Exploring our world through the prism of art, media, antiques, design; working against instincts to deprive my body (having long followed anorexic tendencies); embracing life's quirky facets and beautiful imperfections.
PRESS, POSTED TO THE 'NET IN THE COURSE OF THE LAST YEAR, ON THREE REMARKABLE PROJECTS (WHEREIN EVERYDAY CUISINE GETS INVENTIVELY TURNED ON ITS HEAD) - RECALLS FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT, WHO OBSERVED: "DINING IS ALWAYS A GREAT ARTISTIC OPPORTUNITY."
"FALL SEVEN TIMES, STAND UP EIGHT." - JAPANESE PROVERB
"Fallen Soldier," 2007 oil on panel by Gerry Perrino
The latest headline to catch my eye from today's New York Times pays tribute to the final hours of business at Manhattan's legendary F.A.O. Schwarz. An endlessly looping song traditionally played in its Steiff™-strewn foyer memorably proclaimed the two-story building a "World of Toys," albeit one of diminishing quality in this age of faceless Amazon and Walmart supply giants. The store was also famed for the costumed employees greeting visitors at its door, dressed as members of the old fashioned Queen's Guard -- "toy soldiers" come to life, as if from out of The Nutcracker. Recalling this, my mind immediately raced to retrieve not that ballet's libretto, but lyrics from late-'80s Billboard topper Martika. Her smash hit "Toy Soldiers" was meant to illustrate a friend's debilitating cocaine use, but now, repeating select stanzas aloud, I am struck by how precisely they illustrate my depression, with its mental fog and physical weakness, much-worsened by starvation habits and compulsive rituals. Observe:
It's getting hard to wake up in the morning My head is spinning constantly How can it be? How could I be so blind to this addiction? If I don't stop, the next one's gonna be me. Only emptiness remains It replaces all, all the pain. Step by step Heart to heart Left, right, left We all fall down Like toy soldiers Bit by bit Torn apart We never win But the battle* rages on...
