Friday 25th March saw me in Manhattan. First impressions were extraordinary. Setting off early from the hotel I found myself on Broadway, and in a song. The immensity of the buildings initially provoked a kind of agoraphobia -- the place didn't seem to be on a human scale. But after a while you adjust, and as I did I realised that Manhattan is an extraordinary place.
I spent about six or seven hours walking. First I went to the site of the twin towers, Ground Zero. The immensity of the site is so powerful, it brings alive again the atrocity of the attack. I now believe that before anyone can attempt to understand the current psyche of the US, you have to stand there. Extremely moving. I took a few photos, which I may post here later.
Then I began a long walk towards central park. New Yorkers are friendly people I think, more so than Londoners. One or two spontaneously greeted me as I walked through places like Time Square, past Madison Square Gardens, popped into Maceys to buy a big box of chocs for MJ and on and on finally to the park. After all those skyscrapers the open space was like a prayer. I kept thinking of Max Ernst when I was in the park. The copses of trees dwarfed by the immensity of the man-made landscape rising sheerly behind was quite surreal.
Then, with aching legs and feeling the jetlag, I went into the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. The place is crammed with spectacular work, and things I have only seen in books. Was startled by three pictures I have never seen. Joan Miro's Vines and Olive Trees, Tarragona 1919, was brilliant. Miro has never really floated my boat before but this was a gorgeous piece. Victor Brauner, who also I don't know, was represented by a piece called Prelude for a Civilization, which I though excellent. Jules Breton, The weeders, painted in 1868 was also a showstopper. Need to investigate these guys more.
Caught a yellow taxi outside the museum back to the hotel. Or I would have but the bloke was going such a random route that I got out of the cab in disgust quite near my destination. Carl called while I was en route, and it was really odd to be talking to him in Manhattan (although pretty damn cool I thought).
Then back to the hotel for a bit of a rest. Wanted to sleep for a while but was too excitable. Received a call from Diane, aka Weezer Junior, MJ's sister saying that MJ would be late. MJ shouting instructions in the background.
This gave me the opportunity to try on various combinations of the clothes I had brought me for approximately one and a half hours until I was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I opted for the first combination and went down to the bar to await MJ.
Not wanting to drink, I was sipping mineral water in the cocktail service bar and was giving myself a permanent crick in my neck looking in the direction from where MJ would hopefully appear. Growing increasingly nervous I began to wonder if I would even recognise her.
Then a hard-faced brassy woman appeared at the door looking around her in every direction as if searching for someone. My heart quailed and I smiled feebly at her...
I spent about six or seven hours walking. First I went to the site of the twin towers, Ground Zero. The immensity of the site is so powerful, it brings alive again the atrocity of the attack. I now believe that before anyone can attempt to understand the current psyche of the US, you have to stand there. Extremely moving. I took a few photos, which I may post here later.
Then I began a long walk towards central park. New Yorkers are friendly people I think, more so than Londoners. One or two spontaneously greeted me as I walked through places like Time Square, past Madison Square Gardens, popped into Maceys to buy a big box of chocs for MJ and on and on finally to the park. After all those skyscrapers the open space was like a prayer. I kept thinking of Max Ernst when I was in the park. The copses of trees dwarfed by the immensity of the man-made landscape rising sheerly behind was quite surreal.
Then, with aching legs and feeling the jetlag, I went into the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. The place is crammed with spectacular work, and things I have only seen in books. Was startled by three pictures I have never seen. Joan Miro's Vines and Olive Trees, Tarragona 1919, was brilliant. Miro has never really floated my boat before but this was a gorgeous piece. Victor Brauner, who also I don't know, was represented by a piece called Prelude for a Civilization, which I though excellent. Jules Breton, The weeders, painted in 1868 was also a showstopper. Need to investigate these guys more.
Caught a yellow taxi outside the museum back to the hotel. Or I would have but the bloke was going such a random route that I got out of the cab in disgust quite near my destination. Carl called while I was en route, and it was really odd to be talking to him in Manhattan (although pretty damn cool I thought).
Then back to the hotel for a bit of a rest. Wanted to sleep for a while but was too excitable. Received a call from Diane, aka Weezer Junior, MJ's sister saying that MJ would be late. MJ shouting instructions in the background.
This gave me the opportunity to try on various combinations of the clothes I had brought me for approximately one and a half hours until I was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I opted for the first combination and went down to the bar to await MJ.
Not wanting to drink, I was sipping mineral water in the cocktail service bar and was giving myself a permanent crick in my neck looking in the direction from where MJ would hopefully appear. Growing increasingly nervous I began to wonder if I would even recognise her.
Then a hard-faced brassy woman appeared at the door looking around her in every direction as if searching for someone. My heart quailed and I smiled feebly at her...
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