What recession? That's what many of us wondered during the last hours of the Dwell on Design weekend at the L.A. Convention Center. Some 15,000 visitors toured the hall–and it's quite possible we spoke to every one of them as they popped into our temporary shop in the lobby.
Archive for June, 2009
Award-winning art photography of shit, unchecked murders by a pathological citizenry, government wiretapping, urban pollution and the little (or, well, major) madness it all incites might all seem like contemporary matters.
Our friend was not so much suggesting, as begging us to go. Forget that we couldn’t fathom getting back into our rental car after an afternoon cruising along Route 9; forget our host’s tips for the Tuscan and French bistros on Main Street, near our B&B here in Cold Springs.
No sooner had I received word from my boy Albert Yeh at Esquivel Shoes that the Vogue editors had declared George Esquivel’s natty lace-ups for women the new flats, when the next email up on my iPhone was news that Vogue editor Sarah Brown had wrapped up her bulletin on the influence of Marchesa Luisa Casati on Chanel’s Cruise 2009 by citing the new tome out this fall on the icon.
Mike is an old, young colleague of mine and, sadly, we're going to miss the opening tonight since we're flying home. The show alone deserves a visit. Coupled with the Ever fashion show and live performance by El Mysterioso, it's a lot of bang for your Thursday night.
While Richard Serra makes helluva convincing grounds for experiencing sculpture in confined spaces, the stupendously vast 500-acres of lush woodlands, grassy fields and rolling hills that serve as stage for the 100 or so mostly modern sculptures of the Storm King Art Center make for a satisfying argument that three-dimensional works need space to be.
Garage gallerina (and A+R regular) Ali G is hosting a one-night exhibition and sale this Saturday for Thomas Voorhies. The Highland Park-based painter and RISD alum puts to linen the people and places surrounding his studio-home, culling beauty out of circumstances that are not knee-jerk beautiful–like the lonely, almost scarily lit stagnant streets around his 'hood.