Mixed Media (and Some Mycology)
I saw the painter Alex Katz last week, in multiple dimensions. I mean that I saw the man and I saw his new paintings at his opening at the Schindler house, which consisted entirely of portraits of Sunrise Ruffalo, who is, among other things, the actor Mark Ruffalo’s wife. I am not totally sure why she was the sole inspiration for the show or why it took place there, though I will admit I didn’t try very hard to find out, because like Alex Katz’s paintings, sometimes the flat surface of things is enough. The paintings—and the setting, and the people, mostly—were beautiful, the house being very architecturally important and appealingly un-messed-with, but I found myself most admiring the painter himself, who, at 95, could believably pass for two decades less than that, and who was dressed in a cream knit crew neck, slim white jean, and khaki trench. It was very @SimplicityCity, very ‘90s J Crew, very Gap Ad soundtracked by a Donovan song, very coastal grandmother, very extremely my shit. “I love that outfit,” I said out loud hopefully not audibly, because complimenting the artist’s outfit at their opening is the type of thing that gets you quoted on one of those fake “overheard in” accounts, especially when the artist is this sort of roundly worshiped. Later, though, I sidled up to a friend to admire it again within earshot. They laughed. “You basically wear that every day.” Reader, they weren’t—and, as I look at myself today, aren’t—wrong. What’s the point of this story? I dress like a 95 year old man? One that wears blue jeans, definitely. Could do worse, I guess! Also that Alex Katz seems to be living proof that the best longevity technique is just to do whatever the hell you like for as long as you can. Refreshing at this moment in February when even those of us who don’t live in a typically wintry climate have begun to tire of our decisions and our existing wardrobes. I can’t be the only one feeling largely uninspired lately, even with all the small bursts of beauty walloping me in the face this week. Maybe I’m just winded by all that walloping. ( Pisces season, anybody?)
I know I said I’d talk about Mexico City, and I will, because I really, really loved it and kind of want to move there immediately, but the art things here feel more pressing given they were happening as I started to write. So in the meantime I will tell you five good places, in no particular order (common denominator: terrific, really A+ vibes throughout): Páramo, for a fun dinner. Botánico, also for a fancier (but not “fancy”) dinner. Café Nin, for coffee and pastries. Kurimanzutto gallery, for art! Casa Bosques, for art books, elusive zines, souvenirs (snag some of their chocolate bars), shelving inspiration, or just a chic place to take a breather while strolling through Roma. Okay? More to come.
Frieze LA sort of knocked me over in terms of stimulation. Now that it’s relocated to the Santa Monica airport the logistics admittedly weren’t my favorite, but I saw an old friend while there and made a new one (who informed me that he has been collecting art for longer than I’ve been alive) in the interminable wait for ride share pickups! My new friend and I agreed that we don’t like most writing about art and that our favorite thing was the photography in Nicola Vassell’s booth: the photos were by an artist named Ming Smith. And then look who got this review in the NYT for her show at MoMA? Don’t you love when that happens? If I had bought something I’d be extra chuffed. Smith is the first black female photographer MoMA collected, by the way. She dropped off her portfolio herself in 1979, the story goes that they thought she was a messenger. Apparently she got $300 for her photos, less than it cost to print them. The FT didn’t love the MoMA show, but they have this great quote: “I follow the light,” Smith has said, “in the movement, in the flight, in the sun streaming, in the darkness pulsing. It’s how the birds are, how the dancers move, how the musicians breathe.” Reading that after being grabbed by her work sort of clarified what I love about going to see art: when you see the world differently for a minute, like something is pulled back or brought into focus. I keep thinking about her photo of Sun Ra, ascendant. I am really determined to go see the MoMA show as soon as I’m back in New York. If you live there, go and let me know what you think. We have until May 29. Plenty of time.
I talked to Laurie Lynn Stark, one half of the incredibly popular Chrome Hearts brand, about one of her fabulous homes for C Magazine. I mostly knew Chrome Hearts for the heavy silver gothic crosses, the fuck off-carved floorboards, and 3k toilet plungers. And it is that. But it’s also a lot more, including a $2 billion fashion empire that’s allowed the Starks to seriously invest in some excellent real estate. I really enjoyed talking with her. You can read that story here.
I recently binge watched Bad Sisters (Apple TV+), which despite starring and being a co-creation of the brilliantly funny Sharon Horgan was less “haha” than “pitch black and twisted.” That said, deeply bingeable! And an excellent cast, including the (here, unctuous and bastardly) Claes Bang. Highly recommend, though be forewarned that it has some pretty despicable and hard-to-watch scenes of varying kinds of abuse (mostly emotional). It’s sort of like an Irish Big Little Lies if they leads were sisters, rather than friends, and the writing was better. (The real estate’s mostly worse.)
I made this very good chicken / lentil/ squash thing for dinner last week. Who am I to argue with the great Yotam Ottolenghi? If you’re looking for something easy that looks hard and feeds 4-6 (or 2, with leftovers), ding ding ding! Follow the commenters about losing the extra cup of water, you definitely don’t need it. And while we’re talking sustenance, I also just went to a book party for Mia Rigden’s great new cookbook, Foodwise. It’s basically how I would like to eat all the time, if I were organized and ate at home more, and I guess her counter to that would be, well, what’s stopping me? Much less, now that I have her book!
I have not seen The Last of Us yet but I am amused by how aggravated its depiction of a fictional zombie-creating mushroom-brained pandemic has made the mycology community. Paul Stamets did a whole Twitter thread! (It ends “Fungi will never be defeated.”) And now Time published a defense co-authored by Merlin Sheldrake! I’ve loved Merlin Sheldrake since we featured him in Departures way back when. Back then he was always wearing pearls and playing the piano for various fungi. He fed his own book about mushrooms to oyster mushrooms, and then ate them. I mean, it’s wonderful stuff here. Why do people get so passionate about the mushroom? Quoth Time: “Thinking about fungi makes the world look different. Fungi comprise one of life’s kingdoms—as broad a category as ‘animals’ or ‘plants’—and are key to understanding the planet on which we live. They are inside you and around you. They sustain you and all you depend on. As you read these words, fungi are making soil, producing food, making medicines, nourishing and killing animals and plants, and influencing the composition of the Earth’s atmosphere.” See? #fungiwillneverbedefeated
These are my new favorite jeans. (This is what they look like on me, for reference.) Everybody compliments them. Thank me later.
And lastly, here’s a very good poem, from this week’s New Yorker, and a fascinating review of a new coffee table book about Jens Quistgaard, the Danish designer responsible for Dansk, from the same issue. Oh god, and another really good poem, but this one my sister sent it to me on Twitter:
And here’s news of a “lethargic” 4 ft long alligator recently rescued from Prospect Park. Pisces season, amirite? May we all be so lucky to be fished out of the depths.
Do I sound dour? Hopefully you’ve got a little more “get up and go” than I do this week. If you do, you don’t need to tell me. (Though you can, if you want. I always love to hear from you.) If you don’t exactly have the wind in your sails at the moment, well, no worries, as always, we’re in this thing together. Thanks, as ever, for being here. I love you.