A New Yorker's Stories (9 page)

ANOTHER EXTRAORDINARY DAY

Jake and I planned to spend this day together. We arranged to meet at the Chelsea Market on 15th Street and Tenth Avenue, at twelve-thirty. Our objective was to try out the fish soups, in particular the Boston Style Clam Chowder. We did that. Bought the paper cups of soup and retreated to an empty table in one of the many coffee shops down the mall. I had planned to visit my friend Mohamed just across the aisle but he was not in: as is frequently the case, he was traveling again in Morocco. Never mind, I'll catch up with him on another occasion. So we set off to another objective of our afternoon: the IAC building designed by Frank Gehry, which was within walking distance, on 18th Street and the West Side Highway. This would be the first time I approached the building on foot. In the past I had seen it while riding up the West Side Highway. At first I was taken by the structure that looked like an apparition, something out of this world. It was haunting and unlike any other experience of a building. It took me a while to figure out what could account for such an unusual effect.

Jake and I entered the building through the inconspicuous doors on the 18th Street side and approached the desk in the lobby. Like most private (or public buildings, for that matter, nowadays) the people at the desk informed us that visits to the upper floors were not permitted and there were no “tours” in place at the present time, but the expansive lobby was ours to explore. We went one at a time to both ends of the lobby. Jake found fault with almost everything in sight. I suspect he had an anti-conglomerate, anti-corporate bias to begin with. I, on the other hand, was delighted with almost everything because I brought along my love for everything Gehry. Empty spaces are not intrinsically interesting. The company keeps the lobby that way, accessible for special events and reception areas for large groups of people. What intrigued me were the ceilings which hung from above, suspended as it were in space because they were set apart by back lighting and by the fact that that were unattached to the supporting cylindrical piers. The walls contributed to the effect by working as huge screens of shifting color lights from floor to ceiling, opposite the exterior windows which also occupy the entire floor. Light and ethereal on the inside just as the exterior was light and ethereal.

This visit to the Gehry building was in preparation for a talk on architecture I was scheduled to give two weeks later at Marymount College in Manhattan. Familiarity with the building gives credibility to the presentation in class. On the morning of my talk I opened my computer to see what else I could find out about the IAC building. The discovery was extraordinary: the building was commissioned and owned by Barry Diller, a multi-billionaire. A television segment a few weeks earlier revealed that Mr. Diller was the owner of the world's largest yacht which was fully automated, meaning that Mr. Diller, with the touch of his finger, could unfold the great sails from the four giant masts: no need of the traditional team of seamen to work the rigs. I remembered the sight of the yacht with its sails deployed and the startling resemblance to the undulations of the Gehry building's upper floors. In a flash I saw the IAC building as Barry Diller's flagship on the Hudson, a monument to celebrate a rich man's fantasy and indulgence.

I had to admit my friend Jake's intuitive reaction to the building was fully justified. I was the one who had to revise my judgment. I did so in front of my class at Marymount College and the class ended with a stir at the process of architectural criticism.

A few days later I made a point of checking on the recent published reviews of the “Gehry” building. I found such a review in the Harvard Design Magazine in the Fall 2007/Winter 2008 edition. The history of the building was well documented with the issue of collaboration made clear so this was not a signature building by Frank Gehry and in the final analysis not to be confused with other works by the master architect. (6/26/08)

O, WHAT A WONDERFUL DAY!

I should say “what a wonderful afternoon” since the day really began at ten past one o'clock when I met Frank and his companion at Chatham Square in Chinatown under the statue of the celebrated Chinese farmer hero. We met for lunch; everyone agreed that fish was on the agenda, especially lobster. We also all agreed that the place to go was a quite well known special fish restaurant, the Fuleen Seafood Restaurant on Division Street. At one-thirty in the afternoon the place was not flooded with diners, or tourists, so we sat at the further most table in the back in perfect peace. I let Frank do all the ordering because he speaks Chinese and because he is smart about a proper menu; I trust him in a nanosecond on such matters and some others matters as well.

We were offered hot towels before any food arrived. Then we began with a dish of jellyfish and sliced pork which could be eaten with either a red pepper spice or a light vinegar sauce. The main course was the lobster, broken up in small sections, that was pan stirred in a delicate sauce. I should add that the lobster was first brought to the table alive, wiggling just a little, before its cooking in the kitchen: a gustatory delight, approached with little forks and finger holding permissible. A dish of cut asparagus was a light and healthy touch. A big dish of pork-fried rice came at the end, almost as a supernumerary finale. But we dug into it just the same. How can a Chinese meal be without rice? As the oldest gent of the three diners the waiters were especially attentive to serve every dish that had to be ladled out to me first. I do like the Chinese eating protocol.

My friends had to rush off; Frank was still working even on a Saturday afternoon, so I was left to fend for myself after the restaurant. Chinatown is my oyster for I feel very comfortable there and never fail to take advantage of what is distinctly advantageous. I bought a pound of red cherries at half the price of uptown markets: cherries are just coming into season. Then I walked through the little crooked street that connects the Bowery and Pell Street, Doyers Street, I think. You could call that area the barbers' corner for ten or more such establishments exist in close proximity, some on street level and some underground. I started a conversation with a woman relaxing outside one shop and before you could say “Jack Rabbit” I was sitting in her barber chair getting a haircut. I needed a haircut, for sure and I knew exactly what kind of haircut I wanted. When I discovered that I could communicate this information to the lady in my broken and limited Chinese I did not hesitate. I wanted just a trim, not the usual barbaric massacre barbers love to inflict on their inattentive customers. The Chinese find me quaint and I let it go at that. Afterwards I strolled down toward Columbus Park, for the music I heard in that direction was coming from a group called the Chinese Musical Association. I bought myself a sesame bun, glutinous shell filled with a bean paste, and a container of coffee and went right back to Columbus Park, seated myself on a bench up close to the little orchestra and singers. I sat listening to the music while consuming my after-lunch dessert.

Chinese music is forever fascinating to me. It still sounds strange and foreign and unlikely. The orchestra consisted of three or more two-string instruments, called “Er Hu,” a butterfly harp, a banjo, a percussionist, and two lady singers. One of the singers sang in the typical falsetto soprano voice, hardly moving her mouth, all the sound coming through the nose. The other woman, who was more solidly built, sang what must have been the male part, in a warm full-throated way. What a way to spend a day or afternoon.

SOMETIMES MIRACLES HAPPEN IN NEW YORK

I am sitting in the Long Island Railroad train on my way to Ronkonkoma and beyond to Greenport with ten minutes to spare. How on earth did I make it? My subway lines 1, 2, & 3 were out of commission due to a broken axle on a train up ahead in midtown. As usual I left just enough time for my trip so I was now faced with the need to make a rapid decision. What strategy could I conjure up? Buses on Broadway were not reliable, certainly not on a Sunday morning. Taxis were being gobbled up because everyone else who ordinarily used the number 1 line had to find alternative means to go to wherever they had to go. I was lucky for when a taxi stopped for a red light at 116th Street I hopped in and directed the driver to head for the Independent Line at 110th Street and Central Park West. It was a good morning for the taxis but my man was out to capitalize on it by leaving the counter of the previous rider on until I brought this oversight to his attention. I rushed into the subway, caught the “C” train because no express trains were running on Sunday but the train stopped at 34th Street and Eighth Avenue just in front of Penn Station. That was a lucky break: I had just a short walk through the station to reach the platform of my scheduled train as the loud speakers announced the five-minute warning for the departure. I had a few minutes to spare (which I used to scribble this note) at the beginning of a day when I was booked to deliver a lecture in the public library of Greenport, a little community on the North Shore about as far out on Long Island as one could go. The day began in a stressful way but ended successfully and less fitfully. (10/5/08)

CHAPTER VI: CRITICISM

A TRADITIONAL CHINESE PAINTER TODAY

Chu Chen-Kuang is an artist deeply attached to the art history of China. It is axiomatic for Chinese painters to revere the achievements of their predecessors, to carry on centuries old traditions. In that spirit Chu has mastered watercolor painting and the familiar subjects of lotus blossoms, crayfish, and monumental landscapes. He is also a master paper cutter, carrying this craft into the twenty-first century. The subject that has most fascinated Chu is the mountainous and river rich region of Guilin which is his source of an impressive series of landscape paintings.

Guilin was recognized as an important site more than two thousand years ago where the conversion of two rivers gave rise to a canal to connect Southern China to the interior of the country. The spectacular mountain formations, rising as they do directly from the riverbed or receding in echelon formation off into the distance or reflected like mirror images in the still waters inspired generations of Chinese artists. Chu stands high among these legendary painters for he brings a distinctly personal and engaging style to the subject.

His paintings have the virtue of a childlike simplicity consisting of one or two principal forms and attending secondary ones. Often a commanding mountain shape will emerge from the lower edge of the painting creating the impression of closeness to the viewer with smaller elements such as fishing boats or little houses introduced to establish a sense of scale and space: the mountain is huge and the boats or houses are small. Color is treated with equal restraint, limited to a dominant black area and minor accents of green or orange. The colors are applied unmodulated, that is, as flat surfaces. The surfaces, however, are animated by the brushwork. The hand of the artist is everywhere evident; the strokes are always applied with great vigor and immediacy; they enliven the paintings. The viewer is never in doubt about the subject matter but is more captivated by the freshness and strength of the strokes. The lasting impression of Chu's paintings is of striking and bold compositions: simple, clear and authentically original. It is the persona of the artist which comes through like a joyful and innocent enthusiasm. Such are the enduring attributes of Chinese painting: respect for artistic tradition and the affirmation of the individual personality at the same time. Chu Chen-Kuang is emblematic of his country's centuries-long landscape painting legacy.

THE BIRTH OF ART IN BLACK AFRICA

I only recently read the book by Bernard de Grunne,
The Birth of Art in Black Africa
published in 1998 in Luxembourg, which has pioneered in bringing the extraordinary sculpture of Nok and related cultures to the attention of a general public. Close to eighty illustrations demonstrate the magnificent achievement of the earliest known African art, which started as early at 900 BC. The author dutifully presented the known data about Nok art in a rather cautious and clinical manner.

This observation was most evident in the section on Iconography where the descriptions were limited to a numerical classification as to gestures and postures and proportions. Such information is important but, it seemed, little or no interpretation was made of these findings. In the case of the proportions, comparison was made to the Greek Classical anon of Polycleitus's fifth century BC sculpture, which used the height of the head to fix the height of a figure at seven times the head. The canon for Nok sculpture was found to be one to three or one to four heads. But what is the interpretive difference in these two systems? For the Greeks the fixed proportions established an “ideal” representation of man, an abstraction, if you will, that removed the figure from the ordinary or from the particular. For the African artist the head takes on a singular importance. In the sitting or crouching figures the head is often just as large as the rest of the body or one to one. In the type of sitting figure with head resting on the knee, the lower half of the head is often “excessively” extended in order for the chin to reach the knee. The concern of the Greek sculptor for the normative or average length of the head is not at all a preoccupation of the African artist. He is on the contrary guiding his artistic decision on the way the head
feels
when it seeks a place of repose. The African artist is working from sensory perceptions rather than from visual or conceptual basis. For the Nok artist the extended chin and head are part of the knee and leg. We, as spectators, feel the connectedness and support of head on the leg in terms of our own bodily experience. It is the sensation of support that counts.

The focus given to the head in Nok sculpture is understandable in terms of the conditions that must have prevailed at the time. Those conditions can only be described as revolutionary because, probably for the first time in history, the people in the Nok region of Northern Nigeria obtained a prosperous, stable, and productive society. The evidence for this observation comes from the works of art themselves.

The sudden appearance of a significant production of sculpture represents an explosion of artistic activity of extraordinarily high quality. This activity must presuppose a complex social structure: stable or fixed settlement, division of labor, specialization, technological advances, and leisure. The production of works of art also indicates a reflexive action, a self-conscious response, or an awareness of the achievements involved. Recognition of this success is expressed in the triumph of thought over the environment, hence the importance given to the head. The eyes are wide open and the drilled pupil conveys alertness and intelligence. In general the treatment of the head is much more specific and detailed as compared to the more summary handling of the rest of the body.

Another distinct feature of Nok sculpture is the expression of peacefulness, of calm, and of self-assurance. The male figures, especially, are in restful, relaxed positions, such as kneeling or sitting on their haunches. Some figures project the head forward as opposed to an upright stance. These people, if we can extrapolate from the sculpture, are self-assured, confident, and mindful of the bounties they enjoy. By the same token, the evidence of leisure is found in the elaborate hairdos of the figures. Every head has a distinctive coiffure, which must have taken hours to execute and reflects a condition of material well being, of affluence and of status. The body adornment is no less an indication of the same time-consuming pre-occupation: embroidered tunics, banded necklaces, waistbands, cache-sex, and codpieces.

Is it not astonishing that the earliest African sculptured (terracotta) figures to be among the most lavishly attired, the most self-confident, and the most intellectually affirmative? How to account for all these attributes?

I can only surmise, in answer to that question, that the people of the Nok region of Northern Nigeria had discovered the means of iron production. Iron gave the people the means of superior farming through metal implements, hence larger agricultural returns that could sustain the population from harvest to harvest. Iron produced better arms hence the sense of security through a superior defense, which in turn gave rise to leisure, and the inevitable expression through art of an advanced society.

Without the desired controlled excavation of the Nok sculptures it is difficult to assign them specific meanings or functions. It is not, however, too rash to offer the conjecture that these sculptures are portraits: notwithstanding certain conventions, each head enjoys a different and highly individualized coiffure, suggestion of pursed lips or of a smile, slouching posture, corpulence, folded or open arms, and dress and ornaments that reflect individual preferences. These are the observations that lead to an interpretation and to some speculation.

Bernard de Grunne justly celebrates
The Birth of Art in Black Africa
by his attention to Nok statuary in Nigeria. This art deserves a wider audience and a greater esteem. (12/23/08)