528.

Vignettes

Trip to New York in June 2016  (Part 3)......H.S. reunion
(review Part 2 if need reminder)

Dinner was very Italian and I drank some wine which I normally stay away from. Dick came, maybe in the same suit he was in since HS with his Jamaican younger wife. He had been somewhat straight-laced in a non straight-laced school, and here he was proud to be with his African American wife, a statement of some sorts. When we parted Greenwich village was teeming with activity and I made a call and inadvertently became separated from the pack.

Somehow, I forget when, Jimmy had offered to give me a lift to Terry's brunch and I accepted. Early on Sunday I met them at Jodie's parents' place and we chatted and revisited our common history. They had many paintings and etchings and prints on the walls I looked at. They knew my mom and were interested in the book I put together. Later, my father said he would give them a copy and I'm still waiting for that to happen. Anyhow, we made good time to Brooklyn and Terry's ground floor apartment and helped ourselves to some food. Terry's wife said she was into a Paleo diet.

Just to recap, the previous day I ran into David. I think he originally wanted to be a musician but eventually had a family and worked in law firms. I told him I was impressed with the fact that he had coached girls' soft ball teams and his son had pitched for city college before getting hurt. I said to him everyone wants to be a star today and few want to develop and nourish others. Our high school was not very athletically oriented but my classmates and I had some interest in sports. Marvin asked questions about the basketball championships and I found myself in a very guy conversation.

Joe' s wife stated she thought our high school was an ivory tower, and that kids should go to a regular high school. I inserted that I had gone to a public school in a rough neighborhood and it was dangerous and there were fights all the time. I added that I could have gone to Seward park but that was tough as nails. Then she and someone else mentioned two ladies who went there turned out fine. I got involved with another conversation after that.

Joe was tall, nice looking and became a lawyer. Recently he found out he was diabetic and had to watch what he ate. He said for forty years he ate pasta and pizza and now can't have any of it. Debbie, another classmate who grew up close by, occasionally would study with me. She was very quiet and reserved in those days and not particularly active in school although naturally very bright. She disagreed with my stories of danger in the city as she never felt it. I said she was just oblivious. I went out, played in the playgrounds, interacted and felt the pulse. Debbie had gone to the private school Town and Country before Elisabeth Irwin High School and that was pretty insulated. A young man gets seriously challenged in the city if you spend any time outdoors.

Joe remembered everything. He lived near the school and recalled something I did on his stoop in the village, I forget what. He also remembered that at twelve between my local little league and another organization in the Bronx I was picked to pitch in Puerto Rico on an all star team. He brought back memories. I said to Dave, Marvin and Joe 'I have to say this. I won the only game down there.' In sports I had some nice moments and some not nice moments as a kid. Nothing was consistent. But Joe brought these memories back as if they were yesterday. Later his wife came up to me and I said he remembers everything and then she said he doesn't even remember to complete the to do list. I listened. So some of us, all from a politically leftist school, all talked sports which I hardly do in my normal life. (End of Part 3)

(A small remnant from high school  Others showed up at Sunday lunch, or Friday dinner, or dinner that night.)
Some names are changed in writing to protect the innocent.
Standing L-R......Steven (me), John, Marvin, David, Louis, Tom, James
Sitting L-R......Jimmy, Dorothy, Jane, Paula, Terry

516. 

Personal

Trip to New York (June 2016)     Part 1 

This last June early in the month I spent a week in New York to get some things done and see my dad.  This writing is not necessarily spiritual, or insightful, but just a record of a trip that I'd like to mark down in writing.   Recording history, even our history, is part of living in time and has a place. 

My dad, the Cohanan, seemed a bit more frail.  I'm not sure if he was exercising as much.  He did go to Senior Stein Center usually twice a week and told me he did 15 minutes of stretching every morning.  He claimed to eat well, but bagels and bread and muffins filled his menu.   He is free to do what he wants but his skin is showing some rashes and as some doctor crudely worded it, 'the skin is puking toxins and garbage.'  His walk to first avenue, about six blocks going and coming was his roadwork.  I think he used to do more but the summer has been hot.

I had worked on the book 'Bunny on the Stars' about my mother's writings  on seven film stars and it was finished and complete and it felt tight.  Dad and I showed it to the director of Stein Center and she was more than willing to have my father do a presentation on it.  As of yet he hasn't followed through.  The heat, plus his skin rashes, plus various doctor visits, have preoccupied him.  Plus, he doesn't always follow through, at least right away.

Earlier in the week I had traveled to the West side to the Lincoln Center.  Previously I had stopped by the Donnell library on 53st near 5th avenue, one of my favorite libraries, and saw that it was closed and had been closed I think for three years.  I could be wrong here.  Anyhow, checked with MOMA across the street and they said the library real estate was bought by a builder who promised to reopen the building in a month.  It's one of my favorite libraries, or was, and would have been nice for them to have had a copy of the book but not this time around.

Anyhow, collected myself afterwards at a Starbucks surrounded by tourists, dance students, and others shielding themselves from the heat.  New York still is a concrete jungle and can get hot.  Eventually did stride to Lincoln Center, walked up the stairs and faced three gigantic buildings.  One, I think the dance building, was funded by Gershon, a movie mogul. A high school classmate at one point was president of his company.  Meandered into the gift shop and the help was helpful, directing me to the Billy Rose Archival library.   Once there, the person who I had contacted on the phone was no longer there, but surprise, the director came out to speak to me.  A young man who had been an English major, he lead me through a winding path to his enclave office and there I presented my case.  Patiently listening to me and my gyrations, he accepted the book into the library and it would be available in two months.  Mission accomplished.  If nothing else, the book had been placed.  For some reason, those of us brought up in New York have a veneration for these monuments of culture, ie the Metropolitan Museum, the Frick Museum, the Museum of Modern Art and to even be a sliver within their whole is a piece of heaven.  At least that was the programming which is part of me.

Afterwards, walked to the Apple store and had my Ipad 2 worked on and revamped.  While there I called up my ex Maggie and she gave me the name for a Jewish prayer book I had previously requested as there were some Judaic bookstores on the west side.  The conversation took an unexpected heavy twist, all part of the surrealistic landscape, but we eased out gracefully and then I called a friend Carole who lived on the West side in the 90's.   She had just suffered a flooding in her WPB condo but insurance had come through for her.  She recommended a couple of Judaic book stores in the neighborhood but time was rushing by, and I decided to follow Maggie's advice and eventually purchased it on Amazon.     (End of Part 1)

The Cohanan turned 98 in July.  One lady at Stein Senior Center looked at me and said he is a 'charmer.'  In the text I wrote it seemed as if he wasn't going to do anything about mom's book, but just spoke to him and he seems to be up on it.   He spoke to the director of Stein Senior Center where he takes his stretching class (the only man with about 25 women.)  He can be stubborn but lately has voiced some pride he said in being my father.  Felt nice to hear that.

47.

Personal   
 
New York trip

I've come back from New York where father turned 95, the temp was 95, and friend Ray asked me if I took I95.  Cute friend Ray.  Dad says he told people he’s lasted because of his mother’s chicken soup.  I wonder if I’ll be able to say the same about Campbell soup. He and I had roller coaster moments, not easy for fully grown egos to be peaceful, but upon leaving he spoke warmly to me and said never know if he'll be around, but that it’s been special to be with me and that even when gone he'll be around. I added my twist saying that this life is unique and won't happen again and I will miss touching and being around him.  Had to get some negative out there.  Still, it brought a tear to our eyes.
 
We spent some time shopping at the Veteran's building picking up a travelling bag and then a $2.00 meal at the Senior Stein Center.  Strange how he, a good  student in his past, liked and took advantage of these institutional settings.  Seeing so many elderly and some damaged people still sits with me and no comment needed.  One morning we went to a neighborhood Greek coffee house where the owner said he was like wallpaper every morning.  I was honored to set foot on such hallow grounds.  Friend Maggie said good to cherish these times with dad.  She misses her parents and even her brother who is alive.  I realize many of you are orphans so to speak so this is fortunate for me to have a parent and still get 50th looks at things and process them.  Maybe I'm not ready yet for departure and maybe some of you were.  This brings up life itself and the age old conflict ‘are things meant as if on a journey or is it just life with indifference.'   I think things are meant but often beyond what we can see.

Had a first look at belongings recovered in basement after hurricane Sandy.  Gone was Sport, a stuffed tiger, a wired computer I built, model ships, tanks and report cards and who knows. 
About half a suitcase full remained. Recovered was an old all-star little league top from when I had played in Puerto Rico, some old drawings and writings (usually about people and relationships).   At seven ships were drawn with impressive accuracy, coloring, perspective and force, along with a horse’s head, and a line drawing of dad detailed and piercing.  A few later books of drawings were recovered, more studied, blander and less penetrating.  Between the dulling effect of canned and pressured schools, ricocheting from one art teacher to another later on, and just time spent on too many other things, I saw the loss and mourned it.  It was a record of what was that never fully blossomed.  Acceptance and self-forgiveness partially seeped in and I knew what I yearned for in the future, a sense of feeling better about what I do in the present.  That’s a gift.
 
Met with friend Ev who is having some landlord problems in New York and says Bloomberg  destroyed the middle class in the city along with the schools (she teaches) and has encouraged the greed of the landlords.  We talked over tea at another Greek diner Orion served by waiter Cosmos who gave her tenant advice.  Hmmmmm.  Something happening here?

Made it home after 4 hour delay from LGA where incoming jet's wheels never opened.  TSA was their bully self (had a pat down for a bottle of water in bag) but crowd became quite warm and united.  For a brief moment things weren't competitive. 
 
And this is a word sketch of my visit to New York where I grew up.   Now I'm back with the directional signal saying 'push on.'  Still, last night upon arriving home at 12 at night it was quiet and still and I saw a near full moon and I stopped to take pleasure in it.


 
 



 
Note:  Below are pics of some drawings saved.  For some this might have interest.  It is about my development, and maybe relates to yours.  We rarely get good looks back over decades ago.  An in depth understanding of art, which can include all of human potential, is good training to question and understand bigger things.  Other activities can accomplish the same, but the very nature of art leads to questioning, from the anatomy of a leaf to the science of atmosphere to the questioning of our existence, it's all there.
 

My first portrait I think at age 7 of my dad on a park bench.  I remember doing it and being thrilled.  I really caught him, nice appearance, somewhat preoccupied and mind off in the distance and, as my mom said, big Hungarian lips.  Later, when confused this was an important drawing to remember because it pointed to my basic instincts which was to draw an outline around an object or person.  Can't see it here but the eyes are done well and sensitively.  The whole head was seen and proportions understood.

Another early portrait at that age, maybe of my mom.  Again, like the early Renaissance craftsman such as a Giotto outline came instinctually.  I think the ideal is like a Raphael, to draw with innocence maintained while knowledge is forever increased.  To know this yet fall short has weighed on artists for centuries.  Various teachers liked me to throw paint and throw around colors but these were my basic instincts, to capture a line around life.  Liked the force here and beginning understanding of the head. 

Later, painting teachers taught by massing forms and/or impressionist type of applications, putting down large swatches of color values.  After being confused by this, recalling these early drawings where outline was important helped to ground me. 

A drawing of a horse done at same age altho probably later in the year.  It was from a photo, a much easier proposition. One can see how working from a photo produces a flatter, less authentic picture.  I Think I had help with the eyes and maybe deep shadows, perhaps from Pels, a New York Social Realist Painter in New York, my first teacher.  Realism is achieved at the price of authenticity.  Still, impressive for seven.  This is interesting for me to observe and perhaps for other artists to see.   It is before concepts clouded our heads.  The ears and fence show an early understanding of perspective.

Ships drawings from that period.  Some are from postcards, some from models built, some from partly my imagination.  The liners had quite of bit of detail.  The color schemes all hold to my mind.  Before one thinks I had a charmed life let me add I was not a great reader, and public schools then, a vision of Bernard Baruch, were all about reading and test taking.  One had to fit into a certain form to get thru those schools.  They were a narrow meritocracy, similar to what must exist in China and have existed in Russia.  To advance one had to fit in.  Art and drawing was not part of this, except in very elementary way.

Later I went to a progressive school.  It was another extreme.  Expressiveness was encouraged but craft and drawing skills were frowned upon.  One was made to feel backwards.  Just food for thought here.  In the first case one was just a number.  In the second case one had to fit in to a limiting agenda.  Oh, just to have been left alone and given space with some understanding.