the hours

How they fly. How we wake up, find our way across Central Park to the Frick Museum, and lose ourselves for several hours among the most glorious art. We went for the Piero della Francesca exhibit, a small exquisite collection of angels and saints, the pigments aglow after more than five hundred years. And what a beautiful building, so quiet and civilized after yesterday’s excursion to the Museum of Natural History — it’s Spring Break: say no more. (The Frick doesn’t admit anyone under the age of ten…) Anyway, the whole experience was wonderful. I found myself looking really carefully at the Degas drawings in the exhibition of Impressionist drawings and prints, wondering how he got the sense of texture, and learned a new term: stumping. I think this is the use of a leather instrument to press graphite into the paper to create dense shading.The drawings were so terrific. The dancers, the racehorses with jockeys alert on their backs…

We had dinner with our friends J.P. and Karin last night as their guests at Machiavelli, a restaurant owned by a friend of theirs — wonderful food. And a young pianist playing. (I loved hearing a Bach partita while I ate my pasta stuffed with beets and ricotta, strewn with poppy seeds!)

Tonight we’re going to hear the Attacca Quartet play music for strings by John Adams, including “John’s Book of Alleged Dances”. I can’t wait. (And before that, we’ll meet some friends from Whitehorse for a drink at the Algonquin Hotel.)

waiting for the Frick to open

2 thoughts on “the hours”

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