not sure what to do. PC suggests the waitress know and then the manager comes over. He is gracious to a fault but I can tell he’s checking me out for fraud. We decline his offer of drinks or a salad replacement and says he’ll take something off the bill. Halfway through my delicious entrée I look closer and realize that the bolt in question has come off the splint I wear to hold my fork. I choose to give the waitress a bigger tip in an effort to return their grace.

Back at the hotel we enter our room and discover a letter from the management expressing their regrets that they could not provide transportation the previous night. They write off our room and have left us teabags and some sweetened popcorn as compensation. Throughout this trip we have relied on the kindness of strangers and they have responded with genuine compassion.

One more example of this occurs the next day when we make arrangements to have a Lincoln town car take us to the airport. Heavily tattooed roadies from Kenny Chesney’s tour are staying at the hotel and PC enlists their help in loading. Once we’re at the airport I get most of the way out and then a helper lifts me the rest of the way. I will have 10 transfers by the end of the day and manage to maintain a reasonable humor. Once I see that the in-flight movie isn’t interesting I dedicate my time to my book and have it finished before we land.

We were 2 hours late getting off and we are happy to finally get home. Anne’s smiling face is a joy to behold and we relate stories while driving PC home. The journey fulfilled my dreams and all our difficulties were overcome. Our organization has again challenged me and provided a cultural exploration on a world class level.