Metamodernism in a New York Moment

 Imagine being in a garden terrace where American ‘90s jazz plays and the art that hangs on the walls is a menagerie of midcentury color-swerving, obviously Picasso inspired. One particular painting strikes you, this one more Fauvist: a purple blonde clutches a pearl necklace as she emerges, orange-nippled and open-mouthed, from a parlor with sitting chair. Now imagine yourself as the painter, or voyeur or whoever, sitting comfortably in another chair watching self-satisfied. This is how I felt as I ate the steak au poivre avec pomme frites. This reminded me what it was like to be in love.

And I wish I could transmit the same feeling to you – it is so luxurious, so serene. So I looked up to the sky through the swinging beech branches that clamber over the black fire escapes and brown brick apartments and stored in my memory what New York was like.

Maybe I would do better to show you in a story of my own, how it feels to be in love. But that’s so 20th century, not metamodern at all. Or is it?

London and Avant Garde Art

Yesterday was our first full day in London. We took the Tube, which is very convenient and indeed rivals its New York counterpart to the South Bank. One thing about Londoners is that momentary subterranean delays don't seem to cause as much agitation as for New Yorkers.

Bourough Market gave us lunch: we shared Thai seafood green curry from one stand  and fresh arugula salad, prosciutto, tomato and bufalo muzzarella for our greens. Down the South Bank the Tate Modern holds representative works from most of the famous avant garde artists of the 20th century, including the $106 million Picasso Nude, Green Leaves, and Bust, Braque, Twombly, Bacon, Serra and many more.

We rode bikes to the hep Shoreditch neighborhood after crossing the Thames on the Millennium Bridge. Our country is late on adopting this program of park and ride, unfortunately. At Brick Lane I had lamb vindaloo and almond cream naan (pleasure shudder). Then we walked and drank, walked and drank.

Thing is London sleeps. And that changes the energy of the city slightly. But today after the National Gallery, Friday night will be crazy.