Pier Show Jan. 22-23 Photographer Peter Peck
Now that the word is out about Asian parents, I'm gonna blame mine for this crazy work ethic I have. Nobody should be speaking to me if they had the unfortunate occasion to put this last Pier Show together with me. I shouldn't speak to me and yet I keep speaking. Pass the nails! The show most go on...and on.. Martyr Marisa's very tired body, which just packed in that show, will dig deep to continue the long drag of her cross and assorted clanging van of junk, to set up next weekend for the Garage Flea Market. It's unheated and yesterday it was 2 degrees, could we collectively pray for say, 30 something come Saturday? I have found my people and are they as crazy as I to schlep their stuff, so that we may shop in winter conditions? It's New York! Listen, it makes a great story and if I got to set up with Adam and Andrea Forgash every weekend, there's no condition I couldn't endure. Please, I've been squatting on their couch since we met. The stuff here and at these shows is fantastic. Each booth it's own special box of jewels. A full size harness-makers framework of a horse? Giant wooden foundry forms that look like legos stacked 20 feet high? An explosion of creative thinking and many backs shoulder these productions. I need an energy drink and more time to see every show and what amounts to mini galleries of the very best stuff ever conceived and made.
Enough already, it's time to party and you're gonna need some energy for this one. It's Saturday night after opening day, Adam is celebrating Andrea's birthday with a party to end all parties. Don't tell his Jewish parents, but the man's a Roman. Marlow&Sons is the site, some ultra hip Brooklyn restaurant serving up unreal food. The party is out the back door, past the milk crates and, are you ready?… in an Airstream trailer. They gutted it and inside it feels like a submarine with walls sheathed in formed plywood and simple tile. A single small wood-burning stove and low lighting make it a cozy cave. An upholstered banquette on one side, folding chairs on the other, and tables at each end with one long one down its length, that's it. Adam packs it with fascinating crazy people who are curators and writers, artists, and antiques dealers, photographers and chefs, from 25 to retired. Most importantly, half of them are hilariously funny and it's raucous. We eat like the empire is falling tomorrow. It's all we can do to throw the money at Paul, we'll worry about Peter after we lick the last of that chocolate tart with sea salt (or was that crack?). Meanwhile the date who knew no one sat quietly at the end of the table until the plates got cleared, then became dj with the car radio/ipod. We're beyond tired but Ken is singing Neil Diamond and he's goin on with back up singers and dancers. Only Adam was sitting. Would you get up if women were dancing all around you? He'll be back selling antiques and lugging heavy boxes, as will a few of us on the morrow, but for this night Adam's set just the tone I want to hear for this new year. It's always hard work, but when Saturday night comes, let loose!