A Girl Like That

Once again I rushed to Times Square today to enter the West Side Story ticket lottery. As I ran up the stairs of the 50^th Street subway stop, I noticed a young couple pressed together along the wall of the stair landing.

They appeared to be about 16-18 years old. He was African-American. The girl had cafe au lait colored skin and brown eyes. She could have been Latino, African-American, or Middle Eastern. It was difficult to gauge her ethnicity.

Seeing amorous teenage couples doesn’t really bother me. It is a fact of life that adolescent kids fool around and many of them have sex.

However, the young woman wore a veil over her hair. It surprised me to see a young Muslim girl engaging in a public display of affection. She was modest enough to cover her hair, yet she would allow herself to be kissed and pawed by her boyfriend in front of hundreds of strangers.

There was a Muslim woman in my graduate program cohort. Through that acquaintance, I know enough about Islam to know that this kind of behavior is forbidden. From what I have read about practices in other parts of the world, even if this girl were married she could be jailed or worse for acting this way in public. If her parents or brothers saw her, most likely she would be severely punished.

When I didn’t win the ticket lottery a half hour later, I returned to the same subway stairway. The couple had not moved, and the girl’s veil was still in place. They could be the Maria and Tony of 21^st century New York City.

Somewhere, Sometime

The Broadway revival of West Side Story is the current sensation in New York. A friend kindly offered to buy me a ticket to the show if I entered us in the ticket lottery and we won.

Broadway ticket prices are out of control. Several years ago, a $125 prime orchestra ticket was considered outrageous. Now those tickets are $325. When Broadway theaters champion weak productions (i.e. Legally Blonde, Young Frankenstein) and charge these prices, it is clear why they are in financial peril.

Unless a show is a blockbuster hit, a high percentage of seats will be empty for performances. From what I understand, generally about a third of the seats for regular Broadway shows are unsold. The theaters don’t want empty seats because it makes the production look like a failure. So, empty seats are sold through a variety of cheaper venues, such as student rush tickets, TKTS, or a seat-filling agency (i.e. Play by Play).

Through my friend’s generosity, I recently secured prime orchestra seats (a $325 value according to the prices listed by the box office) for Impressionism through student rush for $26.50. Although the actors (Jeremy Irons, Joan Allen, Andre De Shields) are top notch, the play is not. I doubt it will have a long run or sell many seats at $325, $125, or $60.

Although I am not a financial wiz, I suspect that with its star power cast this weak play would have enough appeal to fill seats at $50 and $25. Ironically, the greed of the theater owners seems to be an obstacle to making money on the many poor productions they run.

However, the buzz for West Side Story is very good and anyone left in New York who can still afford tickets is clamoring for them. The theater is selling off empty seats each night and generating good PR by holding a lottery for unsold tickets outside of the theater at 6pm. These reduced tickets sell for $60 each (cash only).

Shortly before 6, I arrived at the theater. It was mobbed. The crowd filled up the already crowded street in Times Square. I elbowed my way into the lobby where a man was standing beside a small table. I filled out an entry form and he placed it in a bag.

At 6pm, he stood at the door of the theater and called out the names of the lucky people who won tickets. Alas, my name was not called.

The Uncanny Voice of Conscience

Tonight I got on the E train at 42nd and immediately sat down to read through my Playbill.

At the next stop I heard a voice chastise someone for putting their feet on the train seat. There are many times on the subway when I see people do things they shouldn't, such as litter or spill food on the floor. I want to say something but don't because I don't want to risk engaging some unstable person in a conversation or shouting match.

I looked up to inspect the good Samaritan.

He was a homeless man sitting in a corner of the car behind a supermarket cart stacked 5 feet high with aluminum cans. Not only does he enforce the subway rules, he is keeping the city streets clean and recycling.

At 23rd street the offending passenger must have exited the train. The homeless man was waving his hand and saying loudly "Good riddance. You're not wanted here."

As I stepped out, I wondered how many people on the train were silently sharing his sentiment. So often I have wanted to say similar words when rude riders exited a car.

This fellow and I haven't talked and we lead very different lives, yet in the span of this brief ride I learned that we have common values and that I admire things about this stranger.

Holi

Color is endlessly fascinating. I took a color theory course a couple of years ago, and am still reading through the suggested reading list.

Much interpretation of color is cultural. White is a color associated with purity in the US, but it is a color of mourning in other parts of the world. There is a wonderful book, Chromophobia, that includes an exploration of color and economic class. The author argues that a lack of color is strongly associated in the US with good taste and wealth.

I love color. It is difficult to pick a favorite because I like almost every color in some context or other.

Visiting India was a joy for me because it is rich in color. It isn't unusual for people there to paint their homes bold, saturated, contrasting colors such as orange and blue. Their clothing tends to be bright as well. Unlike New York, it is very unusual to see someone wear black in India.

This week Indians are celebrating spring with the festival of colors, Holi.

For many years I have enjoyed taking Bollywood dance classes. I have no Indian ancestry but most of the students do. They got together today to celebrate Holi at the South Street Seaport. They wore white clothes and threw brightly colored powder at one another.

We had a long rehearsal today for an upcoming recital and many students still had green, red, purple, and yellow powder on their bodies.

At the end of rehearsal our instructor distributed costumes. Most of the dancers are female, but there are a handful of men. At one point the instructor held three costumes for male dancers in her hand. They were identical except color: yellow, green, and bright pink.

Immediately the men began protesting against the pink costume. They pleaded with the instructor to have the yellow or green costumes.

The large number of women in the room began chanting "pink, pink, pink!" while clapping their hands.

This same group had just celebrated color boldly and felt comfortable walking about with splotches of colored powder on their skin, hair, and clothes. Yet, they had internalized the US correspondence of femininity and color enough to cause a loud commotion when men were offered a pink costume.

Fair and Faith

Against my better judgement, I attended a Monster.com / New York Times job fair in the Times Square area today. This was my first experience at a job fair. Most likely it will be my last because it appears that these events are used to fill more junior positions than I am seeking.

At least now I know what job fairs are like.

I waited in a line for 2 hours to get in. It was about 30 degrees F outside. Fortunately, about 2/3 of the line was snaking around the inside of the Marriott Marquis.

Several television cameras were there to take footage of the throngs of jobless people. I suppose they wanted to capture a visual to punctuate reporting on the current economic situation. However, it was humiliating to be recorded as one of the pitiful people seeking work in a brutal job market.

The fellow waiting behind me struck up a conversation with a photographer who was there on assignment with the New York Times. They had a long conversation that I couldn't help overhearing. At the close, they asked that I take a photograph of the two of them. The photographer confidently handed to me his massive camera and showed me which button to press.

I have a dear friend who is a professional photographer, and know that her camera is her baby. This equipment often costs more than car and is easily broken. Not only is it expensive, their livelihood is dependent on this machine. As I took the camera from the photographer's outstretched hand I asked him whether he was certain he wanted me to use it. He was.

It is somewhat pathetic, but it made me feel good that this stranger trusted me to use his precious camera. In a situation where I was feeling a profound loss of faith in myself, he had faith in me.

So, today I snapped a photograph of a New York Times photographer and an out-of-work attorney in line at the Monster Job Fair using the photographer's top-of-the-line camera.

Hello, This is the Universe Calling

This morning I was laid off.

I was called into a meeting in a large conference room with about 15 others, given a folder, and told that my position was eliminated effective today.

When I returned to my desk, I burst into tears and had difficulty talking with coworkers who stopped over to say goodbye. Now that I have cleared out my desk and turned in my badges, I feel an odd sense of calm.

The constant worry about losing my job was oppressive. Now that it has happened, I feel free to forge ahead full time.

I have been looking for work since I was laid off in the summer of 2006. At that time, the company decided to rehire me before I ever officially left the office. Basically, I just moved desks.

It felt icky to work at a place that laid me off and I wanted to move on, but the educational publishing job market was contracting and I find it difficult to look for work while I have a job. I know this is ridiculous but to me it feels wrong to sneak away from work to go on interviews.

I am hopeful that now that I can devote myself to a search full time, I will find something quickly. It is certain that I am motivated. I don't have a severance package, and the maximum gross unemployment for a month in New York won't cover my monthly rent (which is modest by NYC standards).

Deeply Cool

Sometimes I wonder how I can intend to do something for so long and not do it. It makes me mad at myself. Other times, I finally do the thing I long intended to do and am glad I waited because I could savor a discovery.

Ever since I heard about the Studio Museum in Harlem about 5 years ago, I intended to go. At the time, I lived in south Park Slope Brooklyn and getting to Harlem was a good 2 hour subway ride. Now that I am Chelsea, I can get to Harlem in about 45 minutes.

There is no question I have missed some good shows, but I am overjoyed to have seen the Barkley L. Hendricks "Birth of the Cool" exhibition. It is a full jewel box of a show.

I regret that I didn't bring my notebook to jot notes on this exhibit. According to information in a wall plaque, Hendricks spent time in Italy studying Italian Renaissance painting and this influenced his realistic portraits. They often have a flat, single color blackground and the subject is positioned close to the viewer against the picture plane. In some instances the background is a gold or silver leaf foil. These portraits often resemble icon paintings.

The color choices are also indicate an Italian Renaissance palette. For example, vermilion red is the solid background color in "JSB III." This particular hue was one of the few red pigments available in the 1400s. It is closer to an orange-red than the color of blood or fire engines. Most contemporary artists no longer use vermilion, instead they opt for cadmium red.

Of course, there are many ways in which his work differs from Renaissance and icon paintings. The scale is much larger than the small wooden panels used 500 years ago. Hendricks often presents his subjects life-sized on canvasses that span 4-6 feet in either direction.

His subjects are depicted in contemporary dress and pose. Many of the men are shown with toothpicks hanging from their mouths. Some are wearing sunglasses, and Hendricks has carefully reproduced reflections of the studio interior in the lenses. In one portrait, there is a much smaller portrait of Hendricks visible in the reflection of the subject's glasses.

The juxtaposition of traditional paint handling with contemporary subjects and gesture is evident in many of his works. In "Misc. Tyrone (Tyrone Smith)" a strong, mustachioed man in denim overalls engages the viewer with an expression that could be taunt or annoyance. He is holding his crotch with one hand and holding a white man-purse under his other arm. I love that this masculine man is presented with elements that are usually associated with women and girls (purses and pink).

I enjoy craquelure or the study of cracks in paintings. It was amusing to see that the hand on the crotch in "Misc. Tyrone (Tyrone Smith)" is emphasized subtly through a bulls-eye shaped crack that radiates from the hand. It is my understanding that these whorl cracks tend to be formed by pokes to the canvass. It is conceivable that someone inadvertently struck the canvass on a box corner in that very spot, but I prefer to imagine a more interesting explanation. Maybe when the painting was first exhibited, some enthusiastic gallery attendee high on boxed wine noticed the gesture and too aggressively pointed it out to other viewers.

Other paintings in the show also included this crotch-grabbing gesture, including the wonderful "Fela: Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen." This golden painting depicts the singer with a burning, crown of thorns heart and halo. Twenty-seven painted high-heeled shoes representing his wives are strewn before this shrine-like piece.

Hendricks has a wonderful sense of humor. In his self portrait "Icon for My Man Superman (Superman never saved any black people -- Bobby Seale)" he places his head and torso in the center of a flat, silver leag background. He wears aviator sunglasses and a blue Superman S-logo T-Shirt. His arms are crossed over his chest. The border features painted red, white, and blue stripes. It was only after examining the picture for sometime that I realized Mr. Hendrick's wasn't wearing pants or underwear.

Another self-portrait depicts Hendricks in white gatsby hat, striped tube socks, and wrist bands and nothing else. The title of the piece is "Brilliantly Endowed."