A few weeks ago, on exactly January 31st, my wonderful former colleague John Schaefer told me and thousands of New Yorkers that it was Philip Glass’s birthday. I texted my nephew who suggested we have a birthday dinner for him. That response alone explains why I so cherish this nephew.
In my head, I went full Clarissa Dalloway on this dinner party which never happened. So yeah, it was the best dinner party ever. Before I sorted the flowers, or what I would cook, I planned my outfit. I wanted to wear 80’s era red, black and white, to evoke the fabulous leotard meets leg warmers Norma Kamali look from “In the Upper Room”. I saw ITUR at NYC Ballet in October. It was ABT performing at NYCB’s theater, not NYCB, but it took my breath away. I knew while it was happening that I would remember the feeling it created in my body forever.
PG popped up again earlier this week when I dragged my 11 year old niece and son to Luna Luna at the Shed. I was initially deterred by the NYT review: too expensive, too crowded and “for the kids”.
But realistically, I knew a quick dip into Basquiat and Haring, even if you couldn’t ride the rides would be more fun for these kids than the Whitney (sad to say). And I knew I couldn’t take them on the High Line or to Corner Bistro unless we saw some art.
Maybe the magic of all this is in keeping expectations low. A wise person once suggested that advice. I 80 percent accept its value. I think it’s 20 percent a bad idea.
In this case it totally worked. Just as I thought seeing ABT wouldn’t compare to NYCB, I figured Luna Luna would be forgettable, if not regrettable.
You know where this is going, right? The kids complained but the flow was all there. Lines short, art fun and funny, rooms just the right size for them to roam free and pretend touch the art and steal my phone to take selfies with butts and poop.
But I was not prepared for what happened when we walked into the main room, the atrium where the rides were staged. The Kenny Scharf wave swinger ride was magnificent, illuminated, whirling too fast, careening, as if from a dream. And the soundtrack, blaring perfectly too loud from the Shed’s speakers, was the eerie, effervescent horns from Dance IX.
I yelled to the kids, “this is Philip Glass guys!!!”, momentarily trying and failing to connect with them, deepen their appreciation for the moment. But mostly I was frozen (but oddly totally warm) in my own igloo/body, caught in that feeling of being, a moment of being, beholding.
So now, I have the visuals of Twlya, Norma, ABT, and Kenny all wrapped up in PG’s sounds. It sounds like hyperbole or overselling and absolutely not keeping expectations low to say the cumulative effect of all this is triumphant, a gift that’s now mine. It’s like a dinner party I can return to any time for feelings of joy and connection and celebration and wonder.
