Wednesday, October 27, 2010


I bet many people keep a running list of art they'd like to have in their very own dream home of art and music ("DHoAM"). My list includes works by Gonzalo Fonseca and Irving Petlin, among others.

Today I stepped into the Century Club to take a look at Paul Resika's Blue Wave, the postcard of which sits on a desk where I work. The painting is of a lighthouse, a circled sun, and triangles. There is also a prow. I don't know . . . I might like my postcard image more than the actual painting. Maybe the white frame threw things off for me.

Other paintings caught my eye.

Tony Bechara's Self-Portrait turned out to be the first work to add to my DHoAM--although, in truth, I would bestow it upon a friend, ideally for his DHoAM.

Richard Anuszkiewicz's Red Edged Gordian I would keep for myself and likely hang and rehang depending on the season. I like the painting, the title, and, in particular, the absence of a hyphen.

Morton Kaish's New Day I would place over the sofa, immediately.

Louise Peabody's Long Distance Swimmer I I'd probably deliver to Michael's so it could hang out with that painting of the seated man from the back. Kim Somebody is the painter. If I remember correctly.

I was told that there is no Frankenthaler on the walls at the Century Club.

Afterwards I walked over to the Public Library in search of a yellow warbler who's been making news, so said a club member, on invitation-only birder lists. Apparently somebody tried to feed the bird bread, not knowing that one should serve worm, and at some point, the bird dined on a slug taking exercise somewhere between Patience and Virtue.

When I arrived, early afternoon, the little bird was nowhere to be found. "Excuse me," I said to man with a sizable camera. "Are you here to take a picture of the bird?"

He replied, "No, but you're the second person who's asked me."

We laughed and I stood for a moment scanning the lions and the trees, vaguely thrilled to know that the bird had been there at all and also excited to be on such a daffy, pointless treasure hunt merely to make myself happy.

This came after the Century Club.

Pre-Century Club--before the no bird and the mate for the man at Michael's and the Gordian knot I didn't know I was looking for--there was this exhibit on East 53rd Street, at the Arts & Business Council, put on by Studio in a School.

So, then, from the caption on Brooklyn first grader Concheta L.'s collage (mostly paper and raffia, I'd say):

My goat is hery.

Naturally, after smiling at the creative spelling, I thought of the way hedgehog is pronounced in French.

[Note: the hedgehog photo is uncredited because I could not find a credit.]

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