Category: art

art, choices, future

My Year of Hopefulness – The future’s arrived

Christa Avampato

“The future is here. It’s just not widely distributed yet.” ~ William Gibson, author of Neuromancer

The future is a funny thing. It can surprise us. It can frighten us and delight us. When it unfolds, we understand its logic though in the moment it seems to completely confuse us. It’s true of the larger world’s future and of our own personal futures, too.

As Weez, Lorelei, and I were heading to the Glass Garden at the Rusk Institute today, I was telling them about my plans for school and work and every other aspect of my life that I could think of for the foreseeable future. It all seemed to make so much sense, even though only several weeks ago nothing really seemed to make sense at all. It seems that so much is falling into place, as if I had these little pieces and the slots they fit into all along; I just wasn’t sure how to configure them until now.

When I think about the next year of my life, all of my projects seem to be falling into the time line in a startling beautiful pattern. It’s as if the future is already here, that it has been here for some time. It just took me a while to see it for myself. A few things in my life needed to be cleared away, things that were distracting me. At the time, I didn’t even know those things were distractions. I didn’t even know that they needed to go but the world knew. My future knew what I needed to keep moving forward.

Lately my body has gotten into the unfortunate habit of waking up at 4am on the nose every morning so I try to make that time useful. When this happens, I stare out the window at the water towers. I have a glass of milk. Some times I do some easy yoga poses and I think about my future. I try to think of an image that calms me down and lulls me back to sleep.

Recently, I’ve been imagining myself as a high diver in the form of a Maxfield Parrish painting. I face this beautiful forest as I stand at the very edge of a cliff. I raise my arms and face up to the sun, I bend my knees, and I jump. Rather than falling to the Earth, the wind catches me and I float under a sky of beautiful colors. I’ve been thinking of the forest as all of the experiences I’ve had to date and the beautiful colors of the sky as my future. Those colors have yet to fully take shape, though their very beginnings have certainly arrived.

The painting above depicts “Mountain Ecstasy” by Maxfield Parrish.

art, children, faith, fiction, museum, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – Walking with Faith Through Egypt

Christa Avampato

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” ~ 2 Corinthians 5:7

I went to the Egyptian Galleries today at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I’ve been doing a little bit of fiction writing and needed to collect some research on Egypt. I suppose I could have could just looked it up on-line though it was a gorgeous day, I wanted to walk through the park, and there is not substitute for seeing the treasures of Egypt right in front of us.

The Egyptian Galleries are well-known as one of the favorite attractions for kids to the Met. The fiction piece I’m writing is actually for a young adult audience so I must admit that a little of my motivation was some good eaves dropping. Kids, of course, were fascinated by the mummies. “There’s a dead person in there?” I heard numerous times. Followed invariable by the parents saying “yes” and the kids responding “cool”. (For the record, that was my response in my mind, too.) They also loved the myriad of figurines, depictions of dogs, and all the fancy gold jewelry that literally glowed within the display cases. I easily saw a dozen kids striking a pose that matches the many Egyptian etchings that lined the walls of the galleries. I wanted to do that too, though I knew it wouldn’t be as endearing an act for a 33 year old as it is for a 10 year old, so I held myself back.

To write fiction, we have to hang out with our characters, walk around with them, see the world through their eyes as well as our own. In this action, there are bits of dialogue that surface. We learn about the experiences of our characters the same way we get to know a new friend or someone we’ve just started dating. A little at a time, we learn where they’ve been, what they’ve seen, and where they hope their lives will go. I just walk beside them silently, recording everything.

There’s a lot of faith involved in writing fiction. At the top of a blank page, we’re never quite sure where we’ll end up by the time we reach the bottom of that page. We have to be generous and patient and let the story unfold naturally, taking comfort that it will go exactly the way it’s supposed to. It’s a mystical process.

Our lives are kind of like fiction writing, too. We might have some kind of basic outline for what we’d like to do and where we’d like to go, though the details of how we color in the lines is largely spontaneous. We meet new and interesting characters along the way, we veer off in many different directions, take advantage of one opportunity and then pass on another. We travel, we experience, we remain open to things that are new and strange and beautiful. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I see that living life really is exactly like writing fiction. We fumble around in the dark, not knowing exactly what is in front of us, forging ahead with only the faith and belief that the road we’re on is exactly where we are meant to be. All we must do is be present. The story, and our very lives, will unfold around us.

art, film, free, hope, The Journal of Cultural Conversation, war, women, writing

The Journal of Cultural Conversation – Pray the Devil Back to Hell

Christa Avampato

Exciting news over in TJCC-land! Laura, my brilliant friend and writing partner as well as the mastermind behind The Journal of Cultural Conversation, is working on a front-end re-design for the site that will be up within the week. We’re also working on a re-branding effort as well, though again, Laura must take 99% of the credit here. I’m just lucky to have a role on the virtual stage next to her.

My latest post on TJCC is up today! I was on a brief hiatus as I dealt with some personal issues and am now back, fully present. This one is about the documentary Pray the Devil Back to Hell and it goes something like this:

“There will come a time when you believe that everything is finished. That will be the beginning.” ~ Louis L’Amour

A few weeks ago I attended a screening of Pray the Devil Back to Hell, a documentary that tells the story of the how the women of Liberia ended the civil war that ravaged their country for well over a decade. Donning identical white t-shirts, no weapons, 2500+ women linked arms and made their opinions and demands known, loudly and publicly, week after week, until Charles Taylor and the warlords sat down together.

For my full post about this film, please visit http://www.thejcconline.com/2009/10/pray-devil-back-to-hell.html
art, free, museum, nature, writer, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – The Life We Receive Without Asking

Christa Avampato

“Our plans are nothing compared to what the world so willingly gives us.” ~ Margaret Wheatley

“Never tell everything at once.” ~ Ken Venturi, American former professional golfer

On Saturday evening, I headed across Central Park toward the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As I crossed the park, I passed between the southern border of the Great Lawn and Belvedere Castle. It’s one of my favorite little pieces of New York City. There’s some sort of happy air that exists in that little triangle; it’s impossible to resist smiling there. I always feel romance and unending possibility as I traverse that ground. It was late afternoon so the sun was just streaming over Belvedere, the clover and honeysuckle filled the air with a perfume that I wish could be bottled, and there was a soft breeze. For those few moments, everything felt perfect.

On Friday and Saturday nights the Met is open until 9:00pm so I wanted to take advantage of the extended hours. I checked in on my friends Vermeer and Rodin, stopped by to visit the empires of Northern Mesopotamia, and spent some time among the folk artists of Oceania. It’s almost inconceivable how lucky we are to be able to walk among so many priceless pieces of art at a moment’s notice.

At the Met I was on a little bit of a mission. I’ve been working on some children’s fiction over the last few weeks. Every day that I sit with my characters, they tell me something new about themselves. In a way, creating characters is like getting to know a new friend. I uncover little pieces about them over time, just by sitting with them and letting them tell me their story. Every day I’m reminded of Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way, when she says “Art is not about thinking something up. It is the opposite — getting something down.” While I have a general map for the story, the characters themselves are just letting me tag along on their journey. The characters themselves will provide a far richer, more intriguing story than I could ever plan. That’s the great joy and magic of writing.

As I was wondering through the Greek and Roman Galleries, the art of Cyprus, and the rooms full of knights in shining armor, a lot of ideas were drifting in and out of my mind. I dutifully wrote them all down – bits of dialogue and thoughts and twists and turns in the plot. After recording them all, I stopped to wonder if they made sense. And then I realized the characters I’m writing about can actually do anything they want. Writing fiction is a little daunting for this very reason – all of a sudden the possibilities are wide-open. When you’re just getting something down, there are no more limitations. Writing fiction may present our one and only opportunity for complete and total freedom.

While I went through Central Park and to the Met to accomplish something specific, I found something far greater in both places than I had intended. These experiences reminded me that the world has great plans for us, far greater plans that we have for ourselves. And while not having control may at first seem frightening, in many ways it’s as freeing as writing fiction. Unexpected, incredible circumstances, people, places, and opportunities are going to appear in our lives through no effort of our own. All we need to do to receive them is to show up with an open heart, an accepting mind, and the willingness to listen. If we can do this, the magic that is all around us becomes an unlimited and constant presence in our lives.

art, hope, loss, nature, opportunity, sadness

My Year of Hopefulness – A letter to October

Christa Avampato

Sweet October,

Thank you for arriving. I had enough of September and all the trouble she brought my way. A fire that threatened to trap me inside, claiming my home and most of my belongings with smoke, and then lost my dear sweet dog. A sad, sad month.

Now you’ve arrived and I’m so glad to see you, old friend. You are my favorite month because you bring the start of my very favorite season – holiday time. On Halloween two of my very good friends will be getting married and I’ll be celebrating with them as a beautiful and joyous way to kick off these last few months of the year.

Even better, you’ll bring a visit from my sister, my very best friend, along with my brother-in-law, and toddling niece who is one of the greatest joys of my life. We’ll go up to see the rest of my family where we can pick apples and pumpkins and run through corn mazes together. We’ll laugh together and play together and cook together. It’s a vacation I need so much as this heart of mine sets about healing itself and my soul takes a much needed break from the events of September.

And let’s not forget the vibrant, bold colors you decorate all of the trees with. Soon I’ll be jogging underneath a great umbrella of gold and orange and red, thankful for the cool breezes that rustle the leaves and clear my head. My mind is weary and it needs to see nothing but beauty to right itself again.

Taking inspiration from your expert paint palette, I begin this month at the very bottom of my own blank canvas. I imagine that I’m very small and the canvas is very big. I’m looking up at it, holding my paint brush with so many gorgeous colors to choose from. I’ll dab a little here, and dab a little there, only the colors that make me happiest, painting only the things that make my heart sing. October, you will witness someone shining through the sadness and disappointment and frustration and loss. Someone rejuvenated and smiling. And that someone will be me.

Thank you for coming to my rescue. Thank you for welcoming me in with a warm hug and a kind and understanding ear. Thank you for letting me lay down my troubles at your feet and walk on through your days to live my best life yet. I promise I’ll repay you with a painting more magnificent than anything I ever thought these two small hands of mine could make.

art, history, home, New York City, retail, shopping

My Year of Hopefulness – Demolition Depot

Christa Avampato

On Saturday I took the bus up to East 125th Street to a place that’s fascinated me for some time. About 6 months ago, I was coming back from LaGuardia Airport on the M60 bus and went by a store with a strange looking sign that read “Demolition Depot”. At first I thought it may be a construction (or rather destruction) company. I imagined backhoes and front-loaders and items like that inside. But the shape of the building didn’t seem to fit that kind of business. I went home and Googled it to find that it is a place that houses dismantled building treasures from 5 continents. It is the dream house of many a film art director, or a writer like me. This is where old New York (and every other major city for that matter) finds a home for what remains. Inside its wall are thousands of stories waiting to be told.

I went up there today on a little writing adventure. I’ve been working on a fiction piece and thought that a trip to Demolition Depot may help jog some kind of inspiration. It did not disappoint. It reminded me of an old, 4-story barn. The smell of the place brought a smile to my face – musty and oddly comforting. I picked up a clipboard with an inventory form just in case I found some artifact that I wanted to take back with me.
My favorite spot of all was the garden, an area out back that houses giant gates and doors and wrought-iron screens – exterior pieces that on the street we would have to admire from afar. Here I could get up close and examine their details, every twist, turn, and adornment. Gargoyles and ornamentation and stained glass windows that took my breathe away. Who lived among these items? Where did they go? What did they do? What did they learn?
I felt as if I was walking through someone’s house, as if I was trespassing and wasn’t supposed to be there. I just loved it so much that I couldn’t turn away. I just spent hours weaving through the four floors and the garden. Taking pictures, making notes, even sitting at some of the table settings, two of which I immediately loved and wanted for my home.
The trip accomplished exactly what I had hoped. I walked away with images and ideas that will be cropping up in my writing for many months to come. I understand that material items are of little value when compared to the value of personal relationships in our lives. What I appreciate about the one of a kind items housed at Demolition Depot is that they have borne witness to extraordinary and ordinary events of the lives of thousands of people. People passed through those doors, looked out from those windows, told time by those great giant clocks that now lay in wait for some lucky new owner. A majestic treasure trove of history just waiting to be remembered and re-told.
art, fear, film, government, happiness, kindness, love, safety, Tibet, war

My Year of Hopefulness – Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean

Christa Avampato

On Tuesday night I attended an event at the New York Society of Ethical Culture. The event was a talk moderated by Ann Beeson, Executive Director for U.S. Programs at the Open Society Institute and former Associate Legal Director at the ACLU. She interviewed Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean on the eve of the release of a documentary entitled The Most Dangerous Man in America: Daniel Ellsberg and the Pentagon Papers. Judith Ehrlich and Rick Goldsmith, the film makers, were in attendance as well. I’m looking forward to seeing it some time soon, and you should, too. We all should. While its set around the events of the 1970s, its moral implications are just as relevant today.


From the moment the footage began to role, my eyes started to tear up. With scenes of the massive amounts of missiles that we poured into Vietnam, 7.8M tons, it was hard to not consider all that we have been doing in Afghanistan and Iraq for years. And while the specific circumstances and players may differ, the outcome is likely to be the same. Innocent people are placed in the line of fire, and harmed. Those people are looked at as casualty numbers, the equivalent of statistics in some government report. In truth, those people are someone’s parent, sibling, child, friend, neighbor, lover. And after years of watching the news night after night, watching the death tolls climb higher and higher, I can’t find a logical reason to have incurred any of those losses.

Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean, government insiders, stood up once they realized that we could not win in Vietnam, once they had proof in black and white, via the Pentagon Papers, that there was no morally, ethically, or even legally correct reasoning for our occupation of Vietnam. At great personal peril, they risked everything, even their own freedom, their own lives, to reveal these findings. It would have been easier, far easier, to turn a blind eye – at least in the short run. In the long run, they just didn’t feel like they could live with themselves if they didn’t release the classified information they had that showed the fallacy of the war. They saved, literally, thousands, tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands, of lives by standing up with every odd stacked against them. Their courage is immeasurable.

As I sat in the audience I considered the bravery and fear these men must have had for years, how they risked everything of personal value for the good of the world. It was completely humbling to be in their presence. The most fascinating piece of the talk was the last question they answered: “What would you say to other potential whistle blowers out there who are contemplating taking the path you took?” John Dean couldn’t recommend it. Daniel Ellsberg asked those people to seriously consider taking the same road he took. I left understanding both of their points of view, wondering what I’d do, what my friends would do, if faced with similar circumstances.

I fell asleep Tuesday night thinking about the Dalai Lama’s letter to the world after September 11th. We later found out that he didn’t write the letter at all; it was a hoax written by someone else who was very concerned that in the wake of the attacks, we would find ourselves entering a deadly war that we could not win. The author may have felt that it had more relevance coming from the Dalai Lama; perhaps the author felt more people would listen to its reason. Perhaps that person didn’t have the ability or the knowledge to be as courageous as Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean. No matter; the author’s intention was the same – he or she felt compelled to stand up, speak up, and try to encourage others to do the same.

The letter is a beautiful one and bears repeating. I still cry when I read it; it’s that powerful. It’s reproduced below and can also be found on the website of The Government of Tibet in Exile. Daniel Ellsberg and John Dean seized the time of their teaching. I wonder if we will have the courage to seize ours, too, not just in issues of war but in issues of every day life as well.

“Dear friends around the world,

The events of this day cause every thinking person to stop their daily lives, whatever is going on in them, and to ponder deeply the larger questions of life. We search again for not only the meaning of life, but the purpose of our individual and collective experience as we have created it-and we look earnestly for ways in which we might recreate ourselves anew as a human species, so that we will never treat each other this way again.

The hour has come for us to demonstrate at the highest level our most extraordinary thought about Who We Really Are. There are two possible responses to what has occurred today. The first comes from love, the second from fear.

If we come from fear we may panic and do things -as individuals and as nations- that could only cause further damage. If we come from love we will find refuge and strength, even as we provide it to others.

This is the moment of your ministry. This is the time of teaching. What you teach at this time, through your every word and action right now, will remain as indelible lessons in the hearts and minds of those whose lives you touch, both now, and for years to come.

We will set the course for tomorrow, today. At this hour. In this moment. Let us seek not to pinpoint blame, but to pinpoint cause. Unless we take this time to look at the cause of our experience, we will never remove ourselves from the experiences it creates. Instead, we will forever live in fear of retribution from those within the human family who feel aggrieved, and, likewise, seek retribution from them.

To us the reasons are clear. We have not learned the most basic human lessons. We have not remembered the most basic human truths. We have not understood the most basic spiritual wisdom. In short, we have not been listening to God, and because we have not, we watch ourselves do ungodly things.

The message we hear from all sources of truth is clear: We are all one. That is a message the human race has largely ignored. Forgetting this truth is the only cause of hatred and war, and the way to remember is simple: Love, this and every moment.

If we could love even those who have attacked us, and seek to understand why they have done so, what then would be our response? Yet if we meet negativity with negativity, rage with rage, attack with attack, what then will be the outcome?

These are the questions that are placed before the human race today. They are questions that we have failed to answer for thousands of years. Failure to answer them now could eliminate the need to answer them at all.

If we want the beauty of the world that we have co-created to be experienced by our children and our children’s children, we will have to become spiritual activists right here, right now, and cause that to happen. We must choose to be at cause in the matter.

So, talk with God today. Ask God for help, for counsel and advice. For insight and for strength and for inner peace and for deep wisdom. Ask God on this day to show us how to show up in the world in a way that will cause the world itself to change. And join all those people around the world who are praying right now, adding your Light to the Light that dispels all fear.

That is the challenge that is placed before every thinking person today. Today the human soul asks the question: What can I do to preserve the beauty and the wonder of our world and to eliminate the anger and hatred-and the disparity that inevitably causes it – in that part of the world which I touch?

Please seek to answer that question today, with all the magnificence that is You. What can you do TODAY…this very moment? A central teaching in most spiritual traditions is: What you wish to experience, provide for another.

Look to see, now, what it is you wish to experience-in your own life, and in the world. Then see if there is another for whom you may be the source of that. If you wish to experience peace, provide peace for another. If you wish to know that you are safe, cause another to know that they are safe.

If you wish to better understand seemingly incomprehensible things, help another to better understand. If you wish to heal your own sadness or anger, seek to heal the sadness or anger of another.

Those others are waiting for you now. They are looking to you for guidance, for help, for courage, for strength, for understanding, and for assurance at this hour. Most of all, they are looking to you for love.

My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness.”
art, children, dreams, education, school

My Year of Hopefulness – Dreaming in Bits and Pieces

Christa Avampato

“The end of wisdom is to dream high enough to lose the dream in the seeking of it.” ~ William Faulkner, American novelist

Now that life is returning to normal, I’m turning my attention back to my education project. I’m in the early stages of contacting public schools to find one that will serve as a pilot test. In a nutshell, I am looking to use theatre as a tool to teach innovation and product development to 6th graders at New York City public schools. The program will be of no cost to the school or to the children who participate. I just need a space, an internet connection (if possible), and 10 curious 6th graders. I would personally finance the pilot. The idea is to run it for 12 weeks beginning in January of 2010.

At this point I’ve had about 15 people read the proposal and provide their feedback and suggestions. Their creativity and excitement has spurred me even further. They’re helping me dream bigger, far beyond the pilot. Just as Faulkner suggested, this thinking bigger has allowed me to move beyond just seeing this program as a dream. It’s something that I must do. It’s quickly becoming my greatest passion, and that’s exactly what I need to happen in order to get it off the ground.

For the past few days, it’s all I’ve been able to think about. Things I see and experience and read are all tying back to this dream. This morning I was so excited about it that I could barely stay in my chair at my computer. I’m getting little inputs from everywhere – what schools I could partner with, what material I should include, what mechanisms I should use to deliver the material. Like small interconnected building blocks, all these bits and pieces are fitting together, filling in the canvas I’m dreaming on.

The more I consider the pilot program, the more I realize that it is inevitable. All the clues I’m picking up are showing me that there is much more need for this program than I ever realized. It began as this tiny speck of an idea, and the more I nurture it and love it, the more new opportunities it presents. It’s the most beautiful thing about ideas and dreams, and people for that matter: the more care you put into them, the more understanding and freedom you provide to them, the lovelier and more viable they become. They reveal mysteries to you that you never even knew were possible.

The image above is not my own. It can be found on the Cardiomyopathy Association site.

art, books, children, family, friendship, values, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – Value we can’t see

Christa Avampato

A week ago, I found myself in Barnes & Noble nosing around in the children’s fiction department. In order to begin working on the scripts for my education program, I wanted to get a feel for a 6th grader’s vocabulary, sentence structure, and plot complexity. I was wandering around the store feeling underwhelmed. Where were all of the good children’s books?


And then just as I was leaving a small set of books caught my eye. Published by Scholastic, Blue Balliett wrote a set of kids mystery books that involve several main characters that carry over in the series. I picked up The Wright 3, a book about three 6th grade friends who find themselves in a race to save the Robie House, Frank Lloyd Wright’s Chicago masterpiece, from demolition. I found it oddly comforting over this last week because of several key messages it offers in a very forthright fashion – just the way that kids do.


1.) “Don’t give up. In darkness, much work can be accomplished.” I think about how much darkness was in that stairwell of my old apartment building during the fire. So much raced through my mind as I scrambled down the stairs – from “stop drop and roll” to things I never got a chance to say people whom I care about to “I will get out of this building unharmed”. In darkness, we develop a keen sense of sight and insight for things that we cannot see in broad daylight.


2.) “Sometimes when you lose something, you end up getting something else. Only you can’t know about the second thing until you’ve lost the first…losing is sometimes gaining.” It’s human nature to lament a loss of any kind whether it’s our home, our belongings, our jobs, a relationship. What’s so often under-appreciated is that losing something makes room for something new, and often better than what we had before, and it gives us a new appreciation for the things and people we do have in our lives. It takes a while to see that trade-off as a good one. In the past I have hung on to a sense of loss for far too long. I am trying to change that.


3.) “It’s sometimes hard to tell the line between real and unreal.” This world and the energies it contains work in mysterious ways. Magic and things that cannot be explained are constantly at work. Our life is full of coincidences. People appear in our lives, then disappear, then reappear again. An opportunity comes around, we may pass on it, and then it comes around again for a second and third chance. This world always has something to teach us.


4.) “Sometimes little things can appear big, and big things little.” This idea is especially powerful for me this week. I used to think I needed so many things. My apartment was filled with things I loved, things I could not imagine living without. In the end very little of it mattered. Actually, none of it really matters too much. My health and the people I love are really the only things that matter to me now.


5.) “What you notice first isn’t always what you’re looking for.” This is my favorite idea from The Wright 3. We’re so quick to judge, categorize and title a person, place, or thing. And sometimes the value we connote to an item or a person isn’t permanent. Some things and people become more valuable to us with time, and it can be a long, slow process to figure out just what the right value should be. We owe it to ourselves to give things and people a chance to prove their worth. The reality of a situation is not always what it initially presents itself to be.

art, fate, home

My Year of Hopefulness – A New Lease on Life

Christa Avampato

Today I went into my old apartment for the next to last time. I was there with the insurance adjuster and the movers. I marked what things I hoped they could salvage, they boxed it up, and took it away for cleaning. At first it was a routine exercise though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t tear up a little. It’s a difficult thing to see all of your belongings damaged, things you worked so hard for, things that have sentimental value, things that connect you to people you love and times long ago. The severing of that tie, despite its materialistic nature, can be hard to bear.

The dry cleaners were supposed to be scheduled for today as well but there was an appointment mix-up so I’ll just meet them tomorrow. They’ll be there at 10:30 tomorrow morning and once that piece is done, I’ll close the door for the last time on an apartment that I had high hopes for. I imagined dinner parties with friends, out-of-town guests, a little dog livening up the place. I’d be cooking in my eat-in kitchen, writing away. It was to be a little den of creativity for the next year. Instead it taught me the lesson of a lifetime – how precious and short every day is. We so often live close to the edge and don’t even know it. One minute, I’m writing on my computer, buying iTunes songs (‘Landslide’ by Fleetwood Mac was downloading at the time the fire broke out), and then my kitchen floor is crackling and heaving the next moment. Life’s funny that way. So unpredictable.
At 1:00 this afternoon, I signed the lease to my new apartment and by the kindness of the building managers I can move in immediately. The building was designed by Emery Roth, a renowned architect, whom I’d never heard of until this afternoon. He lived in the building for many years, just down the hall from me, in a 9-room apartment (much larger than mine!). He designed many well-known iconic residential structures in New York City including the El Dorado, the San Remo, and the Warwick Hotel. His firm, Emery Roth & Sons, continued on long after his death and designed many well-known New York City buildings including the World Trade Center (a little spooky that on 9/11 I’d sign a lease at a building designed and inhabited by the man whose firm designed the World Trade Center), the Bronx High School of Science, and the Hemsley Palace Hotel.
As the leasing VP if my new building said, “it’s almost as if you were meant to end up here rather than your other apartment.” At first I thought she was just saying that to make me feel better. Now, I’m wondering if there’s more to her comment than just that simple, surface sentiment. According to Wikipedia, “The extensive architectural records and papers of both Emery Roth and Emery Roth & Sons are now held in the Department of Drawings & Archives at the Avery Architectural and Fine Arts Library at Columbia University.” Once I am settled in, I will have to pay that library a visit. There’s some kind of story here, and now that the wheels of my mind are turning this way again, I know I’m well on my way to being my old self again, with an even greater appreciation for life and all of the mysteries it holds.
The photo above is not mine. It depicts the San Remo designed by Emery Roth. It can be found on Wired New York, an on-line community created by Edward Sudentas for people who love New York City art and architecture.