Monkey Slap

There are some people with whom I establish a connection in an instant.

This doesn't happen often, but when it does it is a marvelous event.

I met my Macy's manager friend through a former work colleague. They are room mates. Upon introduction the manager invited me to participate in the Macy's parade.

Participating in that parade was a lifelong ambition. He had me at hello.

Although we get along very well, I haven't seen him in several months.

I was delighted when called me yesterday. He wants to visit to India and was seeking travel tips. Talking about India is one of my favorite things.

Within half an hour we were seated at dinner together.

I gave him the basic advice, some guidebooks, and far too many travel stories -- some of which included monkeys. He grew excited. He loves monkeys!

He told me that he had a pet monkey when he was a teenager growing up in Mexico City. Monkeys are adorable but, he warned ominously, they are also wily.

He relayed a story about working at a restaurant in Mexico City that kept caged monkeys.

One day the monkeys made coy faces at him. "They acted like coquettes!" he told me while imitating their pin-up style facial expressions and poses. They were so cute he moved closer to get a better look at them.

When he was near enough to the cage, a monkey's paw grabbed his hair roughly and pulled him up against the bars. My friend was eating candy. The monkey slapped his face and took his candy!

"They played me, Darling!"

I laughed until I cried.

A Continuing Thread

Today I met my abstract painter friend at the Rubin Museum of Art to see "Color and Light" an exhibit of embroidered cloth from India and Pakistan.

The Rubin Museum is housed in what used to be Barney’s department store. Barney’s downtown was a wonderful institution. It was a quaint store of esoteric and exquisite goods. About a decade ago, it transformed from boutique artsy Alexander McQueen to box store, label-whore Paris Hilton. It moved uptown into larger, flashier space and filed Chapter 11 shortly afterward. Barney’s left a lovely empty shell of a building on the corner of 17th Street and 7th Avenue which remained vacant for years.

Fortunately, a wealthy couple with a wonderful Asian art collection saw the potential in the building. They bought it, made gentle renovations, and now have a lovely little museum in Chelsea.

The Rubin’s Museum exhibit spaces are perfectly sized for Asian art. Classical Asian art tends to be dense with ornament. There is so much information in each piece that I find it best to look at a limited number of pieces at one time. Here, the exhibition spaces allow viewers to see a collection of approximately 30-50 pieces on each floor. I believe this exhibit had about 35 pieces, which was ideal.

There was a mix of Hindu (figurative) and Muslim (non-figurative geometric, plant-forms) work. Many of the pieces were rich with subtle, abstract depictions of deities or symbols that only emerged after careful observation (such as the abstract Ganeshe in the early 1900s Kathi bedding cover or dharaniyo).

The use of materials in these pieces is interesting. A mid 1900s wedding dress or jumlo from the northwest Frontier Province of Pakistan included zipper parts stitched into tight coils. Beetle wings or elytra sewn into the boarder of a dresser scarf formed iridescent flower petals and leaves. An indigo thread was embedded under heavily quilted white cloth from Kashmir which was intended as a sort of window shade. When illuminated in a sunny window, the blue thread would emerge as a delicate line.

The layering and juxtaposition of materials and design elements is also intriguing. The base of a large bridal or festival head cover or odhani from Bharwad community in Gujarat was a black tie-dyed cloth. It appeared that a dotted design had been formed using tied-up seeds (a method I witnessed in Jodphur). A stitched border mimicked the white tie-dye design, and was further embellished with an adjacent border design in bright colored threads. This build up of the design from fabric dye to stitching gave it a subtle dimensional effect. The fabric appears to get thicker along the edges.

The intervals of black and white and brightly colored designs energized the piece with a suggestion of movement or radiance. The wide borders along the short ends of the cloth were heavily embroidered with bright colors and the stitches built up in piles of thread. Small mirrors were sewn into the patterns, which lent a greater sense of depth when the flatness of the mirror was contrasted with the topography of the stitches.

Another bridal or festival head cover called a abochhini from Sindh Pakistan had a similar dotted tie-dye fabric base cloth. The embroidered and mirrored border only covered the two long ends. The border stretched into the center of the headress in two floral-covered swastikas. The geometric, floral, and dyed designs complemented each other beautifully. The rustic, unfinished quality of the tie-dyed fabric was balanced by the controlled geometric pattern and polished floral design.

After viewing the show, we decided to make an impromptu visit to Jackson Heights. We had Indian food for lunch and shopped in the Indian music, clothing, jewelry, and grocery stores.

Of course, the cloth at the stores wasn’t as fine as what we viewed at the museum, but the designs, color choices, and stitches echoed what we had observed. It makes me happy to see that these traditions continue in some form.

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.

Fresh Start

Somehow, I consistently allow New Year's plans to be forgotten in the rush to address Christmas responsibilities. I didn't even consider making a New Year plan until I was leaving for my mother's and realized it would be nearly New Year's Eve when I returned.

Friends invited me to Shanghai Mermaid's party at Galapagos in Dumbo, but the tickets had to be bought on-line and I had just cancelled the credit card I designate for on-line purchases. I decided to wait until I returned home from the holidays. By that time I would have the new credit card and access to a computer.

But it was too late. The tickets were gone by the time I got back. I suspect that Shanghai Mermaid is about creating cache through scarcity, and that pretentious PR crap annoys me.

I made a tentative plan to get one of the "limited" tickets available at the door and accepted a dinner invitation from friends who already got their tickets. At my request, a couple of friends who initially were supposed to attend the party with me were also invited.

It was an exceptionally cold day. It snowed and rained. The sidewalks were icy. I was not in a festive mood.

My bathroom ceiling fell in the night before. I skipped a shower due to worries that it would encourage more plaster to rain down.

My wardrobe contained little that matched the occasion and weather conditions. I made a meager attempt to don beads and sequins, but finally decided on a New York uniform of black top and boots with skinny jeans.

The liquor store was jammed with people, which led to my late arrival to dinner. I felt terrible about it because the two friends I invited were not acquainted with the hosts.

Fortunately, I was the first guest to arrive. The hosts were gracious as usual. A painter/textile designer, painter/unemployed production manager, painter/editor, photographer, and actor/software engineer fell into easy conversation. We had a wonderful meal in a beautiful and warm apartment.

The photographer and painter/textile designer suggested we follow a ritual. We wrote things to leave behind in 2008 on slips of paper. Then we wrote things to embrace on 2009. We read what we wrote aloud, then burned the 2008 papers in the fireplace. It was a little humiliating to read the papers aloud, but gratifying to note that we had met some of our goals (i.e. reaching out to new people) in the gathering.

After several attempts and a consultation with the internet, I made an origami boat. It was labeled 2009. All of us placed our 2009 papers in the boat and dribbled champagne on it.

After bundling up, we walked to the Ferry Landing and released the boat into the cold waters. The wind swept a couple of the papers back up to the pier. We chased them down and threw them back into the water. I am convinced it was my paper that flew up three times before hitting the water.

Our hosts headed to the party. I was not able to get a ticket at the door, so I accompanied the photographer to Jivamukti. The painter/textile designer went off to meet other friends.

Jivamukti was hosting a silent meditation party. I have done yoga one on one with friends who were going through teacher training, but have only attended two yoga classes. It was my first time at this venue.

We took off our shoes and entered a softly lit room. Many people were sitting or lying on the floor. It was warm.

I put my large scarf on the floor and stretched out on my back. It was only about 10:30pm, but I felt tired and almost fell asleep. All of the things I worried about earlier in the evening - wardrobe, wine, lateness - seemed stupid.

At 11:50 a person came in with a sign encouraging us to go to the big room. I got up and followed the others out of the room. I noticed a man in a business suit on one mat. He looked like a Wall Street employee.

The big room was crowded. I found a spot and sat down in the back. There were two candlelit alters at the front of the room. At midnight, people began chanting om.

It seemed simultaneously odd and familiar to chant om. I spent January 2008 in India to celebrate a milestone birthday and to meet a personal goal. In fact, I arrived in Delhi on New Year's Eve. It was a wonderful trip, and I am very eager to go back. This was a nice way of completing the arc of the year by returning to India via New York.

We continued chanting until two people at the alter began talking. They gave a couple of short inspirational speeches.

As I chanted, listened, and yawned (from sleepiness not boredom), I pondered the difference between this method of embracing the new year and the more typical drinking and noise making. It surprised me that the boisterous celebration outside could not be heard within the room.

In the Hindu temples I visited in India, ringing bells or gongs dispel negativity. 2008 was a very negative year for me and many other people, and I wished I could ring a bell in addition to chanting.

But it is a goal to try new ways of doing things. Perhaps chanting om is a better way of establishing an auspicious year. It is about embracing the good rather than rejecting the negative. Perhaps this sets a better tone.

I intended to take a subway home. It was freezing outside and many drunk people were stumbling around. But by the time I reached the subway that would deposit me near home, I decided it was silly to just not walk the rest of the way.

As I bounded the three flights of stairs to my apartment, it struck me that I felt festive. This was a pleasant surprise to myself.