The Editor is IN
The brilliant exhibition Old Masters, Newly Acquired proves (as if proof were needed) that The Morgan Library & Museum’s permanent collection of drawings made before 1900 is alive, well and growing—thanks to important gifts, generous bequests and judicious purchases. More than 100 drawings are on view, and these include late-19th-century French works from Eugene V. Thaw, both gifts and promised gifts made since 2010.
On the hottest days in the city, many flock to the outdoor tables that line the streets on every block of the happening neighborhoods. Others descend to subterranean speakeasies with drinks called Rum Swizzles filled to the brim with crushed ice, a whole blackberry and mint sprig to top it off. I fall into the latter category, or at least I did on the first day of our heat wave, when I near desperately fled down the flight of stairs and into the dark, cool bar, Little Branch. Located in the West Village, the bar is unassuming to passersby.
“… there are few hours more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.” ― Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady. I have always been wholeheartedly in agreement with Mr. James on the subject of afternoon tea (the proper term for that three-course cornucopia of sandwiches, scones and pastries).
I was a young adult in the 80s and 90s, so punk music, new wave music and the surrounding culture from that era was what I cut my teeth on when it came to rocking out. I remember all too well subletting an apartment in the East Village when punk was at an all-time glorious, loud, crazy, rebellious high, hearing the chaotic thump of Richard Hell and the Voidoids blasting in bars and clubs, standing among the ripped tee-shirts, tight jeans and pointy black boots that punk lovers wore (even on a sweltering day in August).
You know that feeling of euphoric surprise when you find a crisp $20 in a freshly laundered pair of pants? Discovering Antibes Bistro, a romantic French-Mediterranean eatery tucked away—almost completely hidden—on a small street in the LES, was just like that. The place is so discreet that one could easily pass right by without a second glance.
Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 is dinner theater. Every ticket includes a Russian meal in addition to the performance (tickets run $125, $175 and $237.50). But to think of composer/librettist Dave Malloy’s sophisticated electro pop opera in suburban terms is to do it a serious injustice.
"Can’t repeat the past?" he cried incredulously. "Why of course you can!" -- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby This month’s release of a film version of The Great Gatsby sets thoughts turning to the 1920s, an era that saw NYC emerge as a major metropolis. The city abounds in ways to drink, dress and cavort like a flapper or a sheik–some direct tie-ins to the Baz Luhrmann movie, some not.
Nobu Next Door, the smaller “sibling” restaurant right next to the world-famous Nobu on Hudson street, is kind of like Prince Harry: a royal, like his brother William, but a little more playful, a little more relaxed. The restaurant is designed with the same classy and modernist Asian accents as the original (which is, as the name implies, right next door): a large display of lit sake bottles decorate one wall: Japanese fishing nets hang from the ceiling, while a wall made of preserved Japanese sea wood enhances the entranceway.
It's no secret that fashion borrows from the past to recreate new trends—call it recycling, if you will, and think of the very recent '90s and Britney Spears' midriff and rejoice or mourn it's triumphant return this summer as the ubiquitous crop top (it's happening, trust me.) The Museum at FIT, however, has managed to make this timeless idea new and interesting, drawing up from their archives not only fashions inspired by recent grunge movements and flapper dresses, but even ensembles that take inspiration from ancient civilizations such as Egypt and Greece.
Contemporary art. It's convention-defying, tradition-shattering, rule-breaking and, if nothing else, bold. PULSE Art Fair, the annual art extravaganza which hit Manhattan's Metropolitan Pavilion on May 9-12, had it all: the weird, the fun, the freaky and the thought-provoking. A variety of mediums were represented, from photography to sculpture to paintings. Many of the pieces, I found, fell into the things-I-wish-I-could-furnish-my-apartment-with-but-can't-afford-to category (primarily because I'm not an idle multi-millionaire, but maybe one day...).