favorite movie #120 - holiday edition: when harry met sally ...

Favorite movies that have had an impact on me - #120 - When Harry Met Sally ... (1989) - This movie is so much more than the famous Katz's Deli scene. Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan are perfectly matched as two people who wonder if men and women can ever really just be friends. Helping them find the answer are Carrie Fisher and Bruno Kirby. Ryan's "high-maintenance" Sally may always ask for everything "on the side," but don't we all want things the way we want them? The movie culminates in a great New York New Year's Eve scene.

Harry Burns (Billy Crystal): There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance.

Sally Albright (Meg Ryan): Which one am I? 

Harry: You're the worst kind; you're high maintenance but you think you're low maintenance. 

Sally: I don't see that. 

Harry: You don't see that? Waiter, I'll begin with a house salad, but I don't want the regular dressing. I'll have the balsamic vinegar and oil, but on the side. And then the salmon with the mustard sauce, but I want the mustard sauce on the side. "On the side" is a very big thing for you. 

Sally: Well, I just want it the way I want it. 

Harry: I know; high maintenance.

Merry Christmas!

art in film - bell, book, and candle

I love to see paintings and other art objects in movies. Depictions of artists are always fun, too. Here are some images from the Greenwich Village setting depicted in Bell, Book, and Candle (1958). Kim Novak's downtown witch, Gillian Holroyd, owns a gallery that sells African Art. There is also plenty of modern art to be found on the walls of her apartment, book publisher Shep (Jimmy Stewart)'s office, and his fiancee Merle (Janice Rule)'s apartment.

A cubist approach to Pyewacket

All of the art objects were supplied by the Carlebach Gallery, New York

"Pyewacket, stop scratching the sculpture!"

Hey, isn't that the Brady Bunch horse sculpture behind Ernie Kovacs?

Yep!

Merle is definitely influenced by Miro

Gillian has a very abstract Xmas tree

spring and summer reads: horror and autobiography

I have been so busy the past few months with my own book and now assorted hurricanes, that I didn't have a chance to post reviews of all of the books I have been reading. The first bunch is a combination of horror and autobiography, which pretty much sums up my interests of late. Anyone have a good horror autobiography to recommend?

In the meantime, here are a few titles from my recent reading list:

The Men in My Life: A Memoir of Love and Art in 1950s Manhattan - Patricia Bosworth

This is a fascinating glimpse into a woman's life in the art and theater world of 1950s New York. Patricia Bosworth was born into a wealthy San Francisco family. Her father, attorney Bartley Crum, saw his career and fortunes dive after he defended the Hollywood Ten (Hollywood directors and writers who were blacklisted as Communists during Senator Joseph McCarthy's Red Scare fear campaign - Dalton Trumbo, Edward Dmytryk, Herbert J. Biberman, Lester Cole, Alvah Bessie, Ring Lardner Jr., John Howard Lawson, Albert Maltz, Samuel Ornitz, and Adrian Scott.) Crum moved the family to what he hoped was a more open and understanding New York, but he never really bounced back.

Complicating matters was his drug and alcohol abuse, which landed him in multiple unsuccessful dry-out attempts. He did manage to acquire a few  high-profile clients, including actors Rita Hayworth and Montgomery Clift, who would visit the house and gave young Patricia a glimpse into Manhattan's film and theater world. She would later join the famed Actor's Studio and work with, or at least brush up against, actors and artists like Steve McQueen, Marilyn Monroe, Diane Arbus, Gore Vidal, and Helen Hayes, among many others. Her most notable film role was a small part in The Nun's Story, starring Audrey Hepburn. But Bosworth's tale of that time on a movie set in Rome was far from glamorous, coinciding with a harrowing personal and physical event that shines a light on how far women have come since the 1950s and how we need to keep it that way.

Family tragedy was compounded when Patricia's younger brother, Bart Jr., committed suicide. It is clear to the reader that Bart was homosexual. After he and a friend were found in a compromising position at school and the friend subsequently killed himself, Bart sank into a deeper and deeper depression until he ultimately chose to take his own life.The family seemed helpless or oblivious to Bart's plight. Although Bosworth doesn't address issues of homophobia and mental illness directly, there are echoes of depression, addictive behavior, and denial of true self between both the father and son. What is even more tragic is that young people in Bart's position sometimes still feel compelled to take their own lives today.

Bosworth ultimately gave up acting to pursue her real passion, writing, and she has become well known for insightful biographies of Marlon Brando, Montgomery Clift, Jane Fonda, and Diane Arbus, as well as writing in more detail about her father and the Hollywood Ten (Anything Your Little Heart Desires: An American Family Story, 1997).

I found her story fascinating and am eager to now try some of her other biographies.

Patricia Bosworth in her Actors Studio days

Echoes From the Macabre - Daphne Du Maurier

I have always loved Du Maurier's Rebecca and have read Don't Look Now before in some other edition, but I don't think I had ever read the original version of The Birds, which was the basis for the classic Alfred Hitchcock horror film. Set in England the story is just as scary, and even more bleak, if that is possible. The rest of the stories are also very good, in a suspenseful, and in some cases, very creepy kind of way. They include: The Apple Tree, The Pool, The Blue Lenses, Kiss Me Again, Stranger, The Chamois, Not After Midnight, and The Old Man. I honestly don't want to even give a summary for any of these, as I think it is best to read them with no preconceptions. It is clear to see why Hitchcock loved Du Maurier's sometimes twisted take on life.

The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson

A true classic of horror, which tells the tale of four paranormal researchers who decide to spend some time in one of the most horrible-looking and possibly -acting houses of all time - Hill House. Dr. Montague, an erudite ghost chaser, enlists the help of three young people to prove that Hill House is truly haunted and evil. What could go wrong? Luke, who is a descendent of the original owner and builder of the terrible manse, chooses to treat the experiment as a joke. The beautiful and mysterious Theodora's motives to being there are unclear, but it is likely that she approaches the situation as a thrill seeker. Eleanor, an unhappy and possibly unstable young woman, hopes that Hill House will be the exciting new chapter in a previously dull and uninteresting life. When the cook and her husband tell the guests that they won't stay after sundown that should be the quartet's first clue that something is very wrong about Hill House.

I Shock Myself - The Autobiography of Beatrice Wood

To end things on an up note, I am including this wonderful autobiography of the little-known artist and ceramicist Beatrice Wood. Sometimes called "The Mama of Dada," she died in 1995 at the age of 105. During her long and eventful life she associated with some very interesting people, including Marcel Duchamp, Francis Picabia, J. Krishnamurti, and the art collectors Louise and Walter Arensberg. Wood is also considered to be the inspiration for the the woman who is loved by two men in Jules et Jim, which was written by Henri-Pierre Roché, who she was involved with. Their mutual close friend Marcel Duchamp fills out the third side of the eternal triangle. What was Wood's secret to her long and storied life? "I owe it all to chocolate and young men." Check her out. She was pretty amazing.

The colorful Beatrice Wood in her studio

throwback thursday: old new york family photos

Listening to the Bowery Boys podcasts of Old New York has made me wonder what life in the city must have been like for some of my ancestors, who came here from Italy near the end of the 19th century.

My grandmother, Gaetana Marta D'Ippolito, whose name was changed to Gertrude when she entered the U.S. as a small child

Wedding photo of Mary D'Ippolito and Joe Battaglia (Mary was Grandma's older sister)

Paola Cerchio Periale, my great-grandmother, c. 1910

i love the bowery boys

No not these guys, although I grew up watching them and like them too.

These guys.

Greg Young and Tom Meyers (from Warby Parker)

I am addicted to their podcasts, which I listen to to on longer car rides. I left New York many years ago and don't really harbor even the tiniest desire to move back, but it's is in my blood. Growing up in New Jersey, "the city" was always a big focus and a draw. I lived there many years, in Brooklyn and then Manhattan — some of my most formative ones, going to college and starting my life as an independent adult and artist.

The Bowery Boys go way, way back in their New York histories, to the origin of places like Gramercy Park and Little Italy, but they also do more modern episodes, like one on CBGBs and another on subway graffiti art. I urge you to check them out. They also have me wanting to learn a lot more about some forgotten names that helped shape the city, like Joseph Petrosino, Hilla Rebay, and famous names who you might not have known had strong New York connections, like Rudolph Valentino. Once you listen to the podcasts you'll want to check out their blog for great photos, too.

throwback thursday: college collage

Some friends on Facebook have been posting old art school pictures. It's great seeing everyone again, and also some of the great art everyone did. I dug up a few images of my own. I used to do a lot of collage.

happy throwback thursday thanksgiving

In 2008 my mom, the kid, and I were in New York for Thanksgiving. We had a blast checking out the parade — the first time I ever saw it live, even after years of living in the city. We dined out on turkey day in a restaurant in Rockefeller Center, and generally just had a good ol' time.

city girl no more

Continuing my country mouse, city mouse theme ...

I have lived at least half of my life in cities. Big ones. But I am finally learning that you can take the girl out of the country (or away from the beach), but you can't take the beach out of the girl.

As we planned our recent summer vacation to the Jersey Shore I had fully intended to spend a few hours in New York, either on the way in, or the way out, or both. But on our ride out from the airport, it quickly became clear that wasn't going to happen. Not only did it take forever to get the rental car and get the hell out of town (note to self — when going to Jersey, never fly into to La Guardia again), but that trip through town was more than enough of a taste of New York for me and my daughter.

The best thing about flying into LaGuardia is definitely the view

It's amazing how quickly the hectic pace can get under your skin. The traffic was (not surprisingly) horrendous, but it also gave me the opportunity to stop and gawk like a tourist and see what had changed. Driving through midtown we got some fabulous views of the Empire State Building. And also of Times Square. I have spent some time in New York since last I lived there — we spent Thanksgiving in midtown about five years ago — but this time all of the Blade Runner-esque video screens really made me feel like I was in the middle of some hectic soda commercial. Not a feeling I am really looking to experience.

Approaching the Empire State Building

Stuck in traffic, below - but we got a great shot

Our relaxed time at the beach was so wonderful that I couldn't even imagine cutting it short to battle for a few hours with the crowds and pace of the city. The drive back confirmed that feeling. Our rental car, which had behaved perfectly for ten days while I tooled up and down the Jersey Shore, to Long Beach Island and back again, started to give me an error message and red overheating signal as we idled in blistering midtown traffic. It was like a scene from a movie, with a red bar increasing on the control panel and the countdown to the shutting down of the car in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ...

I turned the whole car off, and luckily, a traffic cop had us sit through two lights while he allowed pedestrians to navigate Times Square. When he finally motioned us forward, I tentatively started up the engine and the red signal was, thankfully, gone. We made it safely to the airport, although it was a nerve-racking drive, and reported the mishap. Freak occurrence? Omen? I'm not sure.

Will I ever vacation in New York again? I'm sure I will. But I definitely got the message loud and clear as to what I want from my life (and maybe always have). A more relaxed pace. Near the water. And with as few red signals and dramatic countdowns as possible.

throwback thursday: 14th street

My dad was born on 14th Street in New York City, and at least, c. 2000, the building was still standing. Here's a photo from a trip we made to the city from our home in N.J. (probably to see a Yankee game) in the 1970s. The building is the first brownstone, with Allen's Bar at the ground level.

Here's a close-up shot, with my mom and me standing in front of Allen's Bar. The family had more than one apartment in the building. The family patriarch, my great grandfather Don Peppino, a retired chef, had an office in the front of the building, where he would see patients. After he retired from the restaurant he spent his time as a healer. The family lived in rooms at the back of the building. In summertime Don Peppino would sit out on the roof and dry tomatoes, which he would later use to make sauce. Apparently the building also once featured a stoop, and a shop that sold prosthetics and wheelchairs was the storefront in the 1930s.

Here's a color polaroid from 1999 or 2000, from when I last lived in NY. The storefront was still a bar, but with a different name, and the bike store was gone. A satellite dish was now on the roof, but for the most part times didn't seem to have changed all that much. I'm not sure what I'd find there today.

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la-di-da: best movies ever — annie hall

Annie Hall is Woody Allen's masterwork. Released in April, 1977, it won numerous awards, including four Oscars: Best Picture, Best Director (Woody Allen), Best Actress in a Leading Role (Diane Keaton), and Best Original Screenplay (Woody Allen, Marshall Brickman). A love letter of sorts to former girlfriend Diane Keaton, Allen also includes some of his famous New York schtick as well as, for the first time in his films, digging a little deeper. Watching it recently I was struck by how effortless and funny it still is.

Woody Allen and Diane Keaton in Annie Hall

Allen plays comedian Alvy Singer, who has just turned 40 and can't quite understand why none of his relationships with women have ever worked out. Addressing the audience either directly or via voice-over, he traces the course of his most recent romance, with a woman named Annie Hall. The two meet through friends and are immediately attracted to one another, but the course of true love isn't exactly smooth for this pair. It's full of neuroses and watching "important" movies at New York City revival houses and lots and lots of humor. On their first date, Alvy has an idea on how to break the ice:

Alvy, "Hey listen, gimme a kiss."
Annie, "Really?"
Alvy, "Yeah, why not, because we're just gonna go home later, right, and then there's gonna be all that tension, we've never kissed before and I'll never know when to make the right move or anything. So we'll kiss now and get it over with, and then we'll go eat. We'll digest our food better."

As much as Annie Hall centers around the mismatched lovers, it also includes some classic Allen themes that will recur in his subsequent films, such as his obsession with sex, his fear of death, his love of New York, and his love of cabaret music (Keaton sings "It Had to be You" and "Seems Like Old Times." There is also slapstick, most notably featuring some recalcitrant lobsters. And Christopher Walken does a brief and very funny turn as Annie's creepy brother Duane. Here are some of my favorite, and its most classic, moments:

Annie and Alvy, standing in a line waiting to see The Sorrow and the Pity, discussing their sex life while trying to avoid the pontificating man behind them. Alvy finally gets so frustrated listening to the man blah-blahing to his date about Federico Fellini and Marshall McLuhan that he steps out of the story and drags in McLuhan himself to set the bore straight:

Diane Keaton's fashion sense. Keaton has always favored men's apparel, but her quirky way of combining men's ties, vests, hats, and jackets with feminine elements like scarves and granny dresses is all her own. She reportedly worked on the look with the film costume designer Ruth Morley, but seeing her through the years with her turtlenecks and gloves and tuxedo jackets have confirmed that the "Annie Hall Look" was totally Keaton. 

The lady makes that vest and tie look good

Woody's love for New York and ... lesser estimation of California. "I don't want to move to a city where the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light." When Alvy and Annie go visit Los Angeles he can barely contain his distaste. 

Annie, "It's so clean out here." 

Alvy, "That's because they don't throw their garbage away, they turn it into television shows."

As funny as Allen is, and as sharp and as observant as the humor can be, what really makes Annie Hall is Diane Keaton. She is a fully rounded person in the film. Not just the girlfriend. Or a pretty face. Or the butt of jokes. She is witty and zany and beautiful. How many female characters, of beauty, humor, and depth are there in movies these days? Annie Hall appreciates her, teases her, caricatures her. It helped to create her persona as an actress, and maybe even, a little bit, as a person. Our experiences mold us, and Keaton's time with Allen and this cinematic Valentine definitely shaped her and her career. It's wonderful performance, still funny after all these years.

smithsonian channel rocks out

The Smithsonian Channel has got its groove on this March with some great music documentaries. This Friday, March 21 (10 p.m. ET/PT) is the premier of "Blondie's New York," featuring the pioneering New Wave band. The program focuses on their breakthrough album, Parallel Lines, and the band's transition from underground punk recording artists to punk/rock/pop superstars. Featuring interviews with all the band members and the influential album producer Mike Chapman, "Blondie's New York" takes each song, track by track, and shows not only how it was created, but the collaborative process behind them.

The band members of Blondie include:

Deborah "Debbie" Harry on vocals
Chris Stein on guitar, 12-string guitar, E-bow
Clem Burke on drums
Jimmy Destri on electronic keyboards
Nigel Harrison on bass guitar
Frank Infante on guitar

Lead singer Debbie Harry was a triple threat — a brilliant lyricist, great singer, and beautiful girl who became a fashion icon. She and partner and Chris Stein were at the height of their romance while making Parallel Lines, which is reflected in songs like "Picture This" and Pretty Baby." Not only do viewers get to hear the stories behind these songs from the creators, but get a tour of the downtown New York punk scene which spawned the group. Clubs like CBGB were a training ground for the group, who were finding some local success, but nothing like what was to come. Chrysalis records executive Terry Ellis, after catching one of Blondie's downtown gigs bought out their their current recording contract and paired them with producer Mike Chapman, whose attention to detail  and relentless perfectionism helped craft Parallel Lines and pushed the band to experiment with new sounds like the disco dance beat that dominates "Heart of Glass." As Harry recalled in The Guardian,

" ... in 1978, we got this producer, Mike Chapman, who asked us to play all the songs we had. At the end, he said: "Have you got anything else?" We sheepishly said: "Well, there is this old one." He liked it – he thought it was very pretty and started to pull it into focus. The boys in the band had got their hands on a new toy: this little Roland drum machine. One day, we were fiddling around with it and Chapman said: "That's a great sound." So we used it.

Back then, it was very unusual for a guitar band to be using computerized sound. ..."

Narrated by Kim Cattrall, "Blondie's New York" features some great music and even greater interviews with Harry, Stein, and the rest of the band. Blondie fans will want to dig out their old CDs and vinyl and listen one again to some great songs from Parallel Lines, like "Hanging on the Telephone" and "One Way or Another."

The Smithsonian Channel also has two other music-themed specials which have already aired. "Amy Winehouse: One Shining Night" follows the late singer on a visit to the Irish fishing village of Dingle, where she performed some of her biggest hits in a small 200 year-old church to the locals. The intimate performance captures Winehouse at the top of her form, shortly after the release of her 2006 awarding-winning album Back to Black. The film features excerpts from an interview with the singer, who talks about her passion for music and her influences, like soul singer Carleen Anderson, Thelonius Monk, Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Charles, and Sarah Vaughan. Winehouse also was influenced by '60s girl groups like the Ronettes and the Shangri Las.

It is wonderful to hear the singer talking about her work and do what she does best — sing — in "Amy Winehouse: One Shining Night," but it is also bittersweet, as one can't help but wonder what other wonderful work we will miss out on from a woman who died too young, at the age of 27. But fans of her wonderful jazz-inspired vocals will really enjoy these renditions of "Back to Black," "You Know I'm No Good," "Love Is a Losing Game" and other songs. A third music documentary, "Rocking the Opera House: Dr. John" can also be viewed. The Smithsonian Channel is rocking out!

'70s and '80s disco is alive and well at the roller rink

The kid was invited to a friend's birthday party last weekend at a local roller rink. As soon as we pushed past the double doors I was taken back. Flashbacks to my one-time roller disco outing at the Roxy in New York.

I had never been roller skating (I had a deprived youth), but loved to go out dancing and my friends at work convinced me that go to a roller disco would be the perfect combination. I'll try anything once, so I agreed and went with my co-worker Duane from Canal Jeans. The interior of the Roxy was pretty incredible, and I was overwhelmed by the booming music and flashing lights. Duane and I got our skates and headed for the floor. And then reality set in.

Hell, even Andy could skate (from Dylan vs. Warhol)

Everyone was very nice (and very gay) but after a while I just felt that I was becoming an impediment — literally and figuratively — my prone body constantly and consistently spread across the floor, or next to the railing. I quickly had to accept that although the gods had given me many great features — a ready wit and love of animals, just to name a few, when the ability to stay balanced on skates was being assigned I must have been distracted or standing in another line. C'est la vie.

My misadventure with roller skates is not actually a bad memory. It's even a fond one. At least I had the guts to try, right? That whole evening flooded back, aided by the pulsing sound system, as I watched my almost 10 year-old daughter inching her way around the edges of the rink, holding onto the railing for dear life. She made it around once, and finally exited, tears of frustration in her eyes. I thought she did really well, as she only fell three times on this, her very first time on skates. Maybe the next generation would get to redeem the previous one. But that's not how she was seeing it at the moment.

After she got the skates off she began to feel more and more deflated and asked if we could leave. Although there's nothing I'd like better than to check out early from a kiddie party, I thought she should stick it out at least until they cut the cake. Plus they were playing KC and the Sunshine Band's "That's the Way (I Like It)". Uh huh, uh huh.

The birthday girl at that moment decided to get off her skates and open her presents and the party got a little more earth-bound. The kid was still over there as I'm writing this. I'm still sitting by the rink, watching the skaters, some of them looking as if they stepped out of my past, with mullets and tight tee shirts and fancy skating moves. So I guess we're here for a while more. They're playing the Village People's "Macho Man."

vincent price at moma

A recent post about House on Haunted Hill reminded me that I once had the great fortune to meet Vincent Price. It was the early '90s, and I was working at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, in the  bookstore. I was working the cash register and first heard his voice. He was calling to his wife, Coral Browne, to come look at something. Could it be? It was! Vincent Price!

Photo by Herb Ritts

I immediately thought of all the movies I have seen him in - Dragonwyk, where he was dark, handsome and brooding. Laura, where he was weak-willed but wonderful. The Three Musketeers, where he was an evil Richelieu, and The Ten Commandments, an even more evil Baka. And all the wonderful horror films, from the scary House of Wax, The Last Man on Earth, and The Fly to the campy Tales of Terror and Dr. Phibes movies. And what about Theatre of Blood, which almost defies description? Or Egghead on Batman?

From Dragonwyk, via Le Cher Visage de Mon Passe

He was elderly, grey, and maybe just slightly stooped, but still a tall, commanding presence. And that voice. They moved around the store, browsing, and generally having a good time. I lost sight of them as I helped some other customers, but then I heard Coral Browne calling to her husband, first low, and then louder, "Vinnie. VINNIE. VINNIE!!!" They were impressive and a hoot.

They finally finished browsing and started to make their way to the registers to cash out. I couldn't believe my good luck when I found myself face to face with Mr. Price. I asked him what I had to ask every customer before ringing up a sale — if he was a member of the Museum (being a member gave them a 20% discount). He looked at me for a moment, and then in his very best horror movie intonation he exclaimed, "No, No, NNNOOOOO!!!" Coral sighed and I laughed. I love Vincent Price.

james dean in new york

Like many young artists, I ended up in New York, studying painting at Parsons School of Design and learning to live on my own. A lot of my fellow art students were into abstraction, but I was always drawn to figure painting and classic portraiture. I soon discovered that I wasn't really interested in the human body in the sense that a lot of painters, like Philip Pearlstein or Lucian Freud were. I did the class assignments, learning to draw and sketch and sculpt and paint nude models in various contorted postures to better understand their musculature. But what I really liked was drawing people in clothes — men in suits, people in various social situations.

So in my free time I worked from film stills and photographs of favorite actors and movies. In my search for some source material I discovered a book of photographs of actor James Dean, taken by photographer Roy Schatt. Like many young actors, James Dean ended up in New York, plying his craft in the theater, and also early television. Schatt documented the young actor, walking around town. I could relate to the lonely, solitary figure, so far from his Midwestern home, navigating rainy streets, in front of some of the same buildings I found myself passing on the way to school each day.

I knew who James Dean was. I had probably seen part of Rebel Without A Cause one late night on television with my movie-buff dad. Coincidentally, Cinema Village, a revival movie house just a few steps away from Parsons, ran a James Dean double feature of East of Eden and Rebel Without A Cause. I decided to check it out.  Seeing him up there, on the big screen, I finally got what all the fuss was about. That red jacket. The unruly hair. He really pulled the viewer in, making you feel his suffering. He was an angsty, alienated teen, and I could relate. A few months later an uptown theater screened Giant on an enormous screen, complete with intermission. Although Dean has a relatively small part in the epic Elizabeth Taylor/Rock Hudson sudser, he effortlessly steals the movie away from them every time he is on screen. I was transfixed. Giant really showed Dean's potential for becoming not a screen heartthrob, but a character actor. And seeing him stroll across the gigantic screen, across Texas, almost life-size, was beyond impressive.

I grabbed my book of photos and started doing sketches of the actor almost as soon as I got home from Giant. I unearthed some of these old drawings the other day when I was going through my mom's and my old artwork. Looking at a portrait based on a photo by Schatt brought back another Dean and Parsons-related memory. One of my senior year classmates in the painting program also happened to be the daughter of actress Betsy Palmer. She knew I loved Hollywood and movies and said she bet her mom would love some of my drawings. I never really thought much about it until one day she brought her mom into my studio space and Ms. Palmer took one look at a painting on paper that I had tacked up on the wall and declared, "Jimmy! I'd know him anywhere!" She was very gracious and sweet and said how much she liked the work, and then told me a few stories about working with Dean in early television.

Her daughter drifted away, probably back to her own studio space, and then Ms. Palmer confided with a mischievous smile that she had known "Jimmy" very well, and that they had a wonderful time together. I recently ran across an interview with the actress where she told of her early days in New York, including some of the same stories she had shared with me that day. It was fun to hear, then and now, about a film icon's humble struggles and beginnings. Young artists have always been drawn to big cities, to search out like minds and hopefully, artistic success. I don't do much drawing and painting these days. I prefer to be creative with words and photos. But I find that I am still drawn to doing portraits of people — portraits of artists that interest and inspire me.