My favorite political cartoon is of a couple in an art museum. The art on the wall is little more than a circle. One person turns to the other and says, “I could have painted that.” The other person responds with, “yeah, but you didn’t.” That’s what seeing these paintings in Chelsea reminded me of.
Technically, I could have painted the colorful Rorschach-blobs lining the walls of the Highline Nine art gallery, but I didn’t. It was hard at times to see the appeal of the artwork in front of me. They were vibrant, resplendent colors that would nicely decorate the wall of an apartment, but didn’t resemble anything real and cost about as much as a down payment on a Tesla.
Chelsea is known for its spectacular art galleries, so once my mother left me I decided that I would get my bearings and practice my navigational skills by skipping along from one art gallery after the other. Am I posh yet? I’m striving to be better with directions. When I was a child I got lost in my own house (and it was a one-story house with about seven rooms).
Using my GPS, I managed to mostly find my way and ended up in a variety of fascinating art galleries, starting with the fascinatingly named High Line Nine. I chose these galleries off the internet based on how much I liked their name. That’s how the great ones do it. After none of the pieces spoke to me, I moved on to the C24.
This art gallery had less to do with actual paintings and more to do with conceptual artwork where everywhere you looked there were videos being projected onto the walls.
The third one, The Gagosian Gallery, which I clearly wasn’t supposed to be in because they were in the process of renovating it and moving in new art pieces, was filled with even more avant garde pieces, much of which could have doubled as furniture.
From there, I walked over to the Chelsea Highline once again, never imagining that I would love a hollowed-out railroad as much as I do, before calling it a day. I wanted to get back to my hotel, so that I could prepare for my evening at the theater (still posh). Valentina, like the fabulous friend she is, snagged us both tickets to see a Broadway show via the ticket lottery, and gave it to me as a birthday gift. In order to fulfill my unofficial New Year’s resolution of learning the subway system, so that my parents can sleep at night, I took the subway from Chelsea to Broadway to meet Valentina, and, not to brag, I didn’t get lost.
The play was being performed in the Circle In The Square Theater, even though, and this is not to start a fight, the stage is more of a rectangle in an oval. The theater is known for kickstarting the careers of several famous actors, yet all of the actors in this play were already pretty well known. Ever heard of Laurence Fishbourne, Sam Rockwell, and Darren Criss?
“American Buffalos” is a play about three men who are going to pull off a heist in order to improve their lives and realize the American Dream, but since it’s a play they only discuss doing a heist instead of actually doing it. It mostly asks questions about loyalty. The play was written by David Mamet, a playwright known for his witty, rapid-fire dialogue. Aaron Sorkin, eat your heart out.
So together, Valentina and I saw an Emmy-nominated play being performed by heavy hitters at an illustrious theater in New York City. Truly, it was an incredible birthday present.
As far as the play itself went, I absolutely loved it. It was witty, serious, and well-acted. All three of the actors did a phenomenal job with Sam Rockwell being one of the best things to happen to acting in a while, in my opinion.
Valentina and I had a fun time seeing the show, an act we hope to repeat some day when I get back from Italy and am stateside again. I went to sleep that night thinking about my 21st birthday the next day.
Stay tuned for that.
The Tragic Queen,