A few Saturdays ago, my friend Miss E. and I met, as is our weekly ritual, for lunch and art. Miss E. is happy to let me organize our food adventures and so agreed to meet me at Danal (recently relocated from 10th street between 2nd/3rd to Fifth Avenue/13th street). Many years ago - 19 to be exact- I took Big daughter's Serbian grandmother to the 10th street Danal for lunch. Big Daughter was still a tiny little thing (she still is) nestled in her stroller. At this larger, new improved Fifth Avenue Danal, the walls were a beautiful Provencal yellow and the space was significantly bigger. There was a pleasing mix of mismatched wooden chairs and tables and little chotchkes scattered around. Unfortunately the tea was cold, and when I stirred my spoon around the pot searching for tea leaves, I came up with a grand total of three. I asked a passing waitress for hot water and more tea leaves and there was definitely some attitude when she whisked the pot away. The tea pot returned with a small bang a few minutes later, but there were more tea leaves and hot water.
Lunch was not a success for either of us, and I won't mention the food. Our many table mates all seemed to either attend NYU, or teach there and looked happy enough. Most of them were drinking glasses of either champagne or white wine along with their coffees and cappucinos so maybe that was the thing to do. When it comes to tea, the bar has been set mighty high at Podunk, Grounded, Chae An and Gramstand and life is no longer simple.
Miss E. had a terrible migraine and I could see she was in pain. Despite that, she gamely decided to accompany me to the Alexandre art gallery (41 E. 57th street) featuring paintings from the estate of a painter called Loren MacIver. I had read about the show in the previous Friday New York Times Art Section and loved the idea of a painting where flowers wreathe a woman's head. I also loved that Ms. MacIver lived in Greenwich Village, traveled to Paris, exhibited in Pierre Matisse's gallery, and was close friends with the poets Elizabeth Bishop and Marianne Moore and married to a poet herself.
Interestingly enough at the show, I fell in love with a painting of a purple crocus. It was a small, perfect wash of powerful, but muted colors and of course it was sold - there was a little red dot next to it. The purple of the flowers and the blue-green background were hypnotic. If I had $8,000 extra dollars, I would have gladly spent it on the painting so I could look at it every day for the rest of my life. Miss E. also thought the paintings were quite beautiful and was momentarily distracted from the pain of her migraine.
We admired a painting of snow falling through a window and found it quite compelling. As we left, Miss E. and I looked at Bretagne, a painting near the entrance of the gallery. I thought it was a magical meadow in the colors of an early summer evening with its swirls of deep blues and pinky white hues. It was hard for me to walk away from it. If it were possible (and it's definitely not) I would have immediately handed over $75,000 to own it. Instead, I contented myself with buying the catalog so I could take a little piece of Ms. MacIver home with me.
A few Saturdays later, I invited Miss E. to accompany me to the Milk Gallery (450 W. 15th Street) to look at a show of Buddhas created by an aeronautical engineer turned Buddhist priest. The exhibit lasts until March 30 of this year, and was brought to New York City by the Shinjo Ito Foundation. One recent Friday evening, I realized that I was walking by the foundation's information center at 489 Broome Street just above W. Broadway. I made the connection as I glanced through the large glass windows and saw photos of the same Buddhas I'd viewed at the Milk Gallery.
Miss E. met me at my 11th street office and we walked together to the West Village. It was cold and the wind blew through us as we walked west. On the way to the Buddhas, I suggested we stop and eat at Arium, a tea room at 31 Little West 12th Street. I needed to warm up. I'd walked by Arium, a few years ago when Big Daughter, little one and I took a walk in the Meat Market after learning that my father had died. It's complicated, but fitting that we did that and I bought Big Daughter a beautiful coat that day. She still wears the coat and I borrow it once in a while.
That warm September day, the three of us sat outside and had tea and sweets at the now-closed Sashas on Gansevoort Street. But back to Arium, it is a large elegant space that is a combination tea room and hair salon. It also functions as an exhibition space, and there were colorful paintings on the walls. The waiter said they have music concerts some evenings as well (there was a large grand piano on one side of the room), and theme nights like Moroccan movie night with related cuisine.
We selected our choice of tea from an comprehensive tea list. I'm embarrassed to admit I can't remember the name of my tea, but it was good. I ordered an open-faced salmon sandwich with green apples and Miss E. ordered a quiche with a salad. The quality and freshness of our food was very good. The tea was served in beautiful little china teapots and tea cups and the waiter refilled our tea pots with more warm water. I asked to look at the high tea menu and there was a variety of combinations of tea and sandwiches/tea and sweets etc.
Arium was pretty empty when we visited, save for the hair stylists coming and going and the occasional customer, but that added to its charm. When our meal ended, our waiter gave us a little scrap of paper that said $45. He explained that the register didn't work. For some reason, he was unable to get our change for about twenty minutes. We were slightly confused by this but the setting was pleasant and so we waited. When he finally did bring the change, he had another little scrap of paper that said $47. At that point, our waiting seemed pointless as Miss E. realized that she could have left the change. We were mystified by the little scraps of paper with changing amounts.
We then decided it was time to visit the Buddhas. I had read that the exhibition at the Milk Gallery sought to communicate to the viewer, the love and compassion experienced by the priest who created the Buddhas. When we arrived there, a steady stream of people were walking in. I noticed that everyone had a pleasant expression on their face, especially an older woman walking around the gallery with her small dog. The Japanese guard looked at the dog but didn't say anything. A little later, I observed him looking at the dog and owner and quietly conferring, in a tranquil low-key manner with the man handing out brochures at the gallery entrance.
Miss E. and I were both impressed with the Buddhas in the show. We agreed that the overall effect was indeed quite soothing. There were several small gold and black Buddhas exhibited throughout the space and one large, reclining one which could be viewed from all sides. There was also a gift shop in which we browsed and I bought little one a book that explained the meaning of different symbols in Buddhism which I've been occasionally perusing at home. The large, reclining Buddha was the one that possibly provided the viewer some serenity. I certainly felt more tranquil after viewing it.
I'll admit that I was seeking something although I'm not a Buddhist and do believe in God, which is not necessarily a contradiction. As we walked in the rain this afternoon, I realized it was knowing when to let go of angry feelings and move on.
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