Moving blues...

Hey, stay tuned! I'm moving apartments this week and have had an onslaught of job-related craziness. I'll be back to stress-free trekking next week. Until then, there will be plenty of this going on....

La Vie Boheme, a la 2010

The opposite of war isn't peace...it's creation!

I hate to quote show tunes, but this line from Rent's La Vie Boheme always stuck with me.  Simple but often forgotten, perhaps?

Rent may have become too dated for most of us to still find it shocking or feasible (whether we're meant to find it feasible is another story). I can't help but snicker when I think of my friend Sophia's blunt response to the opening number (How we gonna pay...): "Why don't they get jobs?" And she's just about as bohemian as they come. But, practicality aside, its heart was definitely in the right place. So, let this post be a dedication to the bohemian spirit of being what (or who) you create, rather than merely what you own--and nourishing that spirit amidst the juggling act of city survival.  

It's no longer this fun to be broke in NYC. 

When I finally made a move to this city, I believed it would provide enough juxtapositions to keep an aspiring writer, or just plain restless person, occupied and inspired. Obviously, I don’t think that in order to be creatively proactive you must flee to a chaotic urban setting. Look at Hemingway. Or more relevantly, look at my dear friends: denverette, who is writing beautifully out in Colorado; Jess, who wakes up early to fill her 3-page quota in Montclair. It’s a mindset and a dedication, above all. For me though, NYC suited my current taste for unpredictability and perpetual activity. I also believed it would contain a higher concentration of people caught up in their own, alternative pursuits, enough so that I would have the luxury of being left alone. Not as many people would really question or condemn a general desire to produce artistic work (my actual writing, well that's another story...) when they were at it themselves. So I could peacefully (ha!) become just  another writer, melodramatically wandering the streets, writing about the city with dreams of being published.

See, there is some comfort and even privacy with taking part in the cliché.

I moved here revved up on angst and envy, hoping like so many others to achieve something "meaningful," and to do something of my own accord. Envy seeped in when I saw others doing it--performing plays in LES gardens, reading poetry at the EAR, singing in cabaret shows. It seemed like a VIP world from which I was excluded. But I learned where there is envy, there is a potential path, and the only way to start pursuing it is to basically force yourself in, no matter how unworthy or novice you may feel. And what I discovered is that NYC has plenty of entry points, and even some unpretentious people who will support you along the way.

My unpretentious bohemians.  

While I have intense reveries about living la vie boheme myself (and I mean intense), I have been cursed with the practical, safety-net mindset. I have a romantic view of the starving artist, but realistically, my love of food and cooking alone (as shown in previous posts) doesn't really fit the living-off-Ramen-until-I-finish-my-novel image too well. I do hope that one day I will loosen the net a bit, but as for right now, life is a rather self-indulgent juggling act of full-time job and artistic endeavors. The good part about being in this city though, is that partly because it is so expensive, there are plenty of us in the same lifeboat, often anxious and nauseated by our jobs and time constraints, trying to make enough money to actually enjoy living here, while at the same time creating alternate lives that will hopefully one day become our livelihood. All vacillating between frustrated, to defeated, to suddenly inspired again. This may be why in the field of medical editing, nonetheless, I just happened to directly and indirectly meet some of the most creative people to date who have kept me inspired and pushed me to look at the world beyond the one that is paying my bills.  

So, speaking of those creative people (see, there was ultimately a reason for this extended spiel), I had the pleasure of seeing one of them perform her original songs on guitar and banjo at Jalopy in Red Hook last Saturday.  Per usual, the journey commenced from my flat in Astoria where, further feeding into the theme of  work/art balance, I had the luxury of catching the tail end of some retro, jazzy singing and guitar playing by Colin (comic, musician, engineer by day) and Dana (musician, writer, yoga-enthusiast, fellow editor by day), in a rehearsal that combined their songwriting talents. 

The rest of my lovely bohemians. 

Sorry, we were too cold and buzzed to do much exploring, as I had originally intended. But here is what I was able to catch a glimpse of on the cab ride there. (Though, it's just not the same...)

As mentioned previously, Jalopy is an eclectic and intimate venue, giving a cozy, antiquated sensation, without being too divy or dilapidated. It's a performance space, school of music, and a shop for new and vintage string instruments. There is a large assortment of such instruments hanging on the wall when you first enter, along with a small bar and cafe. The back space opens up to the staged area, with seating resembling church pews and where to the left of the stage is a large and rather frightening Romanesque bust of a man with bulging eyes. Jalopy is also an inspiration for local visual artists, who often come to  sketch performers; their work hangs on the walls and is also sold at the venue.

The show was hosted by Juliet Jeske, providing a mix of comedy and refreshingly explicit (very explicit) songs about dating woes on her accordian and ukelele. (All from a woman who by day graces little girls as Princess Sunshine yet by night produces burlesque.) Jen Kwok was featured in the show, also on ukelele with a full back-up band, overflowing with a melodic mix of spoken word irony and ballad-esque sweetness, sung with a pristine voice. (You can check out her Date an Asian video on youtube.) 

But what I personally found most fitting for this art-in-progress venue was Tinkerbel Tompsin, getting up on stage with her big ol' blue guitar, taking us back to a deep bluegrass Mississippi, on through the mountains of Appalachia and into a punk-rock New York City. Starting the night off fun and racy ( I have an idea of how we can play, come to my house my mama's away), channeling up some Muddy Waters with slide guitar, then switching over to an ancient yet at times theatrical banjo (Dance with me your demons call), Tinkerbel’s music reflects those juxtapostions that not only make her sound so original, but keep fueling those of us who want to stray a bit out of the mainstream while keeping close to our capricious hearts. 

Tinkerbel doesn't what in Batesville?! 

Switching to banjo. 

Finale. 

Perhaps some of the enchantment is seeing Tinkerbel offstage as Leigh Ann, meeting nearly every Sunday with our creative group, and performing musical works in progress and monologues for auditions (she is an actor as well). Then, knowing that in between working those frustrating hours in advertising she's writing, rehearsing, and fitting auditions in on her lunch hour. To look up on stage and see the final package of all of that definitely keeps one inspired and at least levels the boat for a little bit... as it drifts towards the next venture. Whatever that may be.

Photo credit: Photo of Rent taken from: http://media.collegepublisher.com/media/paper937/stills/438f5c7eb0457-85-1.jpg

Astoria in black and white

Today, I capitalized on my time off from work by trudging through the neighborhood to get a glimpse of Astoria Park and the East River in the snow. I haven't really "played" in the snow since childhood, so I really enjoyed crunching through to said destination, watching a father and son pummel each other with snowballs, and witnessing what I can only describe as the Hell's Angels of snowmobiles. Everyone seemed a bit happier on the streets as well, which is slightly odd considering that many New Yorkers border homicidal when it merely rains. But I got plenty of smiles walking about, as though I had become a fellow warrior, fearlessly bearing this unruly weather with my other brave Astorians. 

In any case, I'd thought I'd share some images of a snowy Astoria, if you happened to be smart and stayed inside with a nice cup of tea.

Fearless Athena does not mind the inclimate weather. 

30th Ave. 

A shot down Crescent Street. 

Corner of Crescent and 24th Ave. 

Finally, the park. I had this crazy notion that I would be taking a solitary stroll. Not sure what I was thinking with school out today.

Snowboarders and sledders. 

And to the water, the quite ominous water! Coming down the hill and crossing over Shore Blvd, the wind picked up, the snow morphed to hail, and the icy East River was a choppy grey. It seemed vacant enough, but lo and behold, city of ever-ambitious artists--I encountered several other people happily getting pelted by hail to capture the eerie Triborough in a haze of snow. 

A misty view of the Hellgate, looking east. 

Lonely seagull. 

Heading up Shore Blvd, into oblivion. 

Hellgate looking west. 

Lonely lamp post. 

And back into cheerful territory. 

I appropriately ended my icy escapade at Igloo on Ditmars, where I enjoyed a hot chocolate and a mushroom barley soup, watching the neighborhood come to life out the window, treading, trudging, playing, shoveling. But overall...business as usual. 

Banjos and bad girls a comin'

Tonight, I will be trekking down to Jalopy in Red Hook where I have the pleasure of seeing singer/songwriter Tinkerbel Tompsin and performance artist Jen Kwok for a night of music, comedy, and hotness. (Trust me, they're pretty hot.) Tinkerbel is a friend of mine, whose unusual world of performance,  banjo playing, and interchangeably hysterical to deeply poetic lyrics caught me somewhat off guard this past year. (We originally met as editors in pharma advertising. One of the reasons I continue to love it here; you never know what worlds will unfold by merely starting a conversation.)

If you're in the mood for something refreshing and atypical, I suggest you attend, especially since the threat of snow seems to have diminished. The venue alone is worthy of a visit--my lovely and talented counterpart performed here last month, describing it as "antiquated, rustic and filled with old school charm." You can read his account of the experience here. 

Tinkerbel takes stage at 9PM, followed by Jen Kwok at 10:30. There is a $10 cover charge (beyond worth it), and a bar. Click here for directions. 

If stay sedentary you must, stay tuned for a journey to this new borough, an account of the evening, and of course, some in-depth commentary on the work/art balance.

But sorry, I think I will be traveling via subway this round....

From waste comes art. And plenty of photos.

Dismal day. Dreary day. Nineteen degrees and relentlessly pale sky day. Still, I managed to venture outside this past Saturday, perhaps to walk off the remnants of Friday's Guinness and a spicy margarita from Sweet Afton; only the shock of the cold could really snap me out of it. Since apartment hunting has kept me (rather happily) confined to Astoria, I decided to venture down to the Socrates Sculpture Park, which I haven’t visited much since taking summer pilates. Located in the "up-and-coming" industrial zone off Vernon Blvd and Broadway, on this particular day I sought eeriness to fit my off-kilter mood, and this space (combined with the walk that precedes it) certainly can have an eerie effect.

I walked down to 31st Ave, which I usually follow straight to 12th, turning onto Vernon and continuing directly to the park. This time I decided to zig-zag a bit through the streets, looping down to Broadway... 

...eventually finding myself in future high-rise territory past 23rd Street. It's somewhat of a desert around these parts, and excessive scaffolding, netting and boarded off sites combined with the proximity of the East River gave the stench of potential crime scene. I was therefore surprised to learn that the Long Island City High School was located here, in an immense concrete building that I would have taken for some type of warehouse. 

I picked up my pace, continuing down Broadway, then up one avenue to 30th Road, until I came upon the southern entrance of the park.

In the same vein as many of the community gardens throughout New York City, the park, formerly a landfill and illegal dumping ground, was transoformed into a functioning public space by people of the community in 1986. In one sense, it is no different from its surroundings. It's industrial. It's experiemetal and modern. It's a constant work in progress, doubling as an outdoor museum and educational space, and a work shop for emerging sculptors (through the Emerging Artsist Fellowship program). Raw material is strewn about the grounds—wood, iron, steel, much of which is visible behind a fenced off site on the shore of the river. 

Saturday, it was nearly vacant with the unmistakable smell of sewage ocasionally wafting in from the river. The flags at the entrance of the park flapped in the wind, like constant footsteps. A Russian man played ball with his dog, and another man in a hooded jacket ran across the park with a large stick in his hand. The latter induced a wariness that eventually prompted me to leave. (Too many BBC mysteries have heightened my paranoia.) But not before capitalizing on the best interactive feature of the art currently on display. You can walk on it. At least some of it. This alone cleared up my doldrums for the day, and shifted me into a forward looking perspective as I treaded my way down the yellow-brick road into the Bronx horizon. 

Part of "Launch." 

"Assisted Boardwalk." 

This one has been disturbing and intriguing me since I first saw it this summer. It's entitled, "The Persistence of Agony." 

Unfortunately, I couldn't include all the installations at the park in this post. In which case, I suggest you go explore them on your own. Also, stay tuned for future posts; as the weather becomes a bit more forgiving, the park perks up with various activities, including new exhibitions, yoga and pilates on the waterfront, and cinema en plein air.  

Ah, my route. Can't tell what it resembles. Something...industrial? An arrow prompting me to jump in the East River? (Joke. I'm all for immersion, but even I have my limits...)

View Brief Sculpture Park Walk in a larger map