“To be an artist is to believe in life.” – Henry Moore

”Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” – Pablo Picasso

Well, it is time to begin a follow up to my hugely successful, prior story. However, I have to say something about it. Each week, I really do labor over what I want to share with you. While I have no idea how many people actually read them, there are usually only a handful of emoji’s and comments each week. Trust me, I am not complaining or anything stupid like that.

While captive on the 9 1/2 hour flight to NJ, I began writing the last piece and followed up and closed it out at the end of my first day here. Next thing I know, I am getting “likes” and “loves” and complimentary comments. I also know how Facebook works and why it works. Heavy is not really at home there and the less weight, the better the reaction. I definitely wanted to keep anything relating to my visit on the light side. It worked.

It is in keeping with that spirit that I begin my promised follow up at the end of my week here. Even though, I came here to visit with family and conveniently and coincidentally to spend time with My Fair Lady, I definitely wrote that I was not going to invade their privacy and therefore my own, by writing about them. I honestly can’t tell you why I feel this way, but I do. 

Fortunately, for all of us, I ended up spending time in NYC and this place is nothing, but one story after another after another. I’ve already told you before that everyone should visit this place at least once, to understand what a true city is all about. There is one thing you absolutely cannot do in the City and that is stand still. Manhattan is a rushing stream of humans, continually overflowing its banks. 

I have been headquartered in a storybook suburb, called Morristown, NJ. Without Googling, let’s assume there was a Revolutionary War hero by the name of Morris, which could have been his first or last name. Of course, I think it would be a much funnier story if the guy went by the first name of Morris, like “Yo Morris, How You Doin’?” He would have said, “I really like this piece of land and I envision super, large homes, manicured grounds and a downtown that could be an updated location for a new “Back to the Future.” OK, I am taking some liberties here, because making up a nonsensical story takes precedence. 

I really was wondering what the hell I was going to write about. Could something happen to anchor this sequel to my arrival saga? I’ll be damned. Leave it to my old city to give me the perfect gift. The plan was to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, up around 82nd and Fifth Avenue. Much to our surprise, it is closed every Wednesday, the day we set aside for the visit. 

We scrambled to come up with an art museum substitute, keeping in mind the Met is in a class by itself. I remember visiting many times, when I lived there. We decided to go to the Guggenheim, an art museum with five levels on a continuous wrap around walk way. It indicated there was a special exhibit, called Going Dark, which we foolishly thought would only occupy a fraction of the space.

I gotta talk to you about the whole idea of art in the first place. It is the height of understatement to call it subjective. On top of that, it can be up to its ass in pretense. Three pieces of gauze nailed to a wall is art, if it is in a museum, or just some rags stuck between a couple of buildings. Paint splattered on a framed canvas is worth millions and it is just a mess on some hallway somewhere else.

In the beginning of our walk up the five levels, there was a Kandinsky. If you’re interested, look him up, because I don’t know how to describe the shapes and colors and their connection to each other, but it is art to me. It was seriously downhill after that as we worked our way uphill, through various exhibits, helping to define the overall concept of the exhibit, Going Dark.

I know it had everything to do with the African American experience and I am not about to fuck with that one, because I have no right to do it. However, if I was curating this show, no way I would have been so damn obtuse that you needed to read the small print on each wall, in order to know what the fuck you were looking at. I didn’t feel anything, Oh wait, that’s not true. I felt annoyed that I forked up thirty bucks to climb up five stories and continually scratch my head to make sense of what I was seeing. 

Of course, that’s the funny thing about art and the arbiter. You know, I get uncomfortable when someone calls me a writer, because it makes me feel I should think I am good at my form of self-expression. The honest to God truth for me is that I am continually trying to be good at and it is the pursuit that matters to me. 

Thinking back over my week here, Going Dark was definitely the highlight and it is what I will always think about on this trip so far. Being the dumb ass, creature of habit, I will repeat the pattern from the extraordinarily well-received, prior story. I will finish right on time for my, neurotically habitual, weekend tome delivery.  Tomorrow, we go to the Philadelphia Museum, home of the Rocky steps and an important part of my own history. At its finish, it will be time to send it through the ether to your technological doorstep…………………………………

The first thing I want to say about Philly is that I really liked it. The first thing we did was to go to Angelo’s Pizzeria to get one of the best Philly Cheese Steaks in the entire city. My daughter-in-law is gifted when it comes to making arrangements, any kind of arrangements. She just takes care of shit. She had called ahead to place our order. When we drove up, there had to be at least 100 people standing outside, waiting to either pick up their orders or to place them. There was an old guy with a big beer belly continually yelling out instructions.

The cheese steaks were incredible and we ate them in our car, because there is no seating at Angelo’s. No way you can finish these things without exploding, so we unloaded the remainder and took off for the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I really enjoyed driving through this city, absent the insanity of NYC.

For those of you, who don’t know, the museum is most famous for its series of steps that Rocky ran up, before turning around at the top and victoriously posing with his arms raised over his head. In one of the films, a statue of the now, world famous Rocky was placed at the top of the stairs. Keep in mind, this was for the film.

In 1982, I was in Philly on business and as a lunatic runner, those stairs were my target the first morning there. I ran up those stairs and saw that his statue had been removed, but the concrete pedestal  remained. Standing in between the mangled rebar, was a small, marble statue of a Chinese figure, just waiting for me. I took my new friend and ran down the stairs with him. He has been with me ever since.

Subsequently, the Rocky statue was placed close by the entrance to the museum. Today, there was a long line of people, at least 100, waiting to stand in front of the statue and mimic his pose, photographed by friends. It seemed like a comic book experience to me. The guy was a cartoon character, but Philly still loves him.

This time, I walked up those stairs and could really appreciate this beautiful building. The art inside was spectacular, a 100% juxtaposition to the experience with Going Dark at the Guggenheim. When you look at Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh, Gauguin and Jackson Pollock, you know you are looking at and experiencing the magic that is art. You don’t have to discuss its meaning or read the explanations that accompany them. Art shines a light inside yourself and needs no words. Great writers reverse the process by creating an internal world with their words.

So, here I am, at the end of another story. I’ll be heading back home in a couple of days. When I am on Kauai, I am living in a magnificent painting, actually she is a gallery of infinite masterpieces and her stories inspire my own. I have had a wonderful time while being away and I look forward to returning home and falling into her arms.