My Right Foot---Day 29: The Armory Show

Last week, I heard about an amazing installation piece at a place called The Armory. And although I have been to quite a few of New York City’s many museums---I have never even HEARD of The Armory.

Turns out, The Armory is exactly what it sounds like---an old Armory on Park Avenue built in 1881 by the National Guard’s prestigious Seventh Regiment. Prestigious because it was back in the day when military service (at least the upper echelon of the service) was not just for the poor. Members of the “Seventh” included some of the wealthiest and most influential families in New York.

So when they decided to build an Armory, the wealthy Regiment members recruited the top designers of their day---Louis C.Tiffany, Stanford White, Herter Brothers and Pottier & Stymus.

This is a room called The Library.

The Library (now known as The Silver Room) was designed by Louis C. Tiffany and Stanford White. Tiffany was the son of Charles Lewis Tiffany, founder of Tiffany & Company. Louis C., however, was determined to become an artist in his own medium and drifted into stained glass. All the windows and lighting fixtures in the room are his designs. The rest of the room is Stanford White's design.

Stanford White is known for many things. Yes, he built the Manhattan mansions for the Astors and the Vanderbilts. And yes, he built the famous arch that still stands in Washington Square Park. And yes, he was responsible for what is known in architecture as the "American Renaissance". But he is probably best-known for the scandal surrounding his death.

White was what they called back then, a womanizer. Today, he'd more likely be called a child molester.

Here's a photo of the seductive Mr. White.


Yup. That's the Mr. Big of 1901. Settle down girls, he's already taken---I mean buried.

White was notorious for seducing very young women, getting them drunk on champagne, and taking their virginity. Oh---and The Red Velvet Swing. Architect that he was, he also designed an enormous red velvet swing in his secret tryst apartment. According to all reports, he used to get off pushing the naked girls in the swing. Actually, pretty tame by today's standards---except for the child molestation and all.

In 1901, he met sixteen year-old Evelyn Nesbit who was a Floradora Girl on Broadway. He was 47. Unfortunately for Miss Nesbit, she had a mother who looked the other way when the nearly 50 year-old wealthy architect offered to show her his etchings. Mom pimped her out.

Not long after, White tired of the now de-flowered Floradora Girl and set off to find other young playmates.

Five years later, Miss Nesbit finally married. A guy from a wealthy family named Henry K. Thaw.

Thaw and White were rivals---at least in Thaw's mind. While competing backstage for chorus girls, White had apparently made some disparaging remark about Thaw that he believed ruined his chances with the little lovelies.

While Stanford White was a child molester, Henry K. Thaw was a sadist. He constantly carried guns and once locked Evelyn Nesbit up in a room and beat her with a dog whip. Then he begged her to marry him.

She tried to get away from him by using the one piece of information that would make him leave her alone. She admitted that White had taken her virginity. She wasn't good enough for him, she explained.

Thaw was furious. But for some reason, it seemed to increase his ardor. Even Thaw's mother, who'd always found him to be a handful, begged the young chorus girl to marry her son so he would finally settle down.

For whatever reason, Evelyn did.

In 1906, Thaw showed up at the rooftop of the Madison Square Garden for a show wearing a long black coat. It was a hot night in June. A few minutes later, he shot Stanford White point blank in the face. He either yelled "You ruined my life" or "You ruined my wife." No one really knows for sure. Either way, White was killed instantly.

In 1906, Hearst's papers called it "The Trial of the Century".

Knowing these little tidbits makes visiting places like The Armory so much more interesting. But I loved poking around the Regimental rooms.

While the entire upstairs was out of commission---pretty much everything downstairs was fair game. Unlike most historic buildings, there are few ropes to keep out the visitors. Few guards standing around watching in case you get too close to a wall. You can touch things. Open doors. One door in the Field and Staff Room was slightly ajar. Tucked behind the oak-panneled walls was this:


But in that same room, you can see the hand-painted frescoes on the wood.


Make no mistake, this was a military building. Medals and trophies for foreign campaigns littered the rooms. The Library even contained the Regimental Silver---a concept I will NEVER understand. Why does a Regiment need silver spoons?


But the pride of the building is something else entirely---an enormous space known as The Drill Hall.

Today, this is why I came.

And today, this is what was in there:

Brazilian artist Ernesto Neto’s anthropodino.

The work is the first commission by the Park Avenue Armory, which is currently attempting to revitalize its space and its mission by presenting visual and performing arts in a non-traditional setting.

And what could be more non-traditional than the space the Armory calls, “part palace, part industrial shed”.

The work itself is Neto’s homage to the body and the visceral. It’s tactile, pungent, and dreamy. Also, one of the few installations I’ve seen where kids seem to outnumber the adults. Neto encourages the viewer to step fully into the installation. To touch. Feel. Interact. Smell. Play. Dance. Spin. And just lie down on the floor and look up.

When I wasn’t simply roaming through the nets and tunnels, I took these pictures.

These hanging stalactites bounce all over the installation and are filled with different weights. The ones in this picture are filled with ground cloves. And this entire area smells like pumpkin pie.


I got up close to this large one to smell it. Turmeric. Mmmm.


All over the installation, visitors are encouraged to take their shoes off and feel the work. This handmade carpet was rubbery and squishy between my toes. It was built up into a small reclining area where you could even curl up in the polyamide and feel it against your skin.

And this little alcove was incredibly popular. You can dive right in and swim around in the bay water-colored balls. Little children were small enough to disappear entirely and then pop up giggling like sillies.


And I was happy I wore my new yellow shoes. Happy I was jumping. Happy I was smelling cloves and putting my hands through nets.


Off to the side, was something I mentally referred to as The Quiet Room. A small little net cave equipped with a cushy pad and matching cushy face masks to completely relax in the moment. Children took little naps. Partners gave each other massages. And some just lie down flat on their backs to meditate on the wonder.


The warm red tones had the ability to energize and calm at the same time. I closed my eyes and relaxed into the installation. Felt a part of it. As much a part of it as the hanging bag of turmeric. All of us belonged there. All of us made up a part of the exhibit. By touching, we made it ours.


And by adding our bodies into the maze of tunnels and pendulous sacks---we are the art. We not only connect with the installation, we connect with our own bodies. We are our own living, breathing work of art.


I fall in love with the space and fantasize about what I would put in there. And that sets by brain humming again. I know it's impossibly silly that I would ever have a work presented there---but Neto's work demands of us that we occasionally look up into the clouds. Having our head in the clouds is just part of the beauty of it all.