Work of Art: Special
Well lovelies, no “Work of Art” recap for three weeks because I’m in New York City, squatting in an actual working, struggling artist’s apartment in deep, near-ghetto Brooklyn, meaning no cable, no Bravo, and until Hulu uploads more episodes, no “Work of Art.” Instead, I’m exhausting my kiddoes dragging them to art museums and galleries all over town. More authentic, see? But last night, around 7:30 or 8:00 PM, after a long day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (BabyDaddy got to wander at will, it being Father’s Day and all, while I trotted the kids to the sure-fire pleasers: the Temple of Dendur and mummies, the halls of shiny, bejeweled armor and weaponry for my son, and the ridiculously ornate but according to my six year old daughter absolutely divine and perfect “princess rooms” lifted straight from palazzi and chateaux. She also approved the nearly-as-ornate 1890 ballgowns from the “American Woman” exhibit), last night, after all this, which involves miles and miles of threading oneself and children and stroller through the Sunday hordes, and then more miles of wandering over the winding, hilly paths of Central Park in the golden evening sun, we dragged ourselves, rumpled and worn and we’ll confess somewhat grumpy to the 67th Street Eastside entrance toward the subway and the long-ass subway ride downtown and back to inner Brooklyn, when, who should step in from Fifth Avenue—shirtless, no less (it having been a 95 degree day)—but otherwise extremely upright and immaculately pristine, than Mr. Jerry Saltz, Art Critic for New York Magazine and “Work of Art” judge, himself? Trotting briskly along in his pressed khaki shorts, white shirt neatly folded over an arm, black glasses planted firmly on his distinctive visage. So there was my celebrity sighting of the day.
(Although I also saw Todd Meister, briefly erstwhile husband of Nicky Hilton, dropping off a first date at her limestone mansion. But that has nothing to do with art.)
Till later, signing off from Brooklyn, NY.