An Observant Eye on a Friday Evening

After a very hectic week, what better way to unwind than an evening at the Met? Those were my thoughts exactly as I left my office last night and made my way up to the museum, where I could easily have wandered through the vast collection until the 9 p.m. closing time. When I arrived, however, I resisted the urge to drift aimlessly from gallery to gallery, as I actually did have a particular destination in mind. A few weeks prior, I had signed up for the Observant Eye program, and so I headed down to the Carson Family Hall, where I met a group of twenty-five or so young professionals just as eager to explore the museum as I was.

Typically held twice per month, the Observant Eye offers visitors the opportunity to study a work in the museum’s collection with a curator, who chooses one piece of art to discuss over the course of a 90-minute session. I had attended the Observant Eye once before, and so I knew what to expect—or so I thought, until curator Felicia Blum arrived and told us that she was going to mix things up a bit.

After instructing us each to grab a portable stool, Felicia informed us that she was going to break typical Observant Eye protocol. Rather than staying in one location for the entire session, we would be moving around quite a bit as we studied the museum’s collection of period rooms, which she explained were rooms—or portions thereof—that had been reconstructed to match their original state. Some period rooms were completely authentic, featuring the original walls, flooring, ceiling, and décor, while the museum had built others around several original pieces, such as paneling, columns, or archways.

“I hope you have on your walking shoes!” Felicia announced before leading us to our first destination, a cubiculum (or bedroom) from a Roman villa circa 50-40 B.C. Though over 2,000 years old, the room’s original wall frescoes were almost perfectly preserved, allowing Felicia to point out distinctive features such as rich red columns, whimsical green palm fronds, and a bowl of fruit she referred to as the first still-life. She showed us where the resident’s bed would have been placed and described what his window would most likely have looked upon (farm animals), sharing with us a wealth of knowledge—as well as a healthy dose of wit—to which we would not have been privy had we merely visited the display on our own.

After ten minutes or so, we picked up our stools and moved on to the Vélez Blanco patio, a reconstruction of a patio from an early 16th-century Spanish castle. While the walls, floor and ceiling of the room were built by the Met, the patio’s original marble fittings were all reassembled into carefully-crafted archways, columns, windows, and porticos. Felicia gave us the patio’s history, which included a stint in a Park Avenue townhouse, and then pointed out the intricate details adorning each piece of marble, from a pair of dolphins drinking from a fountain at the top of a column to a series of ornate flowers, a variety of gargoyles and lion’s heads to a family coat of arms, enabling us all to envision the patio in its original state.

Our next stop were two French rooms, one a state bedroom from the palace of Louis XIV featuring four embroidered wall hangings that were a gift to the Sun King from one of his assorted mistresses; the other a salon from the era of Louis XVI featuring gilded wall paneling. Felicia pointed out the differences between the two styles, explaining that “early was curly, and late was straight”—meaning that the style predominant during the reign of the earlier Louis was an ornately swirling Baroque, while the later Louis reigned over a straighter Classical style. Felicia also called attention to various symbols throughout the décor, including the four seasons theme, which was repeated in both rooms.

Next, we moved on to a dining room from the English estate Kirtlington Park, built in the mid-1700s and featuring a series of ornate stucco details and moldings. Felicia explained that the stucco designs had been sculpted right onto the room’s warm yellow walls, creating a bright, elegant atmosphere (in which I would not mind hosting a dinner party). She also detailed the elaborate process required to remove the walls from the original estate, which involved cutting beneath the paneling and carefully packing each piece in hay, and pointed out details in the sculptures that included the four seasons (once again), Dionysus, and Bacchante.

Last but not least, we visited a bedroom from the Sagredo Palace in Venice, built in the early 18th-century and decorated with lush, swirling fabrics and gilded furniture. The highlight of the room, however, was a series of at least twenty-five sculpted cherubs adorning the walls and ceiling, which Felicia explained indicated that this would most likely have been a child’s bedroom. She also let us know that this was the room that Claudia and Jamie, the young runaways in E. L. Konigsburg’s children’s classic, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, were said to have spent the night—a fact that I took great pleasure in.

Shortly after 8 p.m., we returned our stools to their closet in the Carson Family Center and thanked Felicia. Her impressive knowledge and signature wit made the experience not only informative and enlightening, but a lot of fun to boot, and I left the Met with a renewed appreciation for both the museum’s holdings and its curators—and with several ideas for my next home-decorating project.

Upcoming Observant Eye sessions will be held on April 3, April 17, May 1, and May 15. All sessions meet from 6:30 to 8 p.m. and are free with museum admission. Email observanteye@metmuseum.org to register.

Spring Break Inspiration

This past week, I was on spring break. No, I was not in Cancun, partying with college students, nor was I on a cruise to Cozumel, or any of the other typical spring break destinations. I stayed right here in the U.S. and took what ended up being a very last-minute trip to the West coast--San Diego, to be exact. With weather in the low 60s, yet very sunny, it proved to be the perfect escape from March in New York--and the perfect weather for exploring the area's museums, doing a bit of wine-tasting, playing tennis, and going for a several sun-filled runs.

Here, as I'm getting caught up on all that seems to have piled up in my inbox while I was away, are some of the highlights:

Balboa Park

The San Diego Museum of Art

My favorite winery

If you're feeling inspired, you too can get a great deal on a spring break--even a last-minute one--as airfare is amazingly low right now. Take a look at Travelzoo for fabulous package deals, or visit Farecast to compare rates, track fare history, and be advised on the best time to buy.

Happy travels!

An Evening at the Opera

I have always considered myself rather well-versed in New York City’s artistic culture. I keep track of what exhibits are opening when at nearly all of the city’s major museums (many of which I am lucky enough to live within walking distance of). I visit the Met often and can navigate its permanent collection with the skill of a racecar driver, as well as the speed—even during weekends and holidays, when tourists waving museum maps like flags of surrender seem to outnumber the works on display. I have seen most of the major Broadway shows, as well as several off-Broadway pieces, and I even found a production of Jane Austen in the basement of a church in my neighborhood several years ago (a gem of a discovery). I’ve been to every ballroom from Bowery to Hammerstein, sat in the refined Beacon Theater, and stood in the drafty and imposing Terminal 5. Yet there was one staple of the New York City arts and entertainment scene with which I was not familiar: the Metropolitan Opera. Luckily for me, however, that changed last week.

When my friend Ruth let me know that she had an extra ticket to the opera, I jumped at the opportunity. I didn’t yet know how much the ticket was, when the performance would be, or even what opera I’d be seeing—I just knew that I had been wanting to go to the opera for quite some time, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. The thought of the exquisite costumes, the sweeping arias, and the elegance of Lincoln Center were enough to sell me on the idea even before I found out that the ticket was only $15 (thanks to a student discount). And so, last Thursday evening, I found myself walking across Lincoln Center’s distinctive courtyard, on my way to see the Met’s performance of Puccini’s La Rondine.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Ruth and I heard as we strolled up to the front entrance, taking our time to admire the structure’s grand architecture. We noticed that, all around us, people were rushing—some even running—toward the glass entrance doors.

“Oh, gosh—it’s almost eight, and I’m pretty sure they don’t let you in until intermission if you arrive late,” Ruth said, explaining a well-known opera rule of which we were suddenly aware. We began to scramble toward the doors along with everyone else, flashing our tickets on the way in before climbing a majestic staircase . . . and another . . . and one more.

A bit out of breath, we found our way to our seats, which, despite being in nearly the last row of the theater’s highest tier, afforded us an ample view of the stage—as well as of the theater itself. With plush seating, ornately-detailed woodwork, rows of private boxes on either side of the stage, and a magnificent, sparkling crystal chandelier suspended over the orchestra, with other smaller chandeliers surrounding it, the theater was as elegant as I had pictured. As we took in our surroundings, the chandeliers began to rise toward the ceiling, the lights dimmed, the orchestra began to hum in preparation for the opening of the curtain—and a small electronic screen lit up in front of each of us.

Thanks to the Met’s website, I knew that the performance would be sung in Italian with subtitles, which I had naively been expecting to appear on some sort of screen near the stage. As it turned out, however, each seat came complete with its own subtitle screen embedded in the railing that ran down each aisle, able to provide subtitles in English, German, or Spanish with the push of a button. Ruth and I turned our screens on and settled in to watch the performance.

La Rondine, which means “the swallow” in French, is one of Puccini’s lightest and least well-known operas. Originally set in the mid-19th century but updated to the 1920s, La Rondine is the story of Magda, a woman who risks all for a chance at true love. Featuring Art Deco sets and costumes, the backdrop was beautifully done. In three acts, Magda moved from a luxurious Paris home filled with fashionable gowns and exquisite décor, to a raucous and rowdy Parisian dance hall, to a bright and breezy hotel on the French Riviera. I was amazed by the strength and range of all the performers’ voices, most notably those of Angela Gheorghiu, who played Magda, and Giuseppe Filianoti, who starred as her lover, the young Ruggero.

The real star of the show, however, was the music that told Magda and Ruggero’s story. Light and lively melodies intermingled with soaring, romantic pieces, and playful scenes full of dancing and laughter alternated with dramatic moments filled with longing and anxiety, perfectly complementing both the physical and emotional setting throughout. The subtitles were essential to my ability to follow the plot; yet, had they not been available, I would have enjoyed the performance just as much, as the music was really the most compelling element of all.

When the performance came to an end—after a total of two hours and fifteen minutes, including an intermission—Ruth and I took our time climbing back down the majestic staircase, taking in the elegance of our surroundings.

“You know,” she said, “we just went to the opera for about the same price we’d pay to see a movie.”

“Wow, and we got so much more,” I replied, glad to have experienced such a wonderful and elegant event—and a valuable piece of New York City culture.

While our low ticket price was thanks to a student discount, there are other ways to get such a deal at the Met. Tickets in the family circle tier are typically available for between $15 and $40, while standing room tickets are available on the day of most shows for $15 to $20. For more information on ticket prices and the Met’s current performance schedule, click here.