The Christmas Spirit Arrives

We seemed to have slowly limped into the Christmas spirit this year. Though this typically happens to me, this one has had an added layer of drag from the low economic expectations for the country, however, I am lifted by the political possibilities the Obama presidency holds.
So, once the decorations finally came out of storage and went up around the house, the mood shifted from one of stilted indifference to one of willing embrace. Of course, it took until Christmas Eve for it to happen, but the inner cheer is still there, though for a lessened period of time.

Jump starting us into the spirit of the season was a wonderful weekend in New York, at the rambling brownstone of the vivacious entrepreneur and beauty, Peggy Dillard, and her esteemed husband, famed artist Lloyd Toone. Their personal spirits raised our own senses of growing possibilities, which were heightened even more at the smashing Christmas party thrown by producer, Brenda Dillon and her raconteur husband, Bill Cavette. Filled with delightful guests, we spanned the world of amusement with them all.

We will have Christmas dinner today with our dear friends, Carol LaBrie and Uli Rose, which are more like family than friends. A dining adventure prepared by these connoisseurs of life makes it a delectable experience each and every day. This is a rare holiday opportunity to spend with them, since we are generally away, in Brazil, at this time of year. The snowy lead up to today had been enchanting, however, that has given way to snow patches and a sun shiny day. I am preparing macaroni and cheese for the occasion, my favorite holiday dish, which I am known for and make only a few times a year.

The Hudson Valley is an enchanting location at any time of the year with Christmas having a special appeal. The buildings are sprinked with decorations and frosted with snowflakes, emphasizing their architectural splendor, while the landscapes are etched in a wintry beauty that holiday cards are made of. With this setting and time of year, we are very happy to give thanks for the things in life we can enjoy, things that are there as a benefit without any effort on our part, as a gift from God. We hope your holiday presents you with joy as a present and happiness as a gift.

Crystalline Crisis

The clear bright sky, reflected on every tree limb, like facets on a diamond, does not begin to tell the story of damage and destruction this beautiful phenomenon has wrought on the countryside. Even with the benefit of a generator - acquired without my full compliance at the time - the sudden inconveniences are oft-putting. I can hardly complain of the upset in my life, while many of my neighbors have been tossed into the darkness and the cold, without the benefit of preparations for it. Even those of us who have survived in relative ease have dealt with downed trees, closed businesses and a sense of being cut off from the rest of the world. Neighbors have joined forces to check on one another and provide needed information on how to survive the ice storm.

My first experience of the ice storm happened late Thursday night, returning from the city, when I veered, late at night, onto the very dark now crystallized Taconic Parkway. The harrowing drive began with the unsettling vision of tree limbs grasping low at my car as I drove by. Like a nightmarish fantasy, the formerly leafy canopy now stretched down with crystalline fingers and scraped the top and sides of the car. Unlike the usual concern of deer wandering onto the roadway intermittently, the felled branches and trees were at every turn. At times, I drove under them as they lashed at the car, while at other times I would have to drive onto and around muddy embankments, where occasionally less successful vehicles languished. By the time the fog rolled in, my nerves had been thoroughly shattered, and, with this new obstacle impeding my passage, my prayers ramped up to a constant chant for safe arrival. When I did get home I was astonished to see many of our trees doubled over in what appeared like fetal positions, frozen to the ground like ice sculptures.

As I said, we are surviving it all with relative ease, though without having a working stove, this has taught me to stockpile more than cold cereal and peanut butter in the future. I have also learned that the temperature gauge on the main floor needs to be included in the generator's operational list. Right now, the house is sandwiched in warmth from the top floor and the basement, with a chilly 59 degrees on the first floor. Of course, I am not complaining, however, because of our circumstance, it is the best of options, in that we can stay in our home with the kitties. On a positive side, adversity on any level, provides opportunity for insights and new functionality that would not be there otherwise.

A similarity in opposites

The dulled palette of rust and browns that frame the steel blue waters of the Hudson River, on this sunny wintry morning in December, stands as a stark contrast from the brilliant shades of greens, accented with reds and yellows, that border the turquoise waters of Salvador’s Espirito dos Santos Bay. An even more striking contrast is in the layers of black clothing I am now wrapped in, to withstand the cooler climate of the Hudson Valley, versus the bright turquoise or blue-violet that floated lightly around my suntanned body in the summer’s heat of Brazil. Though these visual and physical contrasts are evident in everyway, my sense of being at peace in either is consistently the same. Snatched from one or the other, my equilibrium remains balanced, because of an abiding appreciation that, what is, IS.

To rail against one is to not fully appreciate the other. In many ways this contrast in the lifestyles, whether laying on the beaches of the Salvador Bay or chugging along the train route on the Hudson River, represents a view of a singular life. Life here allows for the luxury of detachment there, just as, my exposure there provides a more encompassing perspective here. Simple things like, an inarticulation of portuguese there, forges a stronger grasp of my native tongue here. A natural sense of community there, causes me to reach out to friends and family here. Relaxing there makes me want to work here.

Living on the outskirts of our small hamlet of Claverack, we are blessed with a slower pace than the city - one that reflects the rhythms of the seasons and the movements of nature’s creatures - in a way that many can only imagine. Yet, our excursion to Imbassai, a coastal community, under two hours north of Salvador, showed us a pace of life that I could have only imagined.

To begin with, there are no public conveyances, except for an “autobus” that delivers you, to and from the city. There are no paved roads, only the lushness of rich red dirt that squeezes between your toes - if, of course, you decide not to wear the ubiquitous “sandales”. People walk everywhere, to the market, the restaurants, schools and pharmacy, the beach and to visit one another. “Motos”, which are small motorbikes commandeered by young males, act as the other option for transport, when one does not own a car or drives a truck of some sort. These guys will transport you about for the rough equivalent of a dollar, with an added benefit of their charms.

While there we dined at a beach oasis, of cobbled together shacks, called “barracas” (bah’ hock’ kas) - they provided a respite amid the enormous, expansive and empty beaches - where we settled under bamboo umbrellas and wood hewn tables. We watched local fishermen, from our beach chairs, catch our meal of red snapper, called “vermelho”. Fried to perfection, and served with rice and beans along with a scrumptious tomato salad, the “sabores” or flavors still ricochet across my tongue.

Our friend Carson introduced us to this world that time forgot - by way of his own getaway there – where neighbors or “vizinhos” all know one another. “Hail fellow, well met” was the response to all, whether walking, working or riding a horse. Here is where locked doors would be considered an affront and where time is multiplied.

Yes, the potential of such a world exist for us in the Hudson Valley, however, we would need slow down the pace a bit here, too. This afternoon we will attend Winter Walk, the annual kick-off to the celebration of the holiday season in Hudson. Hot chocolate, chili and roasted chestnuts will warm the air and allow us to walk the main street, without traffic, to meet one another in the spirit of the season.

A friend informed me of a published article about emerging artists in the holiday issue of Uptown Magazine which includes my artwork. The editor-in-chief, Keija Minor, a longtime friend, told me of the feature while visiting an opening of my work at the Cousen Rose Gallery, on Martha’s Vineyard this summer. The magazine caters to many people, just like you, so pick it up, if it is not already sitting on your coffee table.

A Life Already In Session

In Brazilian Portuguese, they have an expression "a onda", which roughly means, "jumping on a wave." This is how we felt on our first day returning to Salvador, Bahia. After being away for almost a year, busy with our lives in the U.S., the warm local breezes greeted us, as we were swept up into a life that was "already in session" for us. Traveling with our friend from Los Angeles, Carl Reece, who manages a legal search firm, we arrived late, the night before - however, guests arrived early at our apartment the next day.

Joe and my, first guest was our apartment manager, Alain Zamrini, who rapidly reviewed our current situation in regards to needs and necessities for the space. His fun yet "business only" attitude is always welcomed, in a partnership of such lengthy dependency. We were next regaled with insights of property acquisitions from our neighbor and real estate extrapolator, Burt, who provided a clear plan for successfully negotiating the Brazilian legal maze, that would lead to his retiring off of multiple property purchases in Salvador. A dream easily fulfilled with wit, resources and a stomach for shifting currency valuations.

The highlight of the day was the appearance of the elegant, wise and humorous, Carson Philips, our dear friend, whom we were fortunate enough to celebrate his birthday with, that day. His elegance in word and motion enfolded us in the luxury of living life in this temperate climate's sensational goodies. His infectious personality has many here gravitating to him, including the brilliant young doctoral student from Columbia University, Paulo Sergio, who is working on his dissertation about the changes in the racial progress in Brazil. Of course, the conversation was made most lively when the intersections of progress in Brazil and in the U.S. were compared. Joe, as you may know, is always quick with perceptions and insights from his extensive experience on the subjects. As usual, humor was the best means to delve into the depths of so serious a discourse, so laughter was a constant refrain.

Of course, no luncheon would be complete without a stroll to the beach, where we were met with sights galore. One may think that the beach is a place for solitude and rest, but not at Porto da Barra. It is a virtual cacophony of voices, bells, whistles, music, yells and whispers that could assault one's senses, were it not for the ravishing visuals that accompany them. A parade of some of the most stunning people you can imagine pass in front of the luscious landscape, in a harmony of beauty that can literally take your breath away. Served capirinhas, while seated under umbrellas, provided for us, we surveyed the visuals with repeated praise and discernment. It was the type of distraction that melts away the concerns of Wall Street and the auto industry in a flicker.

We later resolved to have a birthday dinner at one of Salvador's finest restaurants, Lafayette, pronounced [la'phi'yet'chee]by the Brazilians, perched over the water on the edge of "Cidade Abaixo" (Lower City). Joined by Harold Jones, recent owner of a stunning penthouse here, we feasted on seafood that was flavored in a way that only the Bahians can do. Carson was in rare form as the guest of honor and made it an enjoyable evening for all.

We look forward to the unfolding "a onda" that flows in our direction this week.

Tears of Joy

Tears are a little gift that God has given us, which I am oftentimes too embarrassed to use, publicly or even privately. They stream from the same place but for different reasons, yet, with the same purpose, which, in my opinion, is to cleanse the soul. My tear ducts welled up and overflowed with unbelievable joy the night Obama won the presidency. The world doubled over in tears of ecstasy, all at the same moment, which made me happy to add mine to the mix, without any embarrassment at all - however, in the privacy of my own home.

There are those tears that joyfully accompany such glorious events as weddings and prideful moments, that seem to punctuate our feelings, like icing on a cake. Or the tears of sentimentality that allows us to connect to the memories of that which preceded us and begs us to join in the bliss of it.

We all know the tears that trickle down our cheeks because of the loss of someone or something that was dear to us. They wet our sleeves and our pillows in those most private of moments, oftentimes, when we are sure others cannot see the hurt that consumes us. They purposefully seem to wash the pain that is so deep that it knows no end or resolution and act like a God given salve, to bridge the emotional gap that is cleaved from our inability to accept a loss we do not want.

Then there are the tears that erupts suddenly from something that is so uproariously funny that laughter is not enough to contain one's reaction to it. These are the rare moments that are impossible to predict or create because spontaneity is a required precondition for it to occur. One's inner soul is racked to the core by the silly implausibility of a circumstance or situation so that it's cleansing is so complete as to leave nothing there for the moments that follow.

Tears can also flow as a mixture of joy and sadness simultaneously, as they did yesterday for me at the memorial of our dear friend, Philip Reed. Someone who had touched my life so deeply, in such a funny and loving way, could also be felt as he reverberated throughout the hall, in the tears of others. The joy of his existence in our lives as a friend, brother, leader, giver, instigator, fighter, activist and lover, were happily expressed by these emotionally encompassing tears that soothed our souls and carried his touch.

Hope Springs Eternal

Like many of you, I am watching this critical election unfold, with hope and anxiety wrestling for control of my emotions. With so many things in an unbelievable state of chaos or flux, I find that the hopes of an Obama administration, somehow being one of the only salves that I can depend on. I am unsure as to what I will feel once this battle has been won, but, surely it will be a mixture of many other feelings, which will include anticipation and expectation.

Like many of you, I have been watching every twist and turn of the election and have been barraged with information on every person and issue involved. I now know more about the lives of these candidates than I do about some friends and relatives. I now know more about healthcare, taxes and shrinking economies than my bursting head can handle. And, now more about musicians, rappers, cartoons, web videos and activists actors than I have ever thought possible rallying around these candidacies. I have called potential voters both in my area and in other parts of the country like their lives depended on it, which it does.

Like many of you, throughout my life I have hoped for many things (jobs, careers, relationships, recognition, homes, stability, etc.), yet, my hopes today extend so far beyond my personal scope and now seem to encompass the very health of our nation. Our connection to the success and failure of others has never seemed so real to me as now. The images of the incredibly long lines for people waiting to cast their votes in this election shows that we have all wakened up and realized that it is not just our civic duty to vote, but, a physical effort to resurrect a slumping nation. We are going to have our say this time around, because letting others make that choice for us, has allowed for decisions that do not correspond to our needs.

Like many of you, hope is a very ephemeral essence to hold onto, yet, it is a most satisfying anchor in today's headwinds. The hope of change is something that we all can hold onto, not just in the embodiment of a great leader but in our own ability to change things within our personal spheres. Our first step toward CHANGE is the casting of our vote and from there rebuild our world.

A Harvest in Full Bloom

The "peak fall foliage" season has arrived in full bloom, up here in the lush Hudson Valley, bringing an array of richness in color that rivals any tapestry designed to capture it. The autumn leaves turn into their vibrant hues as they are essentially being pushed from the limbs of the branches that they were born onto, just months earlier. The trees being in preparation for the time when snow will cover their limbs and the leaves would be an inordinate burden to bear. For many of us, the arc from spring into fall carries with it a symbolism of one's youth into one's middle age.

My body seems to have its' own arcing system of preparation for the seasons ahead that operates quite independently from how I think or feel. Upon waking each morning, after a brief adjustment into a fluidity of movement, I perceive myself as the youthful man I am content to be, if only in mind and not in body. This perception serves me well, until I pass a mirror or climb some stairs or ruminate about the exercise program I have once again abandoned today. The efforts to maintain the youthful appearances of old has yielded to the contentment of remembering the "old days."

Suddenly, the pleasure of listening to music from my youth has taken on new appeal because it still has the capacity to fire the engines that ran hotly through my body, in those days. Sylvester, Madonna and Donna Summers, to name a few, are constants on my iPod playlist. Or, pouring through old photos of myself and friends, that were once discarded as not "good shots", have just as quickly become stand ins for what "once was" and reinforcements of the underlying perception that things have not changed. But they have. The awareness creeps in, in many subtle ways, from reduced energy levels to the sudden perception of how young everyone else is, especially in film and television.

But, the experiences that I have been fortunate enough to live through adds a zest for life that makes wanting to experience more unquestionable. From the inception of the Motown era to the March on Washington, from hippies to disco, from feminism to gay rights, from John F Kennedy to Barack Obama, I have witnessed first hand the changing of the guard, and know with certainty that more lays ahead. So, as I move into the autumn season of my life, shedding the leaves of my youth to more lightly take on the new experiences ahead, I do so with a new contentment, based on reality and not just perception.

The Dawn of a New Season

Just as the long rainy night washed away the summer heat, our transition back to the Hudson Valley washes away the high level of social activity that characterized our time on the Vineyard. A peaceful revelry now infuses our re-orientation to life in the country, which is an easy thing to do, with vistas of rolling hills, fresh air and the lull of bird calls serving as an inducement. The environment calls me to the end of season cleanups and preparations for the long months ahead. Bails of hay, haystacks, field cutting and cleared cornfields are iconic signs of a season in change.

Stepping into the classroom at Parsons again this week reminded me of why I have devoted more than 15 years to teaching. The young and inquisitive faces that stare back at me - as they assume the roles of personal responsibility and educational advancement - are expectant of finding new skills through discovery of their talents. They bring an infinite amount of experiences, as young people having lived all over the world, to provide vast perspectives for their design concepts. Living fashion is the credo at the design schools, however, I am personally challenged by the ever-changing names and faces in the industry and the "real-time" awareness that all of these young people have with it. In an effort to keep up I must read WWD, Vogue, DNR, each day, which is a totally different focus from my fine art career.

The full measure of a man or woman is not really known until you hear from the people whose lives they have touched. Such was the awareness that met Joe and myself when we went to see a tribute to our friend Philip Reed, the former New York City Councilman. Shown here with his colleague Candy Vasquez and a supporter. We learned that many of the parks, open spaces and monuments that grace the upper half of Manhattan had been brought to their current revitalizations because of Philip. Add to that, the work he has done for seniors in the city, his health care initiatives, including HIV, rescuing The Museum of the City of New York and other local institutions, the beginning and sponsorship of many political careers, and you see a man of many dimensions. I left wanting to provide such a legacy to the world based on all the love that was showered on him by major and minor politicians, constituents, beneficiaries and friends.