(click photos to enlarge)
Brent was visiting from San Diego, so we met for lunch at Gansevoort Market, where we chatted up vendors at two different food stalls who were Peruvian. By the time we’d finished our delicious ceviche and arepas, the street outside was on lockdown because a movie crew was running vintage cars up and down Gansevoort.
Eventually released from Manhattan-movie-set bondage, we strolled down to the Whitney Museum to check out the Frank Stella retrospective. I was underwhelmed. The only piece that really excited me greets you when you get off the elevator — the gigantic, textured, psychedelic Earthquake in Chile.
Brent had never been to the Whitney, so I made it a point to show him around. On our way to the spectacular views from the terrace, we came upon an exhibition by a painter I’d never heard of. “Archibald Motley: Jazz Age Modernist” contains a generous sampling of beautiful portraits and several rooms of Motley’s richly hued scenes from black American life, full of vitality and humor.
By the time we got outside it was a little chilly but the setting sun licked the urban landscape with its golden-hour magic.
another eye opens 
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