Last night when I was young… as the song goes…I spent Thanksgiving at Ceccione’s in Dumbo. To state the obvious, Dumbo is a pricy Brooklyn neighborhood. Its name stands for Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. It’s known for cobblestone streets, parks and the East River waterfront. Imagine wending your way on Cranberry Street or Orange Street then heading down Dock Street toward the East River. Nearby is the Brooklyn Bridge Park and right in front of you is Jane’s Carousel. We dined on the terrace. Instead of having to pretend that we liked rain, we had perfect fall weather. Our view was evening turning into night time on the East River. Way, way above us the Manhattan Bridge teemed with trains chugging back and forth between Manhattan and Brooklyn. My five friends are all conversationalists. Anything goes: politics, memories, murders. We had a huge dinner: from ravioli to kale salad to pizza and then the main course, followed by an assortment of desserts accompanied by lots of lovely red wine.
We went to the Brooklyn Museum on a sunny, chilly fall day. I hadn’t been there in twenty years. It was like visiting old friends. I’m going to indulge my taste and share with you a few of my favorite paintings and a new discovery, the Choctaw/ Cherokee artist, Jeffrey Gibson. Gibson has an entire room dedicated to his work. I had hoped to reproduce a gigantic sculpture that resembles a vulture clothed in bright, sharp materials. The photo can’t be reproduced for security reasons. HUH?
SPEAK TO ME IN YOUR WAY SO THAT I CAN HEAR YOU is composed of driftwood, wool, canvas, glass beads, quartz crystal, glazed ceramic. Run do not walk to the museum before the exhibit closes, please.
This is A Storm in the Rocky Mountains. The artist is Albert Bierstadt. I apologize for trimming it.
I love Davis’ work. Is it because it’s jazzy? Mellow Pad is jazz talk for a cool place.
I’ve always associated Stella with his painting of the Brooklyn Bridge so was touched by this gentle portrait of the Virgin, surrounded by flowers and fruits and with the Bay of Naples in the background.
It’s a wonderful museum and I can’t wait until they remove the name Sackler from the name of one of their wings.
Bob Thomason died at home the night of Tuesday, Nov. 10. He was 92. Bob was a member of Judson Memorial Church. He loved to talk about the books he’d read, sing Moon River at church, in the hall and in taxis. He cycled all over the world. Judsonites in China looked off their balcony and saw Bob on his trusty bike. He had a wonderful family: Jane, an Ohio girl who kept her courteous midwestern manners with a keen and amused eye on NYC; his two daughters, Caroline and Katherine. He and Jane married in 1960 and were married for sixty years. Jane’s and his daughters’ devotion to him was unstinting. These words conjure up Bob: Moon River, dancing, moving into a Black-American neighborhood and talking about it during weekly Concerns at Judson, love of life, love of people.
Both Bob and Jane exemplify Amos 5:18-24: But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
In 2018, the first Muslim women were elected to Congress, Reps. Ilhan Omar (D-Minn.) and Rashida Tlaib (D-Mich.); as were the first Native American women, Reps. Sharice Davids (D-Kan.) and Deb Haaland (D-N.M.); and the youngest congresswoman ever, Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.). All won reelection on Tuesday. As of Tuesday, Mondaire Jones will be the nation’s first openly gay Black congressman. Ritchie Torres will be the first openly gay Black and Latino congressman, and Cori Bush will be Missouri’s first Black congresswoman. And a record number of Native candidates are headed to Congress. Thank you, Huffpost.
The current president’s temper tantrums are: embarrassing, curious, pathetic, scary (I prefer this to the grownup word, frightening.) I am practicing former Vice President Biden’s dictum: Be patient. Nerve wracking.
I like this boozy history voting link an unsteady walk through past NYC.