Yesterday I had a lot on my plate. My plan to put all my pennies into rolls and take them to the bank was scrapped as more important things took precedence. I finished the “spot” illustration without a hitch. (Loyal readers may remember yesterday’s sketch for that illustration.) Then I was out the door and on my bike, en route to the New York State Theater at Lincoln Center, on assignment for The New Yorker.
Sailing up Sixth Avenue on my bike with the sun on my back, I felt good to be alive. Bicycling in New York is a way to see the city like no other. When I first got my bike seven years ago, a whole new world opened up for me. New York was suddenly smaller, and I could get from one end of the island to the other in a matter of minutes. Bicyclists recognize other bicyclists, too. As a bicyclist, you are a member of a kind of fraternity. Like readers of Proust, bicyclists understand when they are among other bicyclists, and they nod at one another knowingly. There are those who are initiated and those who are not.
At the New York State Theater, I was met by a publicist who ushered me up to the rehearsal room. I was to do an illustration of a ballet performance for The New Yorker’s Goings on About Town (aka the “GoAT”) section. The Theater arranged for a rehearsal with the two lead dancers in full costume just for me. The pianist, the choreographer, and the costume designer all were present. The costume designer was curious about my method. “Will you be taking photographs or just sketching or … ?” I told her I’d be doing both.
“Oh, were you like a courtroom artist in another life?” she said. Everyone chuckled. I did, too. Ha ha ha.
I was introduced to the two dancers, a man and woman. This was their first day in costume, so there was a lot of fussing by the costume designer. The ballet had something to do with Scotland, so the male had on pants with a barely visible plaid pattern, which presumably I was to emphasize in my illustration. At least that’s what I intuited from my conversation with The New Yorker art director.
I am not a big ballet fan (too sophisticated for me), but I was moved by the piano playing and the grace of the two dancers. (Am I getting soft?) I snapped some shots with my camera—sans flash—and made some gestural drawings. Thirty minutes later, we were done.
I brought my undeveloped film to a 1-hour photo at Columbus Circle and took a stroll through the new Time Warner Center. I’d read about its opening recently, but I still hadn’t seen it. Can I just say one thing? It’s a mall. Whichever way you slice it, it’s a mall. I made a sketch looking out from the giant window toward Columbus Circle and 59th Street.
It’s good for me to get uptown once in a while. There is a different breed of people there. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But I’m sure people uptown feel the same way when they venture downtown. Ah, the beautiful mosaic. I never really understood Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl” until I moved to New York. There were plenty of uptown girls out and about yesterday. Some were even talking on those cell phones with ear devices.
I couldn’t resist a stroll through Central Park on a day like yesterday. At Sixth Avenue, I encountered a line of horses and carriages awaiting tourist fares. As I stood admiring the grandeur of nature’s beasts, a light brown horse suddenly felt compelled to urinate. I looked away. The sound itself was enough to emasculate a man. The horse didn’t bat an eye. It just stood there with its blinders on looking straight ahead. Then a pair of tourists wearing Gore-tex boarded the horse’s carriage, and its master “giddy-upped.” The horse obediently strode ahead, stepping blithely into the shit and piss at its feet.
I made my way downtown via Fifth Avenue. Passing Saks, I was reminded that they still owe me $4,500 for illustrations I did for their window displays last year. Repeated calls and e-mails to the art director have yielded nothing. I may have to resort to drastic measures.
At Bed Bath & Beyond on 18th Street I bought “window treatments” (rehab for windows) for my bedroom. While there, I ran into my friend AS, a photographer/musician. She asked my advice about picture frames, and we walked out together. AS told me all about the pro-choice rally in Washington, D.C., that she attended over the weekend. (Close readers may remember AS calling me from the march in my first diary entry of this week.) Over a zillion people were said to have attended. In the evening, I went to a birthday dinner/surprise party for a comedian friend who was turning 40. After dinner we met other friends at McDonald’s on First Avenue and Sixth Street. I’ve long known this McDonald’s to be a hangout for old folks who live in the nearby high-rises. Our group was on their turf. I felt as though we had barged in on something. I noticed an older man who seemed particularly lonely. I could tell by the way he pretended to read from a Rite Aid coupon supplement, but kept looking around him. I made a sketch of him. The party continued at a nearby bar, but I was tired and had to leave early.
