Cuban Photographer Adrian Fernandez at Carrie Haddad
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
We have spent a fair amount of time in Cuba these past three years…lots of time, in fact, as Hermes is working on a book, so we (legally) return every few months.
We’ve made lots of discoveries, but the best so far is ‘discovering’ Adrian Fernandez, a very talented young photographer who has been invaluable to our project. We bought Adrian’s still lifes in Havana, loved them even more when we got them back here and hung them, and wanted to bring the series to the States, where our brilliant buddy and gallery owner, Carrie Haddad, in Hudson, agreed to show his work.
So Adrian Fernandez is having an exhibition at the Carrie Haddad Photographs. Hermes and I will be there on Saturday evening, July 17, insuring that the Cuba Libres are flowing to get those red dots glowing…
Young Adrian (as we call him) is talented. He’s just completed the very competitive master of fine art program at the Instituto Superior de Arte in Havana. The work he sent to Carrie Haddad is his newest—a group of still lifes using objects from the homes of the ‘bourgeoisie’ of Havana. Treasured antique vases and containers hold plastic fruit or fake flowers—very Cuban. Every flight I’ve been on has featured armfuls of fake flowers among the tons of luggage everyone schleps—one guy last time was checking four tires. Big tires. Before you judge them on their taste, cut ‘em some slack—a real apple hasn’t been seen on that island in 51 years, decades before Young Adrian was born.
Adrian started out with the exteriors of the houses, and the ubiquitous fencing, as his subjects. He moved inside to do room portraits, and then tightened his vision to the omnipresent centerpieces. We love them—modern and bright, fake and real—very Cuban.
I hope you’ll stop in and see the show. If you can’t see it in person, check out his work at Carrie Haddad’s website or at Adrian’s website.
Like I said, above, El Jefe—as I call him in his Cubano mode—is writing a big fancy coffee table book, Great Houses of Havana: A Century of Cuban Style (Monacelli Press, 2011). So we’ve been back and forth to Cuba mucho times over the past few years. Mucho mucho times (and anyone who hablas Espanol will know from my misuse of mucho that I am not mucho help, language wise…) In my mind, my role is Yanki Eye Candy; in Hermes’s mind, I’m more the petulant Idiot Savant. “Who was that odd woman and what was she droning on about in Spanish for two hours?” “The Minister of Culture…” “Oh.”
Or the time a friend introduced me to a man, “Yadda Spanish yadda yadda Spanish yadda vice president yadda” “Encantado. Please tell me, what are you ‘vice president’ of?” Stunned pause. “Cuba.” If looks could kill, that host woulda done me in. Hey, it was a little lesson in humility for the guy because I’ll bet most people he meets know what he is vice president of…
The book will be mucho interesting. Because of friends of friends (thereby proving my mother’s refrain to me, in my post-college job search, “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know”), we have gotten unprecedented access to lots of very swell houses that very, very few people see. Only one place was almost denied us—La Finca de los Monos—the Monkey Farm. We were told by the secretary to #3 (after #1 Fidel and #2 Raul) that “only Fidel can give permission.” As I was backing out of the room muttering, “Oh, please, don‘t bother him,” El Jefe was still badgering away. And damned if we didn’t get in…
FYI, the Monkey Farm was owned by a primitologist lady who kept 180 primates (aka monkeys) at this Venetian style villa. She was way rich and personally funded the revolution of 1898. (There were lots of revolutions in Cuba—practicing for 1959?) There is a subtle war/revolution motif throughout the house—very cool. Later in life, she took the veil (but not a vow of poverty). After she was maligned by a society lady for having holes in her nun’s stockings, she had $1 million strewn on the floor of the ballroom, invited the unsuspecting woman over, and announced her stockings might have holes but she walked on money. Urban lore? Probably, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
Bear in mind, nothing was torn down in Cuba post 1959 because there was no money to rebuild. Everything was recycled. Grand mansions (ok—trust me—palaces isn’t overstating it…) are now schools, ministries, diplomatic residences, museums, day-care centers, multi-family squats, or official Casas Protocolos—and in the case of the grand country house at right, an old folks home. Some are still private homes—beautiful relics lived in by the same families for hundreds of years (FYI, if you stayed in Cuba, you could keep your house and a weekend place. We have friends with lovely, albeit decrepit, houses in town and fun beach houses in Varadero. If you left it, you lost it.)
Most books on Cuban architecture focus on the exteriors and leave it at that. Hermes is writing about the people who created the houses – the patrons, the architects, the decorators – and the lives they lived before the Triumph of the Revolution and the lives of the houses in the post 1959 years. Lots of vintage photos and lots of new photos. This house was built by an American socialite who broke her leg jumping from her bedroom window to tryst with Papa Hemingway. It is now the Canadian ambassador’s residence.
Havana was hugely wealthy and important for 400 years. The rich used French decorators (Jansen had an office there) and American architects (my favorite house was done by Carrère and Hasting of The New York Public Library fame). The modern gem below was designed by Swiss master, Richard Neutra. The Cubans spent with abandon—don’t you love that? And they had fun. I really love that!
Don’t worry (you were worried, right?) there will be lots of warning before ‘The Book’ comes out. It’s gonna be huge.
BOOKS, ETC.
Mayra Montero is Hermes’s favorite contemporary Cuban novelist (he reads her in Spanish—I opt for English). Her most recent book, Dancing to Almendra is a page turner and an education about pre-Revolutionary, Mafioso-run Havana.
I thought Isabelle Allende’s new “Island Beneath the Sea” was a treat. It starts in Haiti, before the Revolution of 1781 and follows the French nationals and Haitians as they escape to Cuba and on to New Orleans. A great tale and lots of very interesting social and political history about slavery in the Caribbean.
If you want to go directly to the source, check out Granma, the official newspaper of Cuba’s Communist Party. You can read Fidel’s latest screed (he calls them “reflections”) on Yanki imperialism. Fun!
I love foreign papers and news – Link TV, Television without Borders, has a great nightly show called “Mosaic” that distills news from the Middle East. You get to watch the actual newsreader from Iran or Kuwait or Israel. The outfits!!!! A weather girl ululating in a full burqa sort of thing in front of a map of Iran…Works for me.) And of course, “Democracy Now,” the Lefty “Newshour” is on Link…
The Cuba Libre was ‘invented’ when Coke first arrived on the island in 1900 and American troops became mixologists. Back then, Free Cuba” referred to centuries of Spanish rule.
1 part White rum
2 parts real Coke (Otto’s Market in Germantown carries the true, Mexican sugary blend, not the American fructose stuff) over ice with a wedge of lime.
Playboy’s Host and Bar Book from 1971 should fill in where this recipe leaves off—you’ll be blending Mojitos in no time.
July 15 - August 15
Carrie Haddad Photographs
318 Warren Street, Hudson
Opening reception, July 17; 6 - 8 p.m.
For the complete archive of past Wandering Eye blogs, click here.
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 07/11/10 at 06:48 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: Portraits, a Point of View
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
Portraits are a tricky thing. They should be ‘art’—the first thing you should think is, “What a great painting / photograph / statue.” Not “what a great (or terrible) ‘portrait’…”
So having a new puppy meant we had to call Valerie Shaff pronto to insure that Frankie, in all his youthful perfection, was saved for posterity. Like children, dogs should be shot when they are young—they are cute, malleable, and they smile a lot. And like children, close care must be given to their outfits, their hairdo’s, and their backgrounds.
A bit of background: Sixteen years ago, Hermes commissioned a portrait of Pancho when he was about a year old as a surprise gift for me. How sweet is this portrait? It captured him perfectly at that point. Pancho was an Old Soul… This photo went on to be included in Val Shaff and Roy Blount Jr.’s first book, If Only You Knew How Much I Smell You. Then it was on a Hallmark birthday card (with the really, really lame ‘greeting’ “I’m so excited I could pee”… Who sat around a table at Hallmark and thought, “That’s a winner!”?) I have loved having this portrait from Day One.
OK—a quick opinion re: family photos. Me? I like them in the library, the bedroom, the dressing room—but never (I have seen this! I swear!) in a dining room. Sure, if you have your signed snap of Elizabeth and Philip, it can go in the living room—in a vermeil frame with coronet. Or the single wedding photo or family group shot. But not tables full of cheap frames with redundant imagery. I weigh in on the side of less-is-more and less public is better than more public.
Since not many Texans are chummy with the Windsors, the Fiesta dress portrait remains the sign of Fine Lineage and Lone Star Royalty and holds pride-of-place on many a mahogany tea table.
This modern duchess has a rather fascist motif—I think Napoleonic.
In 1976, the Court of the Lone Star, mine was the Duchess of the Trans Pecos Vastness—her train covered in cacti and deer and antelope. “Neat but not gaudy,” as we say.
We had a client early in our career for whom the first thing on my suggestion list was, “Fewer photos of the children on the piano. If you simply turn to your right, you will see both of them—in real life!—roller skating in the front hall…” That went over like a lead balloon. I learned two things from that woman—don’t criticize people’s Help (what difference does it make to you if they aren’t good cleaners or are drunk at 10 a.m.?) and the less said about the kids, the better. “That Christopher (age 4) is the cutest little boy I’ve ever seen. He just chatters away, but I can’t understand a word he says.” “He’s in speech therapy three times a week—no one can understand a word he says…” Ooops. (BTW, Christopher turned into the handsomest big boy and graduated from Yale. Whew).
Back to the matter at hand. Pet Portraits – Our friend Patty Dryden painted this box for us many moons ago—sweet, isn’t it?
So, the appointment was made, Val arrived, we confabbed and found a location. Stately oaks and a glimmer of the Hudson behind—Hudson River School inspired and understated.
Next we grab Frankie as he flies by and instruct him to “Focus.” Right… Let the Games Begin….
Not even Eadweard Muybridge, 19th century ‘locomotion’ photographer, could capture that dervish on film.
Val ran through her tricks—weird mewing sounds, a tossed stick, a tweaked tail—and each caught the attention of Frank for two or three frames. We weren’t allowed to use treats as an inducement to Stay. Val says you end up with a hungry/pleading dog face on film.
She’d snap two frames, then a butterfly would drift by and Frank would drift along—or bound away.
Since Val uses film (how lovely and retro), we didn’t have that digital luxury to just shoot and shoot and shoot pictures. This forced the Humans to focus even if the adolescent Canine couldn’t. Which was good for everyone; finite, two rolls and we were done.
Whereas Pancho was shot without collar, sort of ‘naked’ on a paisley shawl, Frankie, being outside, kept his collar on (sans reflective Petsmart ID tag—the sterling one has been ordered from James Avery in Texas). Pancho’s ‘fragility’ (that face—he’s straight out of a Tennessee Williams play…) lent itself to an inside shot while Frankie the Clinically Insane needed some space to run. F. got a bath the day before in the hope that his coat would settle-in overnight—and it did, sort of. Indeed, that is his real coat—no back combing, no product. The color is fantastic—white to strawberry blond to copper. It is a source of great pride.
Me, I love animal portraits when they have stand alone ‘art value.’ Sadly, most don’t. I look at the cork board above my desk, and I count five postcards of dog paintings and one cow—all real portraits of real animals. Not generic Spaniel Art… Years ago, I found this black dog in Hudson while shopping with my mother. We both loved this pooch. She says, “I’ll take it.” I’m pleased—obviously, I thought she was buying it for me; then she asks me to ship it to Texas (Huh!?). He is a handsome animal and well loved and well painted in life and for posterity.
It goes without saying, the vast majority of pet portraitists are lousy. And that’s being way too kind. Google ‘Pet Portrait’ images and tell me I’m wrong. A favorite—this mutt (Those teeth. That stare. This dog is a meth freak.). Reminds me of Police Portraits (aka mug shots, another google that entertains for hours!)
Check out Val’s website and the video of her photographing dogs in the window at Barney’s in New York and be amazed. Then call her and book a portrait of a dog or, if you insist, a grandchild. You won’t regret it…
MUSEUMS, BOOKS ETC
For One Stop Shopping, go south to Manhattan to the Frick to see, in one quick walk around, the crème de la crème. I’d Googled Holbein to find his portrait of Sir Thomas More and found it is in the Frick. I’d forgotten that one, but knew the other works by Ingres, Whistler, Turner, Bronzino (right), Rembrandt, Velasquez, Vermeer, etc. cover portraiture in Western Art pretty darn well.
Read Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel this summer for a Tudor fix. It won both the Man Booker Prize and the National Book Critics Circle Award for last year. I dove right into it; others say, it takes a bit, then it clicks. Thomas Cromwell is the hero and Thomas More features.
In our hemisphere, the oldest portraits might be the Moche civilizations pots from about 1000 years ago. I’ve wanted one of these portrait pots for years. (Hint Hint - if anyone wants to get on my good side, I can definitely be bought. As they say, “Easy, but not Cheap.”) So realistic and forceful. And OLD.
If I had a baby I would run, not walk, to beg Adam Fuss to shoot it… (Oops, an unfortunate—Freudian?—turn of phrase.). These newborns in fluid are wonderful. Check with our friend, New York photography dealer, Yancey Richardson—she might be able to organize it.
—Carey Maloney
For the complete archive of past Wandering Eye blogs, click here.
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 07/07/10 at 08:24 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: Tivoli, (Mostly) The Madalin
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
OK, we are suckers for proximity when it comes to our restaurants and bars. If it is close, it doesn’t need to be that good. We’ll be loyal supporters simply because of where it is.. (Discerning, right?).
So imagine our glee* when the Madalin Hotel and its restaurant, Madalin’s Table opened 3 miles south of us in Tivoli. Out our driveway, one right turn and one left and in five minutes we are golden. Easy on, easy off. Now, the kicker: Besides being close? Madalin’s Table is really good! Go figure—Fortuna smiles on us.
The Madalin is an old hotel and bar, built in 1909. Back when we first arrived in Clermont, it housed the local Tivoli bar. Even I, in my Drinking Days, knew not to cross that threshold. The place just screamed “Locals Only”—and the clientele looked un peu rough—the last bulwark against the Bard kids and the fey weekenders. (He who laughs last…) Then three smart guys bought it, mucked it out, fixed it up with charm, and voila!—a real destination, a restaurant to be proud of and a lovely small hotel to foist visitors off on when your guest rooms are full.
The Madalin does not have a B&B vibe. It is a real hotel, albeit small, with just 11 rooms. Finicky friends have stayed there without complaint; our ‘easier’ friends have only accolades. Flat screen TV’s, central air, and WIFI—my kind of country. Hermes stays there all the time and loves it. (Just kidding).
We are not very guest friendly. I just did the math. Our single guest room takes up 2.25% of our house. Trust me, that speaks volumes. But hey, bathroom en suite! And it may not be big, but we spent dough making sure the guestroom has its own heating and cooling zones. This was after my mother visited and baked one night (her hair was sort of matted at breakfast) and then froze the next (“Are you trying to kill me?”). Her ‘bread and butter’ present that trip was a new and vast AC system. Beats a garden club cookbook. Sometime, I’ll tell you about the ‘blackout’ that got us a generator. “That’s funny, the power is out.” (Wonder who flipped that big breaker in the basement?) “Sorry, Mother, no water without a pump. A drag, right? Of course, we could never afford a generator..” Cue violins.
B&B’s spook me. We stayed at one for a wedding in Northeast Harbor and, by Saturday, everyone from our group except us had relocated (no small feat in Maine in July). The old crone (thick black stockings and black wool schmata – in July) and her hunky/scary son were too weird for words. Whenever we left, we would close the door to our room door only to find it open when we returned. I asked the creepy guy to please leave it closed. “We’re all family here,” he cheerfully responded. I still shudder…
But, personally, we know the Madalin best as a place to dine. Chef Michael Barillari (a CIA grad) works with local suppliers like Montgomery Place and Migliorelli Farms to keep things seasonal. This year the wrap around porch was enlarged and the scene in the summer is outside. Friday nights get a clubby group of table-hopping, fashionable weekenders. Saturdays the food-savvy full timers predominate.
When the outside is Out of Season, we opt for the bar over the more decorous dining room. Whether ‘real’ menu or bar menu, we really like the food. Great burgers. Great fish and chips. I wish there was an official steak on the menu, but the hanger steak satisfies. I’m low maintenance, food-wise. A bacon-cheeseburger followed by chocolate cake with ginger ice cream, and I am happy. This isn’t to diminish the Madalin’s ‘fine cuisine’—it’s pretty swell. I’m just a simple eater.
We are bad about reserving; we sort of spontaneously combust (“OMG. It’s 9:30!”) and bolt for dinner, usually 10 minutes before—or after—the kitchen closes. If we’re out of luck and Madalin’s Table is full, Tivoli offers options…
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Luna 61 is organic and vegetarian and very good. Cute and funky and very Bard.
Osaka is another favorite—half the time we call ahead and take away. I’ve always felt like you could be on the Upper West Side in there—you’ll see. Generic Japanese restaurant design is sort of comforting.
And Tivoli has a tat parlor—Nice Guy Von Tattoos, for your ink and piercing need. A sushi theme??
Santa Fe is the granddaddy of the Tivoli eateries. Way back when, in the days of really slim pickin’s in these parts, we had friends who’d drive 20 miles to soak up the margaritas and ersatz Mexican cuisine (bean sprouts weren’t on the menu at the Tex Mex places I grew up with). The place still packs ‘em in.
Our rural getaways usually begin every Friday night with a call to Broadway Pizza (845-757-2000). A TiVo’d “Trueblood” or “The Tudors” episode and delivered pizza—country living at its best.
BOOKS & DOWNLOADS
Our Mexican food idol is Zarela Martinez. Her place on 2nd Avenue, Zarela’s is our favorite Mexican restaurant. Very, very favorite. Check out her website and learn about La Cocina Mexicana or buy one of her books. Her first is a favorite, Food from My Heart: Cuisines of Mexico Remembered and Reimagined
This morning on NPR, I heard that today is the 50th anniversary of Psycho. You can check out Tony Perkins’ biography, Split Image for some Hollywood dish.
Or go directly to our favorite new guest room/bedside tome, Hollywood Babylon – It’s back! Full of really salacious stuff—I highly recommend it. Chapters like, “Well Hung Hollywood,” “Whatever Happened to Judy Garland’s Body,” and “We Want Rudi in the Nudi” (Rudolph Nureyev) grab me—what can I say?
And go Vegan—or vegetarian—or not. On this subject, I have no opinion, but I love the cover of this book and like the Measure Free thing. Works for me (in theory). Hippie Kitchen: A Measurefree Vegetarian Cookbook (Measurefree Kitchen Companion Trilogy)
*“so imagine our glee…”
Has everyone glommed onto “Glee?” How fun is that show? Something for everyone (gay, straight, physically handicapped, black, Asian, pregnant single teen, or just simply psychotic), with singin’ and dancin’! Even if it is on Fox, check your PC tendencies at the door, then flip over to your local Fox affiliate (blech) to check it out—my iTunes is full of Glee downloads. —Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 06/21/10 at 03:08 PM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: It’s a Boy!
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
Francisco Jose Yunior “Frankie”
I have misgivings. Is it in appalling taste to mourn the little lost friend publicly in March and then adopt three weeks later in April and ‘announce’ it? Or should I keep it under my hat? (Note to self: If you have to ask if something is in appalling taste, it is…Oh well.)
I guess keeping things under my hat isn’t really my nature.
Bear in mind, the speed with which I sought solace in another puppy was no solace to Hermes. He’s wondering how long it would take me to replace him. I have assured him that it would take me eons to recover from his loss (or months, whichever came first…)
So, welcome, Frankie! (And Pancho, I still tear up whenever I think of you, which is often.)
As I debated / dithered / agonized about when it would be ‘appropriate’ to get another dog (nada in Emily Post on that subject…), Hermes rallied. “Whatever you want, whenever you want it.” He’s so good to me…
To go back a bit. A month before Pancho ‘Went West’, I happened into Hooked on Dogs in Red Hook’s Chocolate Factory. They had a little crazy mutt named Pistol they were fostering while he awaited a new home. He was bouncing off the walls, and I was enamored. The women told me about their friends at Perfect Pets Rescue in nearby Elizaville, and I filed the information away for the future, since, as long as Pancho was around, no new pups were coming in our door.
OK – let’s be frank(ie). Dog toys are f ugly. But not Hooked on Dogs’ toys—they are really cute!! Wacky wooly things that way beat the Dead Chicken school of chew toys.
A month later, Pancho was gone.
We got lots of lovely notes of condolence, some books, and two rather grand orchids (FYI, anytime you want to be ‘correct’, send an orchid. Works for me! Orchids.com is great). Two of the letters that most affected me were from women whose dogs had died, and they had not replaced them—and both regretted it. Friends said, hesitantly (fearing my backlash??), “Get a new dog. That will fix you up”.
So back to Hooked on Dogs we went. Hermes, calmly and patiently awaiting his next 16 years of canine servitude, did gently pipe up with, “We can change the name, right?” But Pistol was gone. I could see the relief on HM’s face.
Armed with all the info from the Hooked girls, I went online to the Perfect Pets Rescue website. OMG. Gertie, Marjorine, Lamont (My mother’s maiden name?!?), Fern, Susan, Fred… Mostly smallish dogs. Mostly mixed breeds. There, in the middle of the column of dogs, was Frankie. Well, he was Stan then, but he’s Frankie now. One ear up and one down. Beyond cute—to me.
Frankie—nee Stan
Frankie is from Georgia. Turns out southern states have an epidemic of unwanted dogs. (Yet another example of the success of the Bible Belts obsession with Abstinence Only? A heads up, Religious Right, it is NOT working.) So Perfect Pet Rescue goes to the source and picks adoptable strays. The pups are administered to by a vet—shots, de-wormed, even a security chip so Frankie can never be lost again. Then the dogs come north and lovely volunteers foster them until they are adopted.
The mean streets of HotLanta… Poor Frankie….
I was chomping at the bit. He was being fostered on Shamrock Circle in Poughkeepsie so, after speaking to his foster mom and hearing her accolades, we booked a viewing for the next Sunday.
OMG. He was Super Cute in person. I kept telling myself my conscience would be clear if we passed on him; he was safe and happy and wouldn’t be long without a home, I kept telling myself. Over and over. In case I wasn’t ready..
After 4 minutes on the front porch, I told the Foster Mom we’d take him and HM and I went in search of a cash machine to get the $400 adoption fee (bear in mind, it costs $100 to bail them out of ‘jail’, then vets etc. A bargain!). But the doubts/guilt lingered… Should we? Shouldn’t we? After that boring refrain for 15 minutes, cash in hand, we returned back to Shamrock Circle and picked him up.
“Frankie,” Hermes told him, “you just won the Lottery.”
He’s fallen into his life quickly. He loves his office and his staff dotes on him. He enjoys the country and tolerates the city streets. He’ll be fine.
We bought this Lawn Stork years ago and it has heralded many friends’ new babies!
I’m thrilled we made the leap. Having a puppy forces you to think ‘young.’ Pancho had been an adult or a senior for 10 years—we walked slower and slower. Now I trail along behind a pup straining to get somewhere—anywhere—FAST. Life is much sped up and that is a good thing.
He is lying here by my desk, sleeping and dreaming (he will not let me out of his sight; he won’t eat without me in the room). He seems to have no psychological scarring from his days on the streets and in the shelters—all is good for Frankie now. He landed in Tall Cotton.
So – a big Thank You to Pancho for showing me how wonderful a dog can be. And thanks to Perfect Pet Rescue. Thanks to the foster ladies of Shamrock Circle. And thanks to Dr. No Name who helped him in his time of need.
Remember, Don’t Breed or Buy While the Homeless Die…Adopt a pet.
Thelma
Eliza
Marjorine
Not So Fun Facts
In six years one unspayed female and her offspring can reproduce 67,000 dogs. (Spay USA)
Seven dogs & cats are born every day for each person born in the U.S. Of those, only 1 in 5 puppies and kittens stays in its original home for its natural lifetime. The remaining 4 are abandoned to the streets or end up at a shelter. (The Humane Society of the United States)
Each day 10,000 humans are born in the U.S. and each day 70,000 puppies and kittens are born. As long as these relative birth rates exist, there will never be enough homes for all the animals. (Spay USA)
The public acquires only 14% of its pets from shelters; 48% get their pets as strays, from friends, from animal rescuers, 38% get their pets from breeders or pet stores. (The Humane Society of the United States)
Books
My Dog Tulip by J. R. Ackerley is a wonderful book about his Alsatian, Queenie (His editors changed the name to Tulip, fearing Queenie might incite gay jokes about Mr. A.) “I would have immolated myself as a suttee when Queenie died. For no human would I ever have done such a thing, but by my love for Queenie I would have been irresistibly compelled.” He wrote very few books – basically Tulip, Hindoo Holiday, and My Father and Myself. Each is a jewel.
For kids (and maybe me…), there is the classic, The Incredible Journey. A lab, a bulldog, and a Siamese cat travel hundreds of miles to return home. A real tear jerker…
Portraits
For a photographic portrait of your pooch, there’s no one better than Valerie Shaff, and she lives in Germantown.
To see her work, go to Carrie Haddad Photography in Hudson to see Shaff’s beautiful prints of wonderful subjects. Valerie Shaff
—Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 04/13/10 at 01:04 PM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: Now they Want to Close Our Parks?
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
To file under :
One More Thing to Worry About….
Let me revise that to :
One More Thing to Deal With…
Niagara Falls State Park, founded in 1885, is the oldest state park in the United States. Since then, 177 parks have been added to the New York State Parks system, creating a parks network that is used by 55 million people each year. A great achievement, representing 125 years of work.
I’m assuming this is Color Enhanced. If not, I’m headed to Niagara, ‘cause it is psychedelic..
Well - - as I am sure you have heard, our New York State parks are under fire. Proposed budget cuts will result in closing 55 parks and historic sites and severely reducing services to another 24 parks.
Major bummer.
I thought, from the first list I saw, that Clermont (which I can see from my bedroom) had dodged the bullet. Now I hear from Hermes that the bullet hasn’t been dodged—Clermont indeed may close.
So, in the RI area, in Dutchess and Columbia Counties, we are threatened with the closings of the Clermont and Staatsburgh historic sites. Olana and the Walkway over the Hudson would see open days reduced by 2 days per week.
Take a gander at this Robert Livingston’s CV… What didn’t he do?? And his house might be closed???
After the initial blow of “Clermont closing ? That can’t be…” wore off, I started reading….
First, visit the Parks and Trails New York website. They say it way better than I can. All the information you need plus contacts and helpful advice on how to speak out against the cuts. Parks and Trails should get you fired up…
The economics make no sense to me. The State Parks budget is ¼ of 1% of the entire New York State budget. Tiny. So, to save $6.3 million dollars, they close 55 parks?? The parks generate $5 in economic activity for every $1 spent. Pretty super rate of return. Overall the parks generate $1.9 billion in economic activity and employ over 20,000 people.
Taconic State Park falls. Close to my heart – I almost got arrested there.
And on another level, how can you ‘close’ an historic house? How do you protect/conserve the decorative and fine arts—the patrimony that the state has been entrusted to protect. And how much would that cost??? If/when these facilities reopen, you have to spend more dough restoring/repairing/replacing what you lost during to the period it was closed.
Huh?
This is all so illogical, it sounds like political/budgetary posturing to me—but if we aren’t vigilant, that posturing may become fact.
Friends of Clermont had a board meeting last week where Hermes and the other board members were given their marching orders.
First – focus on the Assembly members. These are the guys who can put the pressure on the all-powerful (sadly) Sheldon Silver. (FYI – take a moment to wonder at the district map. It is nuts! Too crazy to be anything but shameless gerrymandering.)
Pete Lopez
Tim Gordon
Kevin Cahill
Joel Miller
State Senator Stephen Saland (R)
I got briefly waylaid by the hits re: his vocal opposition to same sex marriage. I guess the State Senator for Rhinecliff doesn’t take Amtrak, because I commented last Friday as I picked up houseguests, “Were there any straight people on that train?” And my guests said, “Not that we saw.” Just a head’s up, Senator…Demographics change and the gays have looooong memories.
Back to the issue at hand…
Painful as it is – a written letter via snail mail carries more weight than the easier email.
But hey – do either… Or do both .
Use Parks and Trails New York for guidance.
We need our parks!!!!
OK – worst case scenario, they lay off 19,998 employees – I’ll march in Albany to save these two Jones Beach lifeguards from the unemployment line.
—Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 04/03/10 at 08:35 AM • Permalink
He Was a Very Good Boy: Pancho 1994 - 2010
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
My Pancho died this afternoon. I can’t stop crying.
I know, I know he was sixteen, and he lived the life of a prince. I’m crying for me, not him. I had so much fun with him.
I did pull myself together for a moment and thought, “I should write about Pancho.” He deserves a great New York Times obit in the style of the legendary Robert McG. Thomas, Jr. Above the fold. With a photo.
So I turn on the laptop and within moments, I can’t see the keyboard through the tears.
I doubt Robert McG. Thomas, Jr. had this problem…
It all went as well as it could have. A few weeks ago, he stopped eating, tests were run and steps taken and he started eating. Then rinse and repeat four times—bad/good/bad/good until yesterday. The cancer showed up on an ultrasound and his kidneys had failed and his little heart murmur was speaking up…He was dying.
His very kind and pretty veterinarian, Dr. Kim Rosenthal, called with the news and the options. The options were too many and too invasive and he was too old. At sixteen he wasn’t a candidate for this painful scenario.
I asked Dr. Rosenthal if she could make a house call. I’m Old School when it comes to life’s ‘moments.’ I want them private. I could not face the nice people in her office or the walk there and home. I could not face taking Pancho to the only place where he was unhappy or hurt—back on that metal examination table. She was reluctant—it wasn’t the clinic’s policy, and she really didn’t do that. Then she kindly agreed. She said she’d come over between 4:00 and 5:00.
So at 4:00 Hermes and I sat on the sofa with Pancho in my arms, and we waited. His breathing was labored. His little heart was weak. I was under no delusions that it was me comforting him—it was him comforting me.
We were mostly quiet. Only our wracked little breaths and my sniffles.
Then he threw up on me. A welcome diversion. Hermes held him while I went to change shirts and have a cry in the bathroom. Then we three sat back down.
We had a wonderful quiet hour—an important hour orchestrated by Hermes, who has kept me calm throughout this ordeal (I can’t remember the time I’ve ever spent an hour sitting quietly… Never?),
At 5:00, Dr. R and her lovely nurse arrived. Pancho and I were settled—him draped across my lap. I stayed seated while Hermes brought them into the living room. How uncomfortable for those two nice women. Not knowing whether they were coming to a weird place with weird people. They were brave—I truly appreciate their effort.
The apartment was bright and I had lots of flowers around. He was in his home on his sofa with his two daddies. Our histrionics were restrained—my WASP-y silent tears streaming and Hermes’s elegant Cubano machismo. We were quickly all comfortable as a little group with a purpose, and we began the work at hand.
One shot of Valium (I was jones-ing for that needle—I needed it as much as he did), and he was in The Land of Nod. A couple of minutes later, another shot, and he was gone. Just like that. Gone. His heart stopped, and his eyes closed.
We wiped away the tears and said our goodbyes—me still sitting with him on my lap. Both Doctor and Nurse were so lovely and kind. The amount of time spent was perfect. Neither perfunctory nor overwrought. As they were leaving, I gave Dr. R. a copy of Pancho’s book, If Only You Knew How Much I Smell You, my last copy signed by the author Roy Blount, Jr. and the photographer Val Shaff.
The front door closed and the dikes opened. Hermes sat back down, and I had a good long sob.
Then Hermes and I got him settled, wrapped up in a nice clean towel and in a nice Gucci box (I knew there was a reason I bought that briefcase…) to go upstate to be buried.
So
I still can’t stop crying - but when I do, I’ll know my run with that little guy was extra long and extra good.
I got him at a time in my life when things were difficult— ‘nough said on that front. Having a little creature that needed me, that I could dote on, and that made me so happy was a wonderful gift. Back in his youth, he really was a therapy dog—when I didn’t want to ruin Hermes’s day with my problems, I could whine or cry with Pancho, and he always cared. He was blessed with a face that always looked concerned…
He was a big part of my life—he brought me great pleasure. He was happy and smart, friendly and low maintenance. Portable—sort of like carrying a 12 pound canned ham around…the perfect accessory.
Admittedly, him being so handsome made me shamefully proud. Yesterday as I was carrying him to the vet, a man stopped me and said “What a beauty!”—so at 16 and on his deathbed, he was handsome and ageless.
The brilliant Val Shaff launched his career. He could have been a remittance man but he chose a career. As a model. I know, I know—if anyone else said that I’d cringe. “Can’t he pursue something with more substance?” But he brought a level of complexity to his work that transcended tacky catalog projects or runways. He was more Muse than subject. He was in the book I mentioned above. He was on a Hallmark birthday card. He was the cover boy and Mr. February in a calendar. His little face graced The New York Times, House and Garden, House Beautiful, Architectural Digest. Always gracious, he only worked pro bono.
Pancho and Mini-Pancho Everyone has a different canine connection. A dog for the kids, an outside dog for the country, a substitute child…with us it was sort of a Mini Me thing—with him playing the Austin Powers role and me as Mini Me.
Our connection was 24/7 for sixteen years. He went to the office everyday. He was employee of the month so many times, we just retired the award to him. He was the best diversion. Our office is no snake pit, but everyone needs a little comic relief. Pancho ripping up fabric samples (exactly at 5:30 every day). Pancho’s birthday parties. Pancho’s barking to get up on an architect’s chair to lie in the small of his back as he worked. (“Nyet, I do not mind.” “See Hermes, Dimitri doesn’t mind.” “He does mind—he’s scared you’ll call the INS if he complains.”) I think they liked him. Four times a day a pretty woman or a handsome man took him for a little gambol to ‘check his messages’ from his canine acquaintances.
Office Monitor – always diligent….
He was a big Country Dog in his little City Dog body. He ranged far and wide, walking south to the convent (“Mr. Maloney, the little monkey is bothering our ducks again.”) and north to our neighbors (“Pancho’s here—we’re having bacon.”) He chased the turkey and deer. Barked at the hawk—and then always barked at The Colbert Report opening when the eagle screeches. He wandered far-and-wide over 120 acres—and he always came home right at the moment when hysteria was building…
He loved to eat. He would have eaten himself to death. And he was, in his youth, remarkably nimble. Friends who babysat him one Thanksgiving found him on the dining table, eating the turkey, and when confronted he calmly lifted his leg, peed on the centerpiece, and jumped to the floor (it was their fault—they shouldn’t have screamed at him). On New Year’s Eve 2000, there he was, back on the dining table, chowing down on hundreds of dollars worth of foie gras, while sitting in a thousand dollars worth of caviar. The hostess was following him around with a cracker by his butt…
He was so cute.
Pancho tries on the De Niro tennis pavilion for size…
Of course, he slept in my bed. For sixteen years, I grudgingly clung to my 20% of the bed surface while he commandeered the other 80%. I’m trained to sleep very carefully—no thoughtless flipping around in bed with a chihuahua… One wrong turn and he’d be toast… His beds were legion. He had a choice of electrically heated or sheepskin, Revillon mink or leopard velvet. A 19th-century Indian chair and a summery wicker basket. And that was just in town…
He dressed simply. He was too handsome for gimmicks. His rolled brown leather collars with nickel buckles were from Paris. I told him they were Hermes, but I lied. They were really from the BHV —sort of a Parisian Macy’s with a great pet supply department. He wasn’t an easy fit—large chest and tiny waist (that apple didn’t fall far from the tree) so his vests were made by my mother’s sewing lady (how dated is that term?) in Texas—Ultrasuede that matched his coat perfectly with white piping for summer and orange for hunting season.
I swear this was not posed. Someone looked out on the office terrace and there he was, warming his little bum in the potting soil.
He was fun for me—and I think I was fun for him.
Well - - the two hours I’ve spent on this indeed have made me feel better. He was my first dog as an adult, and we had a great and long run. He joins a lovely pack of the other Maloney dogs from my youth—Penny, Gypsy, Butch, Bwana, and Angus.
Sixteen very happy years that flew by…I hope he’s having fun, eating foie gras and chasing ducks.
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 03/15/10 at 05:59 PM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye Goes Ethno
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
On Friday January 15, Stair Galleries will have a two session “Asian and Ethnographic” sale. Before Stair became so international, we grabbed some great buys there in the Ethno field. The weekenders were focused on Ye Olde Americana stuff—the guy buying a weather vane wasn’t going to be fighting us for a Sepak Valley shield. Those days are gone—I fear Stair’s online presence will have us competing with dealers in Paris and Bruges. Oy.
This sale definitely falls into my “see it and touch it before bidding” category. Failing that, break out the yard stick at home and mock up the dimensions—then call the gallery for condition reports. There are four geese (lot 337) that, in theory, would be fun on a dining table or by a fireplace. In fact, they are the size of calves—huge! Who’d a thunk it? Try to preview the sale in person—avoid surprises.
We’re great fans of Ethnographic art. The first piece in our “collection” was a mask my parents brought me from Africa in the early ‘70’s. As a college student, I bought and schlepped back a Bambara antelope from Cape Town. I cherished it until it got smashed in a move. Maybe lot 479 is a replacement?
Ethnographic is defined as art produced by indigenous peoples. Once we called it Primitive Art. Now, in our post-Colonial world (some would argue Neo-Colonial) the PC term is Primary Art. The Metropolitan Museum opts for the truly safe “Arts of Africa, the Americas, and Oceania.”
Assuming we all know what constitutes Africa (well - Sarah Palin was a bit confused on the continent versus country status…) and “the Americas,” most of us don’t know what makes up Oceania (love that name! Mythical.) So here’s a map.
Huge right? Besides the geographic diversity, you have cultural diversity to the tune 800 different languages spoken in New Guinea. (800?!?) These little tribes would live tooth and jowl—villages within sight of each other—and could not speak any mutual languages. Sounds like a recipe for chaos right? Add cannibalism (still a “lifestyle”) to the fracas, and you’ve got a bunch of skittish natives. Oh—and English is the national language, spoken by 1% (!?) of the populace. What we have here is a failure to communicate…
The jewel in our personal Oceanic crown is a slit gong from Vanuatu. These are the largest musical instruments in the world and were used to send messages from village to village or island to island. Ours spent many years in the driveway of a client’s house in Hobe Sound (how cool is that??). Now he holds court in our living room. Those crazed whirl-a-gig eyes symbolize the morning star and the slit is the mouth. One piece of wood, 14’ tall. Kewl.
I’ll admit it—we buy for looks and price since we are not experts in this field. Like anything else, if you look at things carefully and analyze condition with a bit of common sense (if this wooden statue had spent its formative years in a hut on the African veldt, would it look like this today?). And only spend what it’s worth to you—then, even if it’s a fake, you can’t go wrong!
Lots of cultures fetishize statues and other objects believed to have magical powers. There are a number of these in the sale and lot 385 says it all.
Materials used in making these fetishes may include blood, human hair (head hair and pubic hair), horns, shells, nails, feathers, mirrors, metal, twine, paint, cloth, raffia, fur, beads and herbs—anything thought to add power or magic.
While we’re on the fetish subject, what’s with Posh and these shoes??? Damn. And David Beckham dressed up like a race track tout? What a waste…
I love “dress up”—Bantu Barbie guards our coat closet, which is sheathed in a Coromandel screen. She’s very multi-cultural.
One of our purchasing Rules of Thumb: always consider how the piece is mounted. Pricey custom mounts (or frames or lamp bases…) imply the owner spent enough on the thing to warrant the expense of the mount. People usually don’t spend big bucks displaying dreck. (That said, I’ve been known to spent ten times the cost of the ‘art’ on a frame… So buyer beware at our House Sale!)
Case in point: Check out Lot 206 for the best mounting I’ve seen in a long time. This handsome little horse resides in a beautiful glass vitrine with bronze mounts. It puts today’s Lucite boxes to shame. The horse benefits from this guilt by association—Mrs. Warburg spent a bundle on the box so maybe she spent a bundle on the horse too!
For the best art mounting in New York City, go to William Stender—he is brilliant, The Met uses him, every dealer we knows uses him, and his firm has a great website and catalog for off the rack things. Put a little rock on a Lucite cube and suddenly it becomes an important little rock.
Locally, our friend Jeff Budd at Budd Ironworks (518.325.3912) has worked his magic for us for years. He got Bantu Barbie upright with a very clever cantilevering thingy… (I can hear the screams from some dealers in Hudson as I give out his name. My theory on “trade secrets” is, spread the word and help our favorites get more work—keeps us all in business.)
There are some pre-Columbian (before 1492) things in Ethno sale. I love Colima dogs—those fat little ancestors of my Pancho. They were made as funereal offerings and were buried with Mayans so they’d have food in the afterlife (!?). There are lots of fakes out there—every airport gift shop in Mexico features these puppies. Pancho Senior came from our favorite dealer in pre Columbia stuff, Spencer Throckmorton, and hangs out in my dining room with the Japanese fox.
Stair’s lot 395 would be a perfect cacti container.
Lots 1- 130 are yet more beads and jewelry from the estate of the collector, Patti Cadby Birch. Fun stuff. We spent the holidays in Palm Springs and a friend took us two hours west to Quartzsite Arizona—the Brimfield of the rock and gem world.
OMG…Patti woulda gone nuts. Over 1,500,000 people trek to the desert and wander acres of parking lots lined with trailers and tents full of rocks, gems, beads, Americana, Asian stuff. Who knew?
Our own Metropolitan Museum’s recently reopened Michael Rockefeller Wing is the nearest world class cache of Primary Art. Michael Rockefeller disappeared in New Guinea while on a post-Harvard research trip in 1961. His camera was later found in a cannibal village, but his fate remains a mystery.
When you’re in Paris, do yourself a favor and visit the Musee Quai Branly. Only the French can pull off such fantastic support of the arts…for Asian, visit the Musee Guimet—talk about great mounts, each piece is shown to perfection. Helena Rubenstein’s world-class collection is housed in the little Musee Dapper and is well worth the time.
For books—I believe if you try any one of these, all by J. Maarten Troost, you’ll end up reading them all. He is FUNNY.
The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific
Getting Stoned with Savages: A Trip Through the Islands of Fiji and Vanuatu
Lost on Planet China: One Man’s Attempt to Understand the World’s Most Mystifying Nation
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 01/12/10 at 09:49 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye’s Guide to Indoor Plants
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
I love house plants. I am no gardener.. Perhaps because my mother is a brilliant gardener and a landscape architect, I wanted nada to do with digging in the ground, and still don’t. I do enjoy digging in pots though – containers are perfect for me.
A room with one little plant or a single flower truly is transformed from lifeless to full of life. A tiny pot of ivy in an old clay pot set in a blue and white Chinese dish – you’re done. Granted, a huge bouquet of peonies works wonders too.
These succulents last forever… Sort of.
In past years, I’d bring that summer’s crop in from the screen porches and try to find a nice south window for it. Stuff generally declines in December and January, becomes a real eye sore in February, and gets pitched out in March.. Then in May/June I start over.
The Inspiration. Rousseau used the Jardin d’Hiver to inspire his work – since he never saw a real jungle…
Now that winter 2010 approaches, I’m rethinking my approach. My new post reno bedroom has a 10’ x 10’ sun porch with lots of glass facing south, a slate floor, and a big mirrored wall to bounce more light around. I never go out there—it’s like a NYC terrace, more important as a view than as a functioning [habitable] space. So I ditched the Home Office idea [that inspired me to build it] and turned it into my Jardin d’Hiver. Dragged a glass top table and glass and chrome shelf unit up from the basement along with lots of stands of various height to hike plants up to optimal light. Baskets and jardineres and clay pots dress up the occupants.
My bedroom porch at rear – before the transformation… Transformation photos to come if and when there is one.
I’ve stuck a space heater and a humidifier out there, upped the wattage on the track lights, and put them on a timer for 12 hours of supplemental daylight.
So far (it’s only November…), it works!
When we decamp to the country, two or three special things get lugged out of the Jardin on Friday evening, scattered around the house, and returned Sunday afternoon.
Re: Care and Nurturing—there’s loads of info. We have a shelf of books from The New York Times Book of Houseplants to Sunset Books on houseplants to funky little tomes. Great for advice and identifying. Of course, there is always the Web…
A few sort of random suggestions…
Focus on finding truly water proof dishes. Function over form! Plastic (there’s good and bad..) or glazed pottery dishes, deep enough to actually hold the water overflow, and set on a cork pad to avoid the condensation. I still have plenty of rings and ruined surfaces – and I am careful.
Cacti are perfect. Ignore them and they thrive – for eons. Water them or treat them well – you are doomed.
Plants are the equivalent of Cut Flowers in cost but we hope for a longer life span than flowers. That said, should the plant ‘fail’ – become unsightly - get rid of it. House plants should be happy – your Weeping Fig (ficus benjamina) should be weeping for joy, not mourning its imminent demise. Cut your losses – be brutal. You are using these things to decorate. When they are no longer decorative – euthanize. (BTW – Speaking of euthanasia – all you cranky oldsters might beware 2010. Zero inheritance taxes for 12 months could lead to a rash ‘mercy’ killings.. You heard it here!)
When you can, take the plant to the water (tub, sink) and spray ‘em and soak ‘em. Let them drain there before returning to the mahogany table. Much safer than bringing the water to the plant. But slower. I drove my college roommates crazy – they’d throw open the shower curtain only to find massive wet vegetation. (Do you think the houseplants and the Bette Midler album sort of ‘outed’ me in the jock dorm I was relegated to?).
More often than not, I buy hanging baskets. Not to hang – to set in another pot. They have nicer shapes and more body at the bottom. One year we did a dining room for the Kips Bay Designer Showhouse. My florist was a bomb so I took matters into my own hands. Bought a big healthy hanging basket of ivy. Plopped it in the middle of the table, trailing vines radiating out and added votive candles – and the table was perfect. Not overdone, not expensive – tailored and lovely and easy to copy… Very Kips Bay.
A stellar begonia hanging basket with some roadside grasses behind it.
This summer I bought a huge fully flowering begonia at Tivoli Farm Market. Plopped it on the front hall table and it was pretty fantastic. Bloomed for weeks. Last month I cut it back and we’ll see what happens next year.
Whatever kind of ‘fig’ the left side plant is, it is doing pretty darned well! At 9’ tall, it was an investment….
For the big stuff, we buy in town at Foliage Gardens on 28th Street in NYC and have our movers bring it up. For smaller things, I hit the local Lowe’s. They now sell combination ferns—two varieties mixed in the pot. Love that. $12. The little $6 and $8 pots are great too…
Lowe’s also has some decent simple jardinières. I like the three sizes of verdigris copper that pretty much disappear when the hanging basket is dropped in. Cheap—and water proof. They have great rolling bases – cast iron and strong – to facilitate moving those big pots from their corner, where they look best, out into the light – where they have a chance to live…
Then I run across to Michael’s and buy bags of moss. Dampen it, cover the dirt and the edge of the plastic pot and you’re done.
Like anything else, plants get dusty. Wipe the leaves (or spray them) with 80% water, 20% milk solution for a nice shine. And ‘green’!
Winter brings the pests out. The grossest pest response I have read is “Kill a few aphids and leave them at the base of the plant. The smell drives the others away.”. How horrible is that?? Even I could quickly see the flaw in this advice – where are they running off to but another plant!? So for most of my pest problems I resort to Safe Soap stuff…
One website I found is devoted to the power of plants to remove toxins from the air. Cool, right? Super green! Well, if I have detectable formaldehyde I won’t be waiting for my philodendron to fix it. (FYI, that toxic Chinese wallboard wasn’t sold on the East coast. They say…)
Of course, you can always really go nuts and go hydroponic!
My favorite TV show is Trailer Park Boys, a Canadian series shown on Direct TV. The plots follow a simple yet winning formula. Ricky, Julian, and Bubbles are constantly trying to figure out new ways to get rich, get high, and stay out of jail. Suffice to say, I bought the complete seven season DVD set. Only ‘Absolutely Fabulous’ ever got that commitment from me. I love it. The boys are accomplished horticulturalists—their hydroponic double wide is a thing of beauty, all surfaces covered in aluminum foil they borrow from neighbors. Be careful—the Feds track your power usage. (I’ve heard). They use heat-seeking cameras——too much ‘lectricity and you show up on the map. (Again—I’ve heard)
In our neck of the woods, check out the monster in the window at Byron Parker Plumbing (436 Warren Street, Hudson). I’ve ‘admired’ it for years. When I stopped last weekend to snap a portrait, I see there is even a descriptive sign! 65 years old. Damn. And ugly to boot. And healthy. “Feed me, Seymour!!”
Farther down Warren Street, check out the plants for sale at Hudson Supermarket (310 Warren Street). Botanicals by Olenka has very cool things—papyrus and orchids and ‘exotic’ things I gravitate to.
Welcome the New Year with a nice new healthy house plant (since you will, of course, be removing all vestiges of Christmas by December 31, right??). Paper White Narcissus bulbs or a Home Depot orchid or a Chia Pet – any will make the room look better, make you feel better, and maybe even get rid of some of the benzene (what is benzene???) in the air.
Chi Chi Chia….
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 12/02/09 at 08:24 PM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: It’s Huntin’ Season! Oy…
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney, and his partner Hermes Mallea, an architect, are principals in the M (Group).
Hermes reminds me I’m overdue on a new blog—this during an afternoon walk on Woods Road, wearing multiple cunning bits of “Don’t shoot me!” orange. A vest for him, a scarf for me. It can’t be a ‘nice’ orange—like a Loro Piana or Hermes orange. Nooo—that would be too ‘natural’ in Autumn. It has to be Walmart orange—a florescent color not often found in nature and not often found on me.
Why wear ugly stuff? ‘Cause it is hunting season and the guns are drawn.
So - a blog on hunting! I was thinking I could talk about the various seasons and give hope that it will soon end. Upbeat. Funny pics.
Wrong. Very wrong.. Damn…
I was quickly drawn into the ugly internet netherworld of gun trade, gun rights, and blood sports—lots of bad, wacky shit, by my peaceful gay urban standards.
The 2009 nightmare began when this past weekend’s valuable naptime was interrupted (understatement..) by what registered first in my addled brain as the finale to Macy’s fireworks.
Noooo. Can’t be fireworks, dummy.
So the sun was setting (how pretty!) and somewhere—way too close—it sounded as if maybe five men with various enormous assault weapons had stumbled upon a thieves den of dangerous prey… Or more likely, one poor dumbass deer… Whatever they found, that animal was not getting away alive.
So I’m huddled there in bed, calculating the trajectory of a bullet through three panes of glass (“I think we’re safe, Pancho..”) and wondering/growling..
1. Why so many shots ? What kind of weapons do these guys use? This is “sport”?
2. How many of them are there out there??? (I thought there were one or two hunting out there, not a battalion)
3. When is it over?
The answer to the first question—automatic and semi automatic weapons. The National Rifle Association finds the term ‘assault weapon’ pejorative, and declares most of the differences in weapons to be ‘cosmetic’. We can agree on one thing, guns these days are scary looking.
Hello Kitty (!?).. For those rowdy rural PTA meetings.
So boo hoo, NRA, ‘Assault weapon’ still works for me. They assault my senses, and they assault my sense of fair play. And they kill people. Your old-fashioned, basic, double-barreled shotgun is tres passé, replaced by militaristic killing machines that pump out exploding bullets. At deer??
The answer to question #2 is 700,000 New Yorker’s hunt. 3.6% of the population. A rather loud 3.6%, no? Don’t’ even think about suggesting a Wait period or security check, because to quote one site, “Concealed handguns provide a means to protect yourself from attack by the predatory criminals in our society.” Damn. What happened to scream and run away???
Less Gear = More Sporting. These guys are very sporty…
And for Question #3—go to the New York State Department of Environmental Protection website for the dates for everything – bear, muskrats, weasel, deer, squirrel, etc etc. There’s a season for all sorts of critters.
This topic is a hotbed of anger and, well, violence! NRA supporters are all guns, all the time, no holds barred. (BTW, Charlton Heston was gay, gay, gay. I write that in the hope he is flipping over in his grave). Brady Bill supporters think maybe some sort of supervision is called for … Go figure.
This topic leads one into the depths of internet scary places fast. Your basic creepy sites, like the NRA’s, quickly become tame compared to “Armed and Christian” or “Geek with a .45”… My current favorite, “Students’ for Concealed Carry on Campus”—what could go wrong?? Finally, Packing (as in a gun…).com, “perfect for the traveler” (!).
No way I am sharing the images. Violent and stooopid and aggressive. Trust me on this—it is not an ‘attractive’ crowd. As they say in Beaumont, Texas, “Not Garden Club material”.
Why can’t our hunters look like these hunters? Definitely Garden Club material.
On the high end of the scale would be Dutchess County’s Clove Valley Rod and Gun Club. Muy rico, the Clove. Seventy members purportedly spend $100,000 a year (I doubt this figure, because our member friend is not shelling out a hundred grand—he is way cheap).
In 2007 Dick Cheney was a guest so you know Good Sportsmanship lives on at The Clove (I hope their First Aid kit includes a defribulator and a Breathalyzer). I’ve hunted there (huh?!?) and can attest it is perfect for the spoiled rich WASP with a gun and a thirst for blood and booze. Name your game and it is released sportingly in front of you. They raise tens of thousands of birds and fish – I’ve seen the milling corrals of baby ducks. Little do they know what freedom will bring…Ducky One ”Look, they opened the cage door!” Ducky Two, “OMG! Don’t go out there!”
The local gang… Hey, Earl!” “Yep, Earl?” Squirrels, Earl! Them’s good eatin’!”
On the low end of the scale, you have ‘our’ hunters—headquartered at the Germantown Stewart’s Shoppe (FYI – the Mobil Quick Stop is parvenu, Stewart’s is ‘Old Money’). Our Local guys show up at our door annually with a little gift bottle of Cointreau or Bailey’s and the request to hunt on our property. Since they have permission to hunt all around us—we are a 5 acre island in a 120 acre sea—we always reluctantly say OK. They’ve been there for years, and they seem sober. We aren’t happy, but we aren’t threatened either…So far, so good.
I’m assuming (my assumption shallowly based on personal appearance and hygiene) that these guys eat what they kill. I suggest the 1960’s “Joy of Cooking” for useful suggestions for healthy, tasty, seasonal, family treats.
“The Joy of Cooking” lost me at “feed for ten days.”
Booze and guns seem to go hand-in-hand. In my Texas youth, it being the ‘70’s, we were inspired to add drugs to the mix. We’d pile in someone’s car—drunk—and drive hours to a ranch in south Texas, drink more. Drop some speed, smoke some pot, and ‘hunt’ feral pigs (clocking in at 300 mean pounds), while sitting on this tall, tall, swaying thingy attached to a Jeep. I distinctly remember a sub-machine gun being involved but we never saw a pig. (Those suckers, BTW, will kill you and eat you).
Since Cheney will always be a demon and I see no reason to let go of my anger, let me weigh in on the incident when he blasted that old man in the face. One word: Drunk. Liquid lunches are de rigueur. Been there, coulda done that (but happily I didn’t—and he did!)
If baiting game is illegal in New York, what’s with the tethered kid? “Other side” of the river?
Supporting New York’s fur industry—our first lady in squirrel, Mme Chiang Kai-shek in beaver. I’ll bet Mei-ling could skin a beaver with a single piercing stare…
How to skin a squirrel, “Joy of Cooking” style. Snappy gloves and booties!
So, my advice, through the end of the year, keep you head down, watch your back, and wear Orange fleece (gross!). Hey, finally, the excuse for cheap clothes you’ve been looking for in “these difficult times.” To quote my mother, “I’m one of those people that doesn’t look good in cheap clothes.” Then aren’t you lucky you don’t own any? Hermes would say that this apple didn’t fall far from that tree. —Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 11/12/09 at 09:14 AM • Permalink
The Wandering Eye: The Hunt Slonem Sale at Stair
In 2001, Hunt Slonem, a New York-based painter with a passion for collecting and preserving historic houses, purchased Edgewood Terrace, an imposing Second Empire-style brick mansion that stands at the top of a hill overlooking the city of Kingston across the Hudson. After restoring his country retreat to its original Victorian grandeur, Mr. Slonem filled the rooms with an eclectic combination of 19th-century furniture and decorations, modern art, and his own exotic, vibrantly colored, neo-expressionist paintings (below right). On Saturday, October 24, Stair Galleries will host an auction of the Hunt Slonem collection from Edgewood Terrace. The sale will feature an extensive selection 
of 19th-century furniture, decorative arts and fine arts as well as a number of 20th-century paintings, prints and photographs. Also known as Cordts Mansion, the house was built 1873-1874 by a wealthy brick manufacturer, John H. Cordts, whose factory was located in the Rondout area of Kingston.
Our blogger, interior designer Carey Maloney of M (Group) offers this preview:
OK – I’m flying blind here. There is a great single-owner auction coming up at Stair Galleries on October 24—The Property of Hunt Slonem. The bad news: We won’t be upstate between now and then to view it and leave our bids…Aargh!
I’ve belabored this advice in the past—it is really, really best if you can see/touch/smell before you buy. But we’ll be in Havana, and I’m bummed. (BTW, in Cuba, if there was anything to buy, which we haven’t found, we couldn’t legally spend the $ anyway. Freeing on one level—travel without shopping. But frustrating—what’s travel without shopping? End the Embargo!!!—so Carey can shop.)
Back to the Stair sale: This is a “Do as I say, Not as I Do” situation. ‘Cause lot 363, sight unseen, the Larger than Life Size Hermes is MINE. Make my day—bid against me. Forewarned: You’re gonna have stiff competition.
I’ve never met Hunt Slonem but we share friends, and for years, I’ve heard great things about Edgewood Terrace, his amazing house in Kingston. Huge and chockablock with cool stuff. A bit ‘lush’ for me—but pretty wonderful.
The sale has lots of great quality Gothic, Renaissance, and Elizabethan Revival furniture and decorations. The trick with Gothic revival and that other crazy stuff (frankly, the trick with most styles…) is to look at the trees not the forest. Too much of anything is Too Much. And too much Gothic Revival can result in visual and visceral overload.
But a bit of it? That works for me. A bedroom suite, a hall tree, a side chair…I have a chair similar to Lot 70 parked next to a Russel Wright chest of drawers in my bedroom upstate. Gothic meets Modernist and both survive. My chairs Gothic peak is the perfect clothes hanger too.
Lot 82 is a more interesting variation on the ballroom chair.
Anglo Indian? Music to my ears. Lots 79 and 87 are a PAIR! I thought I was having an acid flashback as I scrolled along. Two identical, very large hall mirrors—polish these up, and they will be fantastic, given the right (generous) space. And both in one hall? A Madras palace!
Culling through the online catalog, check out the Japanese dragon calling card stand—Lot 406—scary but great.
Lot 253 is a lovely Tiffany Studios pine needle pattern calendar frame – usually sold as part of a desk set with ink bottle and blotter etc.. So the set was broken up—perfect! Who needs a blotter? Everyone needs another picture frame.
There are garden ornaments (Lot 285) and conservatory furniture, Asian art, some antiquities, contemporary art by a slew of Hunt’s friends, and even paintings by Hunt.
Again, I apologize that I haven’t seen these things in the flesh. My favorites list would change/expand if I get to the viewing.
Stuffed peacocks (Lot 284), birdcages and bird imagery—very Mr. Slonem. Speaking as someone with lots of taxidermy, condition is KEY. Tatty is bad.
My first stuffed purchase was a 100 year-old pug dog we named “Frisky.” He was the accessory of choice for weeks and turned some heads in his day. He fit perfectly in a tote, little head sticking out. Gleeful children, “Look Mommy, that man has a dog in that bag.” Then the realization that the dog was dead quickly followed—scowls from parents and more glee from the kids. “It’s stuffed?!?!?” At his picnic in Riverside Park (we were young…), he got many compliments on his perfect behavior—“Your dog has not moved!” Then the OMG/revulsion moment came. People are funny about taxidermy in general, domestic pets in particular stoke the PETA fire. Hey, he was dead 50 years before I was born. It’s not like he was mine.
There are a few rugs, 
including a Chinese pillar rug, Lot 378. I bring this up, not because I like the rug (left) frankly it’s sort of horrible, but an interesting ‘objet.’ Pillar rugs were used to wrap and warm up a cold stone column in the cold Chinese winter. They have a border top and bottom, nothing down the sides. We used a beauty (right) in this front hall—pale ivory with pale blue dragons. Very swell. (When I first saw it at Doris Leslie Blau, I piped up, “Oh, this one will be cheap because it’s been cut down. See no borders on the sides.” I was quickly (and politely) corrected. Wrong …And not cheap.
To sum this banquet up, there are over 500 lots. There will definitely be something of interest. It’s like a mathematical probability or something.
I was looking for some books on Gothic Revival. The best one was written by the worst next door neighbors we’ve dealt with professionally in years…They were terrible. So not gonna mention that one!
A recent example of Spanish Gothic in the news: This is their presidential family with ours. I regret my yearbook picture, but these two are gonna be sick about this ‘look’ some day! —Carey Maloney
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 10/06/09 at 10:53 AM • Permalink
