So we – me, Josh from the agency and his girl – took the subway to Queens. And opposite a anonymous building housing a firm deliciously named International Delights, was P.S.1. It was definitely very very cool indeed. Not only was there interesting current art of all shapes, sizes and styles; it was also one of your big disco dancing social hops too. In a very large concrete courtyard a DJ played records and New York cool children danced in the daylight. They were partying like it was 1999. God knows how they did it, it was hot out there, but it was even hotter inside the galleries with very few of the rooms having air conditioning. Apparently, the stuff on display was mainly New York’s new artists.
There was a beautiful thing that was like a wedding cake constructed out of tracing paper, illuminated from inside, that was so intricate and must’ve taken months to make, which really enchanted me for a while, smiling at every little detail. A small model wood cabin with Ring Of Fire playing and a green laser-ish ring on the inside of the cabin floor and somehow, smoke also coming from inside. Very very intricate pencil drawings in a style like – I don’t know what the technique is called – the drawing on the cover of Coldplay’s second album, like the 3D computer grid mapping stuff. A room filled with yeti and goat-type creatures and subdued disco lights. An oval frame with a very realistic painting of a hand… hold on, that’s not a painting, it’s a REAL hand poking up through a hole! An architectural model of a shopping mall and carpark, with the ground benenath it shapped like a huge military ship called USS Mall. Loads of stuff. Loads.
Oh, and there was a funny moment highlighting the fleeting nature of fame. There was a great photo portrait of John Kerry, and as some people walked in, one of them shouted, “Hey, look! That’s fuckin’ whatsisname!”
I couldn’t take pictures as the security guards were pouncing on anyone who did and standing over them while they deleted the offending snap. But, of course, I used my sneaky poking-out-of-the-pocket trick for the following blurry crap which may give you a taste of what’s happening. And managed to get a semi-decent close up of the wedding cake-y thing:
And near P.S.1, next to the subway, is a very small protected piece of garden-ish ground called Short Triangle which made me giggle.
Back to Manhattan, down to the East Village, to the corner of Avenue C and E 9th Street, to a Brazilian restaurant called Esperanto. Oh Lordy, hand on heart: that was the best food I’ve ever had in my life. You know you’re onto a winner when they bring you a basket of bread and a dish of spicy oil that dances on your tongue. Amazing potato fish cakes, goat’s cheese stuff, and a main course of monkfish in a olive and pepper-y sauce. And to finish it off, a chocolate souffle with the most vanilla-y vanilla ice cream. I don’t know how restaurant critics do their job: it’s way to difficult to describe something so wonderful. This is what you look at when you have a piss in their bathroom:
And this long and wonderful day was all topped off with Howard Stern getting topless Penthouse Pets (with pixellated breasts) to talk dirty on telly as I fell asleep. And before you ask, no I didn’t.
So, what shall I do today…?