I’m walkin’ here…

I try not to be impatient (ok, who am I kidding..) but geez, It’s crowded here.

With so many people in this city, we have some unwritten ‘rules.’ Train etiquette, for example. No smelly food. No stopping at the top of the stairs to see where you are..get outta the way. And Stand Clear of the Closing Doors, for gosh sake. The same for sidewalk etiquette. Don’t come to a dead stop to check your phone. No texting while walking. Scooters only allowed from 1-3 pm (so that’s not a rule but it should be.) Sidewalks need lane markers – cellphone lane, scooter lane, tourist lane – but until city works steps up, how about some common sense? My old Minneapolis neighborhood, with brewpubs and artist studios, usually felt pretty deserted; an old man with his old dog, a mail carrier, perhaps…a couple cars. We don’t need sidewalk lanes. NYC is very different, no matter what the time of day. In the morning, shopkeepers greet each other, sweep their sidewalks and get ready for the day, the sidewalks are full of business people, there are a few souls just getting home from the night before, taking the walk of shame. Lots of parents walk their kids to school, too, which I like to see, but on these morning walks, I’m always leaping aside for them as they spill over the entire walk. Granted, the sidewalks are narrow in places, but as parents we teach our kids manners. How’re they gonna learn? Like, “stay to the right.” It’s important to learn that stuff when you live in a big city. I mean, why should I walk into a tree because an entire family, including two kids on scooters is taking up the whole sidewalk? What if I walked around with a huge, open umbrella and everyone just had to get the hell out of my way?

No question about it, growing up in New York has to be great: The Met, Central Park, Brooklyn Bridge, The Bronx Zoo. And unlike kids who live in the suburbs of flyover land and get chauffeured everywhere, New York kids learn how to cope with adversity and make smart decisions. They’re not afraid. They learn important life skills (like how to give detailed subway directions to tourists, or where to get the best street food.) New York kids, in general, are cool. New York parents…well, sometimes overindulgent and hesitant to hand out all-important life lessons so as not to dampen their child’s imagination. Last week I was headed down the stairs in the subway, eager to make my train, behind an over-eager parent using this moment as a learning experience – letting her toddler walk down the stairs during rush hour (which, in New York, is pretty much all the time). With mom holding her hand, this little girl in her cute flowered leggings was trying hard to reach her plump little leg down to the next stair, and, of course, a line of people had formed behind her. I mean, as a parent myself I ask, wouldn’t you notice that!? Sneaking down the left side of the stairs wasn’t an option – a throng of commuters was hurriedly heading up. ‘Good job, Madison!’ (Kids here all have unusual names.) Madison makes it down and her mother gets the side eye from those of us who were detained for the last 10 minutes (ok, 3).

As an aside, I might mention that my now grown daughters were wonderful, well mannered children. People told me that after meeting my girls, they decided to have kids, assured that children are cool and wouldn’t completely ruin their lives. We taught our kids that their behavior impacts other people. We taught empathy: you wouldn’t like it so don’t kick the backs of seats in front of you; hold the door open for others; and, stay to the right so you don’t take up the whole sidewalk. Gotta teach ’em basic rules for living in the city.

I admit that with all the lines and the crowds, this city really does run amazingly well. There will always be toddlers walking down subway stairs, and there will always be people who insist on walking on the left of the sidewalk. To that end, and to help the city run smoothly, I believe someone (that would be me) ought to keep order when I’m able. “Stay to the right!” I instruct those drifting into my lane. My teachable moment. Of course I try hard to smile and not scold, because, y’know, maybe they were never taught.

subway blog

Schmoozing at Sotheby’s

The New York art world is a far-reaching network of secrets and sham, buying and selling, and of course, schmoozing. As a New York artist who schmoozes once in awhile on a small scale, I decided it was time for me to schmooze at the high end of the art world and attend an American Art auction at the world-famous Sotheby’s. I was escorted on first visit by a very informed collector of American Art.

Located on the Upper East Side, the 490,000-square-foot Sotheby’s has a good looking, but not overly grand facade. Walking through the revolving doors and into the large foyer, a guard greets you warmly. The space is clean and minimal and feels elegant.  There is a sleek and polished Ferrari, regally displayed on a round pedestal (for an international Ferrari auction to be held soon.) Sotheby’s Wine store is also in the lobby. It has the look of a walk in wine cellar, its neat rows of wine are displayed elegantly. According to Decanter magazine (seems like a reliable source) Sotheby’s full-service store offers “a range of fine wines at competitive prices, from $13.95 to $40,000 per bottle.”  Yikes.

Potential art collectors are offered “the resources of Sotheby’s Financial Services” because, frankly, you’ll have to refinance your house to pay for this art. It’s fair to guess that when bidding starts at $80,000 it’s not coming home with me. But I didn’t come to bid. I came to behold. We had prepared by stopping by the day before to check out the collection for today’s auction. This morning, we arrived a half hour before the start of the auction and even got a bid number. We headed up to the seventh floor, where a pretty diverse, but sparse group was seated in the auction room. Apparently, I thought, there’s not a lot of interest in American Art right now. But then I learned that you can decide which art you want to bid on and come later, so you don’t have to sit through the whole thing. We picked up some free coffee and a scone from the food cart outside the auction hall. Seated next to some new friends we had met the day before, we browsed the catalog. There must be a lot of people with money to burn. Earlier this year, a Basquiat painting sold here at auction for 110 MILLION DOLLARS.

I had wondered earlier if I should dress up. Heels? Maybe nylons? (except I didn’t have any.) This is Sotheby’s. It’s the Upper East Side. Deciding that anything I picked wouldn’t measure up, anyway, I dismissed the idea in favor of my usual ‘Arty’ Look – black jeans (because that’s all I really own.) It ended up being a good call, as this crowd was definitely casual. Except for a couple guys in suits, it could have been a movie theater crowd. A few baseball caps, a construction worker type guy, a row of neatly dressed Korean students with notepads and pens, and a guy who I was pretty sure I had seen outside earlier asking for spare change. People you wouldn’t suspect may have deep pockets – or the ability to re-finance. The hall was not particularly large. On either side of the podium were phone banks, like the Jerry Lewis Telethon. The phones were landlines with curly cords. People were already on the phones, preparing, ready to place bids for their customers on the other end. Exciting!

The auction began precisely at 10 a.m. The young auctioneer (in a suit and bow tie) took his place behind the podium. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” A painting was displayed on screens above and to his left. The less expensive watercolors went first, taking up an hour or so, before moving on to the more desirable oils. The good stuff comes out. “Lot number 108. Bidding will start at $80,000,” he announces casually. Now the phone bank begins to heat up, all in communication with their buyers. “Bid!” says one, raising her hand. She was outbid, raises her hand again. An internet bidder from who-knows-where was outbidding her. Taking a cue from her buyer, she demurs from further bidding.  $95,000… $125,000… $155,000. At this point, the bidding begins to slow down. The auctioneer surveys the room. “I can sell at one hundred and fifty-five thousand.” He says dragging the words out slowly, firmly, looking from one side of the room to the other. “Last chance.” Glancing toward one of the telephone bidders from whom he senses interest, he asks gently, “Terry, can we make it a round number?” Terry smiles, curly cord phone to her ear and her hand covering the mouthpiece, listening intently. Then she raises her hand, pointing upwards. “160,000!” he says with delight. “Do I hear $165? $165……fair warning…” and with aplomb, he raises his arm, gavel in hand, and with the distinctive crack of the wood he pronounces it “SOLD for $160,000! Thank you, Terry. Our next item for bid..”