Home on the Range

New York? I was ready to paint the town red! Remarkably, the actual travel experience was quite serene, an on-time arrival and departure, accommodating and friendly airline staff, a clean plane, an easy ride into the city. Contrary to all the bad reports, travel CAN be just fine, or maybe I was just lucky. Thank you, Continental Airlines!

Although I love my little Shelburne Hotel, I thought after seven years, it would be enlightening to expand my horizons by staying in a BIG property. I also felt that since I would not be following NYC with my standard follow-up to Clevesberg, changing the experience would be a good thing. And even more to the point, it was hard to say no to the great rate I got from a hotel friend! On arrival, the cacophony of what appeared to be 1000 young girls attending a dance conference made me take a deep breath, but by the time I got to the 27th floor of the Grand Hyatt, it was perfectly peaceful, and I was gratified to find that my room request had graciously been granted, with the historic Chrysler Building right outside my window. Sweet! I had dinner that night down in the Village with Adele, Michael and Ron at the Villa Mosconi, where Evelyn Cavalli first introduced me to Vongole Oreganata (baked clams with oregano bread crumbs). I ordered the Osso Buco, nowhere as good as Evelyn's...I miss her... we all do!

The anticipation of filling free hours with NYC culture had led me straight to the Friday New York Times, always a great read on a plane, even when I am only dreaming about the many things I'll never see or do. Since y'all know that Sistah is a die-hard opera fan, the Metropolitan would definitely be on the agenda, along with a few museums and galleries, and the decidedly more ecumenical pleasures of viewing life on the streets. As much as I wanted to do the Met twice, well, actually, every night, when I read that Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet would have its last performance of the year at New York City Ballet, that felt like an ideal way to begin my annual romance with the city. I am not very knowledgeable about dance; I admit I went for the music, and I was not disappointed. Tears ensued at curtain time. I had not seen a full-length story-driven ballet since childhood, and although I am no judge of choreography, I was truly touched by the way the prima ballerina managed to combine the virginity of Juliet with a very palpable sexual quality. Dueling, dancing, death and despair, it was all there, even though it did seem like there was a lot of running around. What was also there, sadly, was a noticeable number of empty seats; I was happy that I had the opportunity to help pay for keeping dance arts alive in this tough economy. We need to remember this since our lives were so enriched by the cultural awareness that our parents were able to give us.

As prepared as I was for winter weather, Manhattan surprised me with sunshine, kindly providing me with my Vitamin D. This unseasonal weather gave me the chance to satisfy another long-held desire, that of walking the renovated High Line near the Hudson. The sun was low in the sky, there were wooden lounging spots to soak up sun, and a cool Frank Gehry Building along the Hudson. I can just imagine what a hot spot this will become when it is fully completed. I was in the company of John Stachowicz, and we walked off at 20th Street, the perfect spot to head right into Chelsea and see what was new. It seemed as though many galleries were in-between shows, but I saw enough to wonder again why John can't get his work shown. So I just bought one of his paintings myself! Having our inheritance in mind, it felt like something of which Mom and Dad would approve, since they liked John and always wished him well. He and I saw a Man Ray exhibit at the Jewish Museum. There is nothing like a retrospective to flesh out the picture of an artist’s career. I’m still ruminating on how I felt about the work, but understanding the distance that photography has traveled makes one think. I didn't much care for the paintings, but his gelatin silver prints were in some ways so like much imagery today, i.e. not to be believed. Then again, they were not selling anything, and that’s a big difference. I wonder if Man Ray had any inkling of the power that photography would have to make the unreal real.

It's a rare trip to New York for me that does not include a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, despite the advance knowledge that one is absolutely guaranteed to be overwhelmed. Although I always have something specific in mind to see, it is almost impossible to walk through the galleries to get anywhere without being stopped in one’s tracks by a marble deity, a carved wooden panel from the 15th century, a Holbein, a Velasquez. HELP! Dedicated purpose reigned, however, as it was the last day for the American Masters painting exhibit. It included many regional artists whose work I did not know, but enough Binghams to satisfy my western soul and enough Homers and Eakins to delight my eastern roots. I went with Mary Beth, and we had a big ole gab fest in the cafe. Her mom is 99 years old, still living with MB and her husband, Gary, in Lake Peekskill. Her brother Ron moved up to Massachusetts in the summer to live with Carolyn and her husband. Ron was just getting out of Columbia Pres Hosital (where Evelina was born) after having a tumor removed from his heart! He is 74, much older than MB. After yammering about everything, we went back upstairs for an exhibit of Bronzino drawings. Boy, were my dogs barking by the time I got back to the hotel to dress for a business dinner. I'll spare you details of all that stuff, other than to say that it all went swimmingly.

On Monday, I ventured out on an unexpectedly blustery and rainy day to center my mind at the Rubin Museum of Art before my big event that night. Despite being literally soaked to the skin after a wrong turn out of the subway (that always happens, but usually the weather ain’t QUITE so bad!), I wanted to see the exhibit of Jain imagery, since I love all those eastern miniatures. Ah, what artistry with simple materials! And even more to my surprise was encountering Carl Jung’s Red Book on the lowest floor, in its first appearance to the world. Was that ever a trip! The actual book, a number of paintings, reproductions and two copies of the book laid out on desks to explore at one’s leisure. VERY interesting! The p/r showcase that night went well, and this year, a NM colleague went to rep the hotel he is opening in ABQ, so he took us out to the bar at the MOMA for a mutual birthday dinner, his on the 22nd and mine on the 24th. It was YUM, but we were both exhausted from the speed-dating quality of the event. And my feet were killing me from wearing fancy shoes, although the $1 black leather skirt looked pretty good, I must admit.

Chris came over to lunch with me on Tuesday, after a business breakfast panel, the last work commitment. We ate Chinese, and after he scooted back to Hoboken and found his $45 parking ticket - sorry, Chris - I managed to cram in a quick stop at the Onasssis Cultural Center on 52nd at 5th Avenue, where a lovely little icon show demonstrated Domenico Theotocopoulos’ evolution from icon painter into El Greco. It was a VERY interesting learning experience and was well-supported by the many other beautiful icons in this exhibit. The space was an oasis, down a winding staircase, getting quieter and quieter. Spiraling farther from the noise of Fifth Avenue,one could travel back in time. This spot was a little gem I had known nothing about, and it will be on the agenda for a future visit to New York.

Finally, business was done, and one last thing remained. For an opera fanatic like me, a year is a long time to wait between Santa Fe Opera seasons, and I was ready for some glorious singing to carry in my heart back to New Mexico. While Firday dinner with the Cavallis prevented me from hearing Placido Domingo sing Simon Boccanegra on my first night in town ( I will hear him sing some day, I will I will, I WILL - does saying make it so?!), Placido was in the pit instead to conduct Verdi’s Stiffelio. I went with to dinner first at a sweet little joint in the West Village (complete with obligatory NY character/owner) with a new friend who writes for Opera News. He had comp tickets for the Met, so it was even free! I found myself in row P, lights going down, excitement coming up. This is a rarely-performed work and new to me, but the huge repertoire of the Met is always a wonder. Although the story line was somewhat traditional, love betrayed, the betrayed character being a married Protestant minister was quite unusual, especially in an Italian opera where one could reasonably expect a Catholic monk or priest. And the 200-year-old libretto had words that still resonate, “Greed has destroyed integrity, and deceit has replaced justice.” Wow, humankind, the wheel turns and turns again. It was classic Verdi all the way, not just the music or libretto, but the production itself, going straight for the drama and the gorgeous voices, without the challenge of unusual staging, costumes or concept. Not that I mind a newer-music challenge at all, but as Stephanie's mother says, “There is only one opera, and it’s Italian,” true at least that night. I‘ll just have to find a way to have an opera week in New York some day so I park myself in Lincoln Center every night.

Up the next day to pack and leave, which I did in a cab with the nicest, most intelligent and gentlemanly cab driver I ever encountered, a Russian about my age named Ilya, who also has a full-time job as a NYC fireman. When he got out of the cab to help with my bags, I saw he was shorter than I was, but what a bull - I could imagine him in his full fire regalia! He actually shook my hand and said nice to meet me. Adios, Big Apple, you never cease to amaze!