Cari and I were married on August 24th, 2001. We would never have imagined that a bunch of cowardly thugs with sick brains would turn our world upside down less than 2 weeks after our honey moon.
Together with our friend – the late Franz Harland -, Cari and I documented the events of September 11 and its immediate aftermath in a short film. It was meant to be a time capsule for the emotions of the time immediately after the events. We used our own film footage, capturing observers shouting in anguish as the towers collapse, and radio announcers narrating the events in real time. The words “all airports across the country, every airport in the United States has been shut down” still ring in my ears, and the images of the tired eyes of first responders have burned themselves into my memory.
20 years later, this movie still elicits a strong emotional response in me, it transports me back to the moment I learned that a plane had crashed into the WTC, seeing the smoke over New York and experiencing the mourning.
I have never widely shared this video, and it seems appropriate to do so now on the 20th anniversary.
The We-Film-It Team: Caridad Branagan Kolb, Hartmuth Kolb, Franz Harland (Herunter)
Miraculously, I managed to pop into Manhattan twice in one month! My first visit, the city had burst into color. Cherry blossoms, tender pinks dominated the street trees. Yes! It was a beautiful visit, spent mostly on the Upper West Side. That trip was gratifying. Yet, on my more recent journey to Manhattan in May, I spent time in intimate discussion, closeness with two of my favorite people in the world.
The Mysterious Madame L., a beauty with a superior mind, and Mr. Constantine Finehouse, concert pianist. In town to participate in a clinical trail at Memorial Sloan Kettering, Hospital. Seeing my little Columbia University fellows, my comrades on extensive romps all over Manhattan, now grown up and immersed in their respective professions, one in the Law and the other in Music, is heartwarming. I came back to The West Coast ready to cope with the reality of my cancer complications, medications, and DRAMA. I returned ready to take action to stop the cancer progression which would soon threatened my life.
On The Go!
The trip to New York City was altogether healing and I managed to cram a good amount of art viewing, with a visit to The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and into the embrace of my dearest friends. Madame L, graciously, invested days into lounging in my grateful company at one-hotel-or-another on Lexington Ave. Champagne in no short supply… We had a great time, as usual. Reading, agreeing, and finding beautiful details to savor. We ate and walked, talked and listened. We reveled in the BLISS that is pure friendship, understanding. Yet, I was tired. Fatigued. Anxious and ill, very ill. She made everything better by being with me. We barely noticed that I vomited, after every lavish meal. Together, my inability to move, became lounging rather than aching. Thank goodness, Madame L was there, keeping me company, sharing secrets, and showing me how flowers grow between cracks in city streets, the poetry of small gestures, and the beauty of sacred pennies (rusted with time and invested with meaning), AH! I love you, Madame L.
However, It was the Male Muse’s, Constantine Finehouse, who made my day with Cuban Lunch from a quick, bright, restaurant across the street from Memorial Sloan Kettering, Hospital. He had the right idea bringing his car and making sure I had food that speaks to my heart before retiring back into the hotel room’s spacious king sized bed. We slept. Exhausted.
In the evening, the gallant Finehouse, concert pianist out of Boston, very cool dude, went out and returned with chicken soup and the nastiest but most welcome “New York,” Cheesecake. What a thoughtful human! What a friend! He drove all the way down from Boston to take care of me on a vulnerable day of medical treatment. (I had no idea at the time that soon, I’d consider myself sprightly in comparison to my current shape.)https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Constantine_Finehouse
Best Friends
The city, ever vibrant and packed with much to do was a backdrop to the intense days of conversation and camaraderie. One’s school chums, those met while picking up polish at Columbia University may be the very best remedy for whatever deficiencies in brisk, ardent, and inspiring connection which have afflicted my sensitive soul, lately. Mutual understanding is so precious a gift, exchanging it makes us rich. My New Yorker and Bostonian buddies, The Mysterious Madame L & the favored Mr. Constantine Finehouse, revered concert pianist, and long-term Talkinggrid supporter, made copious amounts of time to connect and cocoon with a very willing me. Ah!
Good times were had, dinner at Amelie on 8th street in the West Village, where that atmosphere was very French, followed by desert at one of my favorite places, since my teenage years, the utterly charming Cafe Reggio in the West Village!
At the Forager with lovely young woman, a new friend… more news later.
Saturday Brunch at The Forager, recommended by Blossom V, artist based in New York. There I met up with a young writer, a woman of talent and enormous appeal. We ate and then Madame L. returned to fetch me, and we returned to the gentle sweetness that is our very comfortable and sincere friendship.
I took time on Sunday morning to PoP into The Bliss Spa on Lexington, so close to my hotel for some Spa Time at The Bliss Spa, where I enjoyed the eucalyptus scrub, with viccii shower, and lemon sage mini-massage. Patricia, a former Cruise-Ship Entertainer, had a light touch and a warm heart, making me feel much better, for a moment. (Running out for a quick scrub is a must if you want to remain feeling, open and receptive to the beauty that is living, especially, on a whirlwind weekend spiked with medical drama, trip to New York City.
The Shield she wields looks like it has a big crack down the middle.
Astoundingly, Madame L. and I managed to hit The Pompeii Room at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of my absolute favorite places on Earth, before tripping into, “China: Through the Looking Glass,” a smashing, throbbing homage to the cult of cut, fabric, and history in the superb Fashion Exhibit that will knocked my porcelain socks OFF! In a few steps,we crashed into another world, each room was inspired and dark, lights focused on the embroidery, so tight as to bogle the mind, far away from the mundane, and into the temple of commerce where The Image of Fashion Design as a route is loudly tooted as a glorious path to personal salvation.
On Saturday Evening, I poured myself into a fine new knit dress and rolled west to Broadway, on my little black mule sling-backs, balancing, because I had tickets to see, Wolf Hall Part Two, “Bringing Up The Bodies,” the play is by author Hillary Mantel, a gem. The acting was stand out and the lead, an English stage actor, Ben Miles, carried the character of Thomas Moore rise to the height of power in the possibly unfair beheading of our eternal beloved bad good girl, the controversial, Anne Boylen.
The Mysterious Madame L.
When I wasn’t out buzzing around, I was resting in my hotel room. I’m sorry to say that I missed a meeting with a great artist and best on-line buddy. We had dinner party plans and I was supposed to be her date for the evening. She is one of my favorite people and it was a disappointment not to find the strength to make it to our planed meeting. I failed to find the strength to make it, instead having a bit of quality time hugging the toilet bowl… but, that happens when you are in advanced cancer treatment.
Every trip away is an adventure, yet going to one’s home town has a special warm and fuzziness to it unlike any other trot around the park… especially, when the park in question is Central Park. The timing was perfect. The Park was in majestic bloom.
The Tulips are Talking
Ah! The early mornings, before the tourists hit the streets in smartphone click click clicking mass, on those sacred terse weekdays, when you can glide across the park and take in all the little birds, big robins and very blue twittering songsters, before the surreal street performers have claimed the park benches and the under passes… New York has its pristine beauty.
Spring in His Step!
I spent a comfortable night at the Renaissance Hotel. The bed was firm, tub deep, and wall panelling elegant. If you must POP into the city for a moment this a a place you might flop, thereby not falling too far away from the comfort you are accustomed to. The brick wall view from my hotel window was a heartwarming reminder that not everyone gets to see, everything all the time. We must enjoy each brick’s presence, stately endurance.
A Comfortable Bed
The familiar walls of black trash bags, ever so smelly, have an unmistakeable punch. They strike you with an unavoidable whiff of truth. A reminder that posh and poor alike we all have refuse, release, and unthinkable exchanges with toilets and plumbing, dentists and beauticians. We are all potential concubines and conquistadors, no matter what or present costume or apparent rank.
In New York, as a necessity, every type of human rubs shoulders with every other, yet gulfs between the Haves and the Have Nots are so vitally expressed, a pulsing truth, transitory and undeniable illusion. Everyone has equal footing, the same chance of making onto the subway and off, again. There is a thrill of danger, even when it is not there. Not a single person tried to mug me. I walked, not late at night, but by myself… I look like a person a mugger might target, I image. But, no… no attempts were made.
A quick jaunt up to Harlem for dinner with a Yellow Belt, artist friend was easy and delicious. Harlem is now an international hot spot, packed with trendy restaurants, and well healed humans looking for fine French or other International cuisine. I love it! Must explore, more, on my next visit.
The lovely and inspiring, artist, Dee Shapiro!
The allure of lunch with artist Dee Shapiro got me down to Gramercy Park, to The National Arts Club, a venerated establishment which hosts regular exhibitions of artists work, and boasts a very elegant private member’s dining room. I ordered a visually stunning yellow and red beat salad, capped by baked goat cheese. Delicious! Over lunch we discussed art and family life.
Tiffany Glass skylight of National Arts Club Bar.
Astoundingly, I managed to sneak in lunch at Fred’s with the one and only James Katson. You know, the artist, antique’s dealer, man-about-town… Yes, Mr. Katson! He positively oozes talent. He transported me with stories of his wayward youth to far away corners in a London best forgotten, scary and tender. He performed the voices of men that lived as ghosts in their own lives. Haunted. Katson’s edge is very sharp and one feels a thrill being in his electric company.
Mr. James Katson is captivating.
We had the most fun drenched sober lunch two song birds could ever tweet of! What a hoot!
Together, At Last!
Another stunning meal: lunch, at Cherche Midi with artist friends was an unmitigated pleasure. My people! All so smart and politically engaged. They enjoyed the fare and tasteful decor. I love how New York has so much French color and flavor to offer. We are Francophiles. Just as we appreciate our English pubs and Anglo heritage, immensely. Yet, everything is passed through an American filter and that works for me!
The Perfect Place to Brunch in New York City
A Gift for Me!
ILE FLOTTANTE
A quick visit to The Whitney Museum of American was not enough but well worth the effort. My plan is to return as soon as possible to gather more art experience. I saw the two top floors. The jazzy elevator alone is worth the visit. The floors, soundless, marvels… no tap tap tap of crowds gawking at the splendors of American art on display. The curators have done an excellent job of picking work we know and love but not neglecting the work of traditionally underrepresented artists.
As I do with every visit into Manhattan, I traveled outside the city, for a night. Guest bedrooms are fascinating. I have made an informal study of them. They come in various sizes and the worst ones have entirely too much of the owner’s possessions in them so that you can not for an instant sustain the illusion that you actually own the place. On the other hand, rooms with ancient wicker chairs, and bodhi savat lamps, and handmade patchwork quilts are a rare pleasure. I slept so well. I shall not forget that the hospitality of a Best, a Dear One, an Old Love is a treasure.
Reflecting on Peace, at the private residence of great artist and dear friend.
Capping all these pleasures was a solitary evening of theater for one. Broadway! I treated myself to seeing a play. (I’ve never before attended a Broadway play alone. I’ve been a date, many times. Yet, buying my own ticket and seeing a play I wanted to see because I have read the book upon which it is based was a unique pleasure. I recommend it.) I saw Wolf Hall at the Winter Garden Theater. The book, the play, the mini-series: Hilary Mantel’s work translates to all these mediums with faultless grace. The story of Thomas Cromwell, common man that rises to the the pinnacle of power, is undeniably compelling. The production is just right, highbrow and educational enough, but with a little vulgar streak of something else… a little undertow, which is what makes New York City, Broadway, The Whitney… America’s glory.
Usually, I manage to skip over obstacles. Cancer, advanced cancer, intensive treatment: NO Problem! Just POP on a cute wig and keep going, show up, flirt with the doctors, look at all the pretty machines. Be NICE to the nurses. Enjoy all the attention!
You want my blood? Ok, here you go.
May, I have a Champagne, oysters after my treatment? Great! All is well.
Yet today I feel down. I feel the weight of all the treatments, the waiting, the constant pricks and memories of nurses freaking out because I’ve no veins left for them to fill with poison. Some might say, that I’ve no right to feel down. I have a husband that loves me, great kids. I’m not hard on the eyes. I’ve got a home. I’m not pan-handling on the Bowery. Could I please just shut up and let others shine?
Prick Me!
This morning, I was remembered how I fell for Hennessy Youngman. Remember him? The artist, Jayson Musson, created an alternate persona, an hip-hop urban art historian. HY was so perfect. So refreshing, finally someone like me, informed on art, yet with ghetto flair. He wore funny hats, baseball caps, with Elmo or Spiderman Eyes. That alone should have tipped me off to the fact that the Penn University MFA was spoofing his audience, playing with expectations, making a cunning statement about racial stereo typing.
Yet, at the end-of-the day I’m a girl from Washington Heights, a child of immigrants, who came to the United States convinced that they’d find a better life and they did. I managed to attend and graduate from an Ivy league school with a degree in art history and just as incredibly I married and am married to Dr. Hartmuth Kolb, from Germany. Yes, I’m lucky. I’m lucky that six years after the initial diagnosis, losing my breasts, undergoing so many surgeries, metastasis to the brain, grand mal seizure, brain surgeries, heart surgery (to correct the birth defect that would have done me in, at birth, if I hadn’t been born 2.2 pounds, three months
premature.) the whole enchilada, and I’m still here.
Fact: it isn’t easy. I’m a mother, taking care of children, making sure that they stay on-track with their studies and HAPPY. I can’t afford to be morose. I have to focus my energy on happiness, on love, on continuing to learn and laugh. Hennessy Youngman, came to me at a time when I was very active on the edges of a fast moving and apparently amorphous art world. I was going to Art Fairs, documenting the journeys, and participating in a quest to understand contemporary art, and get out of my art historical comfort zone. I was painting, pushing to sell pieces, and participating in group exhibitions to whatever degree was possible. In short, I became an emerging artist just as the cancer was threatening to call a lights out for me.
I’m convinced that most people seeing me, including my doctors, have a hard time reconciling the fact of how I look (young for my age) and my medical history. I was pumped up by fuzzy ambition and desire to participate in this Art game. I extended myself via on-line channels and come into communication with art critic, Jerry Saltz, on-line along with countless others. I felt as though I’d found my tribe and was finally “Home,” among others passionately invested in the art field.
Low and behold, I felt entirely too comfortable and really had no guard up. I was making a spectacle of myself and it was fun. I met a number of very cool and some absolutely insane artists, because as you know, the two seem to be inextricably mixed, madness and creativity, I mean. Moving quickly, I started to see behind the curtains of the art world, at one fair I attended a talk with the head of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the head of The Los Angeles County Museum of Art. At the same fair I briefly met, Jeffrey Deitch, and impertinently asked him if it was true he was, “leaving MoCa.” He denied the rumor and then, “resigned,” about a month later.
I had a number of interactions with less than friendly art worlders that I’d have welcome as friends, but my bubbly brand of mushy ART LOVE is just too messy for some, too authentic, unschooled, unpolished and in other words, hopelessly: naive.
After medical drama, lunch at Shutters, with the Muse
Sideshow Nation III: Circle the Wagons – a short review by Ron Schira
A Diversity of Art, image by Ron Schira, 2015
Sideshow Nation III: Circle the Wagons, now viewing through March 5 at Sideshow Gallery (319 Bedford Avenue) in Williamsburg has nearly tipped the scale for this yearly extravaganza with a whopping 600 plus artworks snugly fit into the space’s two large rooms. Master of ceremonies Rich Timperio refers to this impressive number as “reaching critical mass,” and for a personally run gallery is one of the largest shows of the of its kind to have such a widespread unadvertised appeal and continual growth factor.
Surprisingly, or not surprisingly, more than 100 pieces were added than last year. Of course, not much can be said of the show that the artwork does not say for itself as the sheer amount of diversity and puzzle-like salon installation becomes an incredible act of space organization, and as an exhibit is an artwork all its own.
Walking into the show is near overwhelming as artworks both large and small tower above you on the 20 foot high walls. The reception is highly attended, and even in freezing January temperature had people waiting outside for an hour to enter the packed exhibit of primarily Brooklyn artists with a few exceptions (yours truly, for one) from outside the city.
The Cold Could Not Stop the Crowds, image by Ron Schira, 2015
Every manner of art can be seen here, and with quite a few big name players. The variety is simply staggering, and without unjustly name dropping only a portion of the participants, every work is equal to the next as Timperio and crew endeavor to pack everything into an inevitably limited space, critical mass, as he said.
Deck the halls! What to do in New York, this holiday season? Well, you could #protest…
which is, of course, essential to the New Yorkers. As a young Manhattanite I hit the streets each time war or other injustice took place. Protest is a part of urban culture we can applaud. That said…
Baby, you know, it is cold outside. Yet, even the thought of New York warms me up, a bit. New York is always exciting. To creatives, luxury hounds, tourists, and fashionable sorts from all over, New York is home to all sorts of warm and cozy fantasies come true. Warm in the way of wet dreams and stolen kisses, especially welcoming to those looking for KUNST and other sensual thrills during the holidays. Inside New York’s many museums, galleries, restaurants, and trendy shops the cheer is in full gear and there is much to be bubbly about. This year is no exception. I have dear friends that have traveled from Europe, Switzerland, to be exact, visiting New York, right now! Being that they know I know the city and its cultural treasures they asked WHERE to GO during their short trip into, snowy, decadent, sensual Manhattan.
Of course, I have super friends that help me make plans and with my recommendations. So, I asked the New Yorkers I know know which way the wind blows where to go this season:
Frau Kolb: What do you think, Daniel Maidman? (Maidman is a figurative painter I most admire. His work is in the language of the old masters and yet promises a contemporary punch… somehow… mysterious and intriguing. Daniel Maidman is an artist I follow, sneaking about the internet, googling him. You should try it. Here is the link to his site. To the collectors of figurative art, Maidman’s THE MAN! Actually, it is weird because… this is NOT the type of painting I usually dig or endorse, but there is much to Maidman’s intensity and focus I admire and wish, perhaps, to channel into my own artwork.)
James Kaston: Having lunch at Fred’s at Barney’s with me. At least one of those days. (Kaston, is a fashion plate and selfie aficionado. He gives better on-line love than any one I know and indeed I’m LOOKING FORWARD to not just lunch but a real pow-wow and shopping explosion, when this man and I meet in person, in Los Angeles, New York, or Paris… Why not?)
Frau Kolb: I’d love to, but I’m planning a trip for the public… yes I will suggest that every meet with you for lunch at Fred’s at Barney. This should be a rite of passage for every stylish American.
Frau Kolb Thanks Daniel, I’m glad to know I’m almost making it into your social calendar, excellent tips. Do you mind if I print them all and give you credit, of course?
Frau Kolb Come on Joaquin Carter What is the VERY GAY thing to do for the holidays in New York City. (Joaquin is an artist and on-line personality whose posts and provocative questions, I dig.)
Frau Kolb Daniel Maidman These are great suggestions. I’d love to see Clemente, Shiele, Cezanne, and Matise. Modern Art’s Greatest Hits! Clemente being Neo-Modern, no?
Joaquin Carter gay..I have no idea. lets go to a museum together. (I’d LOVE to! Thanks!)
Blossom VerlinskyBalthazar is fun to go to – make a res. they’re very busy (Blossom Verlinsky is a terrifically talented painter and visual artist! Boy! Am I pleased to have a bevy of distinguished art world contacts as Facebook friends!)
Joaquin Carter this looks like fun..https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jsoZHoozX-k
GREAT LINK!!! Great youtube video! I would LOVE to see this show and really thank you Joaquin, I’m so glad I asked! (Wish I could flit off to the East Coast for a culture infusion!)
Thank YOU Katrina Revenaugh, (art pal and artist working out of the middle west… I think.)
Katrina Revenaugh http://bkbazaar.com
Brooklyn Night Bazaar | Brooklyn Night Bazaar
A night market that brings together independent vendors,…
BKBAZAAR.COM
(My personal favorite way to spend a day in Manhattan. A visit to the The Frick Museum and Lunch at The Mark HotelRestaurant. Read more about my most recent visit to New York City, here.
But, I haven’t had the pleasure of a trip to New York City since, last year!)
Katrina Revenaugh Frau Kolb my friend Ken Petti highly recommends Queen of Night NYC (he’s bi-coastal right now- (East Coas/Midcoast-NY/KC). Superb eye for art, design and all things super-fantastic.
Frau Kolb Blossom Balthazar’s is my favorite restaurant!!! (My husband and I went on our first date there.)
Frau Kolb This is a great start, thank you James Kaston, Daniel Maidman, Blossom Verlinsky, Katrina Revenaugh, and Joaquin Carter! You have in some case confirmed in others expanded my list of what ONE MUST DO in NYC this Holiday, 2014. Much appreciated!
Katrina Revenaugh Have a blast! New York is such a fun place to be over the holidays!
Frau Kolb I’m not going. I’m writing a travel guide for friends flying in from Switzerland.
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