The Greatest

It’s a big week. The city is full of spark, with bus shelters on Park Avenue adorned with Trump innuendo, creative graffiti throughout the village, and a random open-top truck driving around covered with ‘making America great again’ and blasting out ‘Born in the USA’. So the timing was perfect for Martin Luther King Day on Monday and to celebrate by seeing the Muhammad Ali exhibition at the NY Historical Society. The show is themed on the photographic and illustrative work of Leroy Neiman, who followed Ali most of his career, recording his life and even teaching the boxer to draw. But the show nevertheless belongs to Ali. His drawing style was as distinctive as his character. The only surprising thing was that his boxing gloves were in much better shape than his gown. There were predictable shots of fights and the stories we had heard before. But for the timing, and for the record, it was a reassuring thought about how he wanted to be remembered. If not as a black man who won the heavyweight title and if not as a Muslim, then as a champion of his people, ‘and I wouldn’t even mind if folks forgot how pretty I was…’    Thank you Ali!

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Waldorf now & then

The Waldorf Astoria has been the place to stay since the doors first opened in 1930. Kings and queens, presidents and princesses, movie stars and musicians graced the halls, ‘kept a room’, or swung by for a cocktail. The hotel has been an icon of the best of New York, with a staff motto that reads “The difficult immediately. The impossible will take a little longer”. This magic was not lost on Sean and I when we first visited NYC 21 years ago. After the twenty four hour flight, a less than enthusiastic welcome and a tiny room, I rang reception with genuine disappointment to say we would not be staying. Within minutes there was a knock at the door, and a butler poised under a silver tray carrying an iced bottle of champagne said he would accompany us to our new room – a suite in the towers larger than our house in Sydney and requiring a special pass to access. Welcome to New York!

The Waldorf as we know it will close on March 1st. A Chinese Insurance Company has purchased the property and, apart from a few hotel rooms, will convert the location into condos over the next 3 years. Apparently the Historical Society will come in and advise on aspects or appointments of the hotel that need to be kept. But of course it will be different. When we wandered around the hotel for the last time on Monday it was with more than a little nostalgia. While a security guard stopped us on the very top floor of the towers, where for the moment there are still private rooms, the rest of our ramble was unimpeded. The Skylight Room on the 18th floor where the Count Basie Band used to play was now abandoned, leaving only piles of tablecloths and dishevelment. The Grand Ballroom was echoingly empty. It seemed strange and ghostly, when downstairs at reception everything appeared like business as usual – the antique clock still rang out on the quarter hour and concierge were still taking bookings for hotel tours. (Saturdays and Thursdays at 10.30, with a cost of $65 that includes a three course lunch.)

It may well be time for the Waldorf Astoria to have a facelift, for new people and influences to come in with fresh ideas. But I’m glad to have shared some time – and some fun – with part of New York that is historical now. On the way out I picked up a couple of pens with a sobering and slightly ironic thought – they have probably been getting them made in China for years…

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O Birthday!

The new decade – my new decade at least, was celebrated this past week with appropriate decadence. In many ways I don’t know why I waited so long to get this old. There is so much fun to be had, so many indulgences, so little guilt! The knees still work for the bicycle, the hair is yet to reveal it’s true colours and my fingers can still pull the cork on a bottle of champagne. Or two. The best part is having good friends to celebrate with. And that meant an outstanding brunch at Jack’s Wife Freda, a Soho spot with an almost permanent line waiting for a table. I went Mediterranean with creamy yogurt and Greek salad, but next time I will know the thing to have is Emi’s choice, a croque madam hiding duck prosciutto within layers of cheese béchamel. Delicious! Champagne flowed not just for me but for the establishment’s birthday, so there was much gaiety. And it didn’t stop there. By evening, Australian lamb was high on the list at Babu Ji’s in the east Village, a quirky establishment with an honours system for the beer fridge. It was all go. But I had a premonition. At 6 o’clock that morning, Friday the thirteenth, I awoke to a full moon tinged pink by the rising sun. It was a glorious start to the day and to the year, and I know it’s going to be one of the best…

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Manifesto

The experience of the event currently at the Armory on Park Avenue is so astounding it is a challenge just to describe it. So what must it have been for Cate Blanchett to play 13 completely different roles in 13 different short stories, all espousing the manifestos of various idealists and artists? One minute she is a toothless tramp, the next a Russian diva, then a school teacher, a Southern mother, a drug induced teenager. One character quotes Jean-Luc Godard saying ‘It’s not where you take things from, its where you take them to’y. Another talks about taking all things mundane, cleaning your teeth, wiping your hands, going to work, and flushing them into consciousness – everything is art! There are so many quotes and ideologies emanating from screens around the cavernous amory that it becomes a whir of chatter, building to a crescendo when suddenly and simultaneously Cate appears close up on every screen. Then the images recede and the cycle of the films start again. Surrounded by darkness and an audience silently moving from one screen to another, the impact is dramatic and unforgettable. Full credit to the artist Julian Rosefeldt for his intense creativity. But even more-so to Cate Blanchett, who does the county and the craft proud…

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A perfect Pi

Mathematically speaking, there is no equation between frozen puddles and filo pastry. But somehow the seasonal appearance of the former magically conjures up dreams of the latter, along with golden sunshine, blue water and all things Mediterranean. This picture may not have added up, except for the authenticity of Pi, a Greek Bakery on Broome Street that creates a classic destination with no swimsuit required. Fortunately.

Almost everything at Pi is hand made – the bread ( sesame encrusted Koulouri ), the baklava, the painerli and the pastries. Some are sweet and others filled with sundried tomatoes and feta. Honey comes from Greece, and ‘sweet spoons’ – jam-like indulgences that you just dip into – come from Cyprus. The biggest mouthful was the galaktoboureko, a filo custard pie garnished with sweet lemon and orange infused syrup, that not only restores the reputation of custard but recalculates the whole experience. And then there was almond cake initialed for 2017 and baked with one hidden coin, the finder of which would have good luck for the new year. The math for success was implicit just in the wish – it is going to be an exceptional year…!

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It’s not easy being green

Christmas trees don’t last very long. Especially the frozen ones. In fact the tree Sean and I chose this year would not have lasted 5 minutes – or 5 seconds – in the blazing heat of my family’s Port Lincoln Noel. But it would have been just as welcome there as here on the bright and joyful day we celebrated yesterday. In glorious sunshine a ride through bustling Chinatown ended at a much photographed, tweeted and instagrammed new destination – Taiyaki. This tiny Tokyo and Taiwanese inspired icecreamery is responsible for the latest culinary craze in NYC – freshly baked waffles in the shape of a fish wrapped like a cone around a spiraling of whipped icecream and festive condiments. Red bean – more like sticky dates – line the tail, creating a little sweet surprise at the end. Alas the end comes too quickly! The Christmas Tree, available only for a few more days, comes in green with shiny sprinkles and a star. But green icecream, being matcha rather than lime flavoured, is not as appealing as chocolate. So a chocolate Christmas tree it was, deliciously decorated and devoured with seasonal ceremony…

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Merry Christmas!

Father Christmas hasn’t even arrived and there is fun and frivolity everywhere. The Frick set the pace as usual for the festive season with a jazz band that had staff swinging while Vermeer and Rembrandt tapped in the background. Mickey dressed as Santa at the local fire station. Snow fell for a little pre-Christmas crooning, decorating pine trees in white but not disturbing the sellers while they slept on-site. Berdorfs won the window competition with gorillas and giant rabbits in glorious green. Who needs elves?! Scrooge grumbled at the Morgan celebrations during the reading from the original Christmas Carol, but that didn’t stop yours truly toasting the season from JP’s desk. And as always on the street there are the spontaneous moments where people pause on their way to party, balancing bears and balloons. It is time for some traditions to become history, like cookie day at The Frick, and for new ventures to be sought. We have a film to make and family to go home to. So let’s raise a glass and enjoy the moment. Thank you for a great year and all the best from NYC for the next. Cheers!

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Presley & Punk

Sotheby’s is on the opposite side of the grid to the museum mile and is not generally listed in the ‘must-do’s’ of the NYC art world. There is a perception that this imposing institution is only for the rich, and that stiff noses and intimidating staff may glare down any non-bidding visitors. But this is Sotheby’s New York. If the wine shop on the ground floor is not invitation enough, there is a café on the roof, school groups have scheduled tours, the local hospital staff swing by on their lunch breaks and the public is actively encouraged to visit. Unlike most other museums or galleries around town, the exhibitions you will see here may never be available for public viewing again. Treasures pass from one private hand to another, so during this brief exchange, make the most of it.

Punk may be dead, and the burning of several million dollars worth of memorabilia last week by the son of the Sex Pistol’s manager may have created some heat, but Sotheby’s nevertheless salvaged the band’s boat banner proclaiming God Save the Queen. It may be one of the few remaining souvenirs from that time – and that is only one piece of the amazing Rock & Roll exhibition about to go under the hammer. A hand written copy of the words to ‘Blowing in the Wind’ by Bob Dylan is expected to fetch up to $500,000. Having a Nobel Price is obviously good for sales. Then there are alternative covers for the Beatle’s Abbey Road album, posters from the Rolling Stones tour of Australia in 1973 and a double billing of The Beatles and The Beach Boys in Washington for the fab four’s first USA concert. But by far my most favorite piece in the whole collection comes from Elvis. Of course. An intercom system from the 70’s with a bullet hole through the front also has a hand written message on the top saying ‘to open the gate faster next time’. Elvis signed it ‘E.P’. I wonder if it would look any good on top of the fridge…

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Hello and goodbye

The psychologist is in at the Union Square subway station. At least he was a couple of weeks ago, encouraging straphangers to pause and post a note about the presidential pantomime. But what started as therapy quickly turned into a frenzy of colour, a swath of sticky notes, papering not only one wall adjacent to the six line, but many. Layer upon layer, pillar upon post, thousands and thousands of notes that together made art rather than anger. An excellent outcome.

Meanwhile across town people lined up around the block from the Cuban Embassy, waiting to sign the guestbook that had been collecting signatures for 9 days. No post-it notes, but lots of emotion.

And in midtown outside the Trump Tower, the Mayor was contemplating the cost of cops.  The tally comes in at $500,000 a day to protect the first family and some of his second and third. That will be $35 million by inauguration day. The oft circulated idea of turning Fifth Avenue into a bus-only zone may make the job easier. But Fifth Avenue with no cars…no cabs…no limos…no bicycles…?! Hmmmm…  it might be a good time to invest in Post-It notes…

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Happy Thanksgiving

This is a time to pause and be grateful for all the colour, the adventure and the opportunity. To be thankful for the love of family and the kindness of strangers. To know that life is what you make it, that pumpkin can decorate and be delicious. And to know that whatever happens next will be the cream on the cake…

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