We Walk on the Grass

Stevie Smith's "The Pleasures of Friendship," brings a rare exclamation point to our summer series Poetry or Motion. And, as always with Stevie Smith, the question of tone. Mind how you walk.

The pleasures of friendship are exquisite,
How pleasant to go to a friend on a visit!
I go to my friend, we walk on the grass,
And the hours and minutes like moments pass.

Bryant Park (June 2014)

A World in My Thinking

I didn't expect an entry from Texas for our summer Subway Stanzas series. Sometimes the poem and image just fall into your lap. In this case, at the Folk Art Museum's show, Self-Taught Geniuses (closes today!).

In the World, Consuelo González Amézcua (1962)

I have a world in my thinking
Full of joy and full of art
For Del Rio I am always singing
School of arts I couldn't afford
And for that I thank the Lord
For what he has give me is the truth
For him I write
And carve a stone
And make a drawing
And sing a song

The drawing, completed in ball-point pen, and song above were both created by Consuelo González Amézcua, known as Chelo. Born in Mexico, she was brought to Del Rio, Texas, by her family when she was 10 years old. According to the Museum's catalog, she "had hoped to attend art school, the death of her father in 1932 prompted her to remain at home with her mother and sister. She took a job at the local Kresge’s department store and lived in Del Rio for the remainder of her life." 

Art school's loss, perhaps our gain.

Madonna on the Block

Yesterday's post reported on the City's take-down of a tree outside my building. This morning, as I was walking past the remains, I noticed something on the stump. A card? Closer inspection revealed a praying figure. The Virgin Mary, I assume.

Did someone leave it as a tribute to the tree of life? I flipped it over: An advertisement for Botanica Elizabeth, promising Salud Dinero Amor. I turned it back over.

Roof to Stump

When I realized what was going on outside my building, I went up on the roof to have a look.

10 minutes later, the canopy came down.

When I got back that afternoon, one less tree, one less parking space (for the moment).

In Red Weather

The mountains of Rego Park?

Strange weather, like yesterday's downpours, sun breaks, and cloud mountains--not to mention, "super moons"--makes me think of Wallace Stevens' "Disillusionment at Ten O'Clock."

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
in red weather.

Read it on the subway. Try not to dream of baboons and periwinkles.

NYPD Brillo

One of the exhibits in the newly reopened Queens Museum tells the story of Andy Warhol's mural for the New York State Pavilion of the 1964 World's Fair, 13 Most Wanted Men. Warhol created silkscreen portraits from the mugshots of 13 of the NYPD's most wanted fugitives from justice. Not surprisingly, the police and many others objected and it was removed and replaced by Warhol with a large silver square.

(Courtesy Andy Warshol Museum)

Around this time, Warhol was beginning to create the Brillo and Campbell soup boxes that would explode his reputation and excite much ridicule of "Modern Art." The stack in the center of the museum's floor vaguely recalled something I'd seen just moments ago walking across Flushing Meadows Park, the scene of the crime in 1964.

Grand Central Artway

I finally made it to the newly reopened and renovated Queens Museum on Sunday. I entered the museum from the Flushing Meadows Park side. Nothing new here: The museum has always had a great view of the Unisphere. I came out on the other side (more about what I saw in between later). Like stepping directly onto the Grand Central Parkway. That feels right for the Queens Museum, which owes its existence to the Worlds Fairs of 1939 and 1964--those celebrations of the Modern World. What epitomizes the that world better than the freedom and convenience of the automobile, and the highways that allow us to enjoy them?

The GCP was built in the early 1930s as one of New York City's glorious parkways. It was expanded, and became considerably less park-like, in 1961 in preparation for the World's Fair. Here's a picture of the museum and the parkway during the fair:

(Courtesy Queens Museum)