Paix, Pace, Paz, Peace passe

Among the hundreds of faces, passing half conversations via cell phone, jaunting cars, and signs vying for attention it's difficult to find a peaceful space for a thought, a conversation, or just a moment of zen. So for my many missed moments of zen, inadequately replaced by stairwell conversations or unnecessary bathroom visits, I went somewhere more peaceful, and celebrated the Presidents.

This time, the sky caught my attention before I even thought to look at it. Orion's belt vibrantly displayed over the rustle of palms, peace. And when the wind was calm, so was everything else. Back in my Brooklyn bed, I've tried to convince myself that the soft roar of cars on the expressway down the street are really crashing waves. The honking doesn't sound like birds, though, and the skyline still nothing like the stars. And so I go, to see landscapes in oil at the Met, fake palms and oceanscapes on Broadway, and wind meeting the trees in Central Park. These extraordinary things to the tourist are merely replacements for the mundanities that flavor life. The details that make a walk more than utilitarian, a night more than an end, a life more than a function. And in the masterful paintings, the unparalleled performers and impeccably landscaped parks, we find the details that are life. Revered entertainments become the ordinary scenery. and thus, New Yorkers invented the word passe.

The park is draped in bright orange gates, by an artist who's too modern for the confines of paint and canvas. When paint is on the canvas it is not an image but a thought, displayed inside revolutionary space. Dinner takes on a new look and new combinations. Until it, too, is no longer entertainment, but scenery. passe. In many ways, it's reassuring to know that humans can constantly reinvent beauty, art, entertainment and enjoyment. But for me,the confused casualty of man's latest, nothing will ever be as satiating as nature inimitable.