Legends in my kitchen: Randy Jones (the original Cowboy from the Village People), performance artists Philly Abe and the great John Kelly. (Remember his iconic Dagmar Onassis as Joni Mitchell performances at Wigstock?)
Crazy Legs of Rocksteady Crew, writer Bruce Benderson, artist Scott Neary and writer Joselle Yokogawa
Fellini's The Clowns ornament by designer Todd Thomas with vintage clown ornament from Christopher Voigt and Kao Wei Hao
Holiday card by Scott Neary with Pasolini and Fellini on the set of Nights of Cabiria
Carmelita Tropicana, Bibbe Hansen & Ela Troyano
Suzanne Batmanghelichi and Randy Jones
Dear Italiano cinemaniacs,
Even though it involves a lot of schlepping (the tree was especially a bitch this time), my tree-trimming party is my favorite New York event of the year. This one was my most successful, I feel. My humble 5th-floor walk-up apartment was packed with downtown legends, close friends and all sorts of fascinating creatures. It's one of the last bastions of bohemianism left in the hideously over-corporatized East Village.
This year, the ornament theme (and dress code, which is really more of a state of mind) I chose was Fellini vs. Pasolini. It was inspired by a lifetime of Italian cinema fandom, frequent trips to Italy, and a costume exhibit from a few years ago curated by my friends Clara Tosi Pamphili and Alessio De Navasques during the AltaRoma fashion event in Rome.
As always, my "dress code" was inspired by the codes of the great, gone Meatpacking nightclub night Jackie 60:
Dress Code: Robes, headdresses and gilded jockstraps suitable for Satyricon-style bacchanalia; Anna Magnani earthy unkempt realness; Terence Stamp bisexual seductiveness and Toby Dammit dandy delirium; Enrique Irazoqui crown of thorns and stigmata Jesus freak chic; Ecclesiastical Fashion Show runway realness; 120 minutes of Fascist depravity; grotesque Roman prostitute looks for cash-strapped crossdressers; Arabian Nights warrior ensembles for brazen bulldaggers; layers of marabou, liquid eyeliner, top and bottom false eyelashes, and Piero Gherardi couture for Juliet of the Spirits and 8 ½ ultra-glamour; Marcello Mastroianni sexual avariciousness and Anita Ekberg voluptuousness, homosexual communist political posturing, and Giorgio Moroder Italo-disco dolly decadence.
New York's most important dandy, Patrick McDonald, Freak Chic founder and bon vivant around town Gazelle Paulo and designer Nancy Bacich.
Parade of stars: renaissance man Sean Carrillo, Warhol Superstar (one of the 15 in the world remaining) Bibbe Hansen and, of course, the eternal cowboy Randy Jones.
Randy Jones and me in my kitchen! This was toward the end of the party, so I was displaying a boozy countenance (and an 8 1/2....t-shirt).
My long-time friend Jay Blotcher created this ornament. No, it's not the aftermath of the much-hated SantaCon—it's a Christmas-ized version of the fascist depravity of Pier Paolo Pasolini's most notorious film, Salò, or The 120 Days of Sodom.
Another piece by Jay Blotcher: one of the most notorious scenes from Salò. The sequins bring an air of festivity to this abominably sadistic moment. Merry Christmas!
A few people created mashups of the theme. My friend Corey Sabourin took the opening scene from Federico Fellini's La Dolce Vita and substituted the statue of Christ with Karl Marx (a nod to Pasolini's communist affiliations.)
The brilliance of Bruce Benderson: this mashup ornament combines Pasolini's The Gospel According to Saint Matthew with Fellini as Christ and an 8 1/2 banner concealing the inevitable death erection.
On the flip side of Benderson's ornament, Pasolini as Communist Christ.
Poets Drew Gardner and Katie Degentesh with writer and glamour doll Carly Sommerstein. We were all gagging over that sensational pantsuit!
Superstar power couple: fashion writer Joselle Yokogawa and legendary breakdancer Crazy Legs of Rocksteady Crew.
Straight To Hell magazine impresario Billy Miller. His dapper jacket channeled Marcello Mastroianni.
Billy's ornament, which is so large my tree almost fell over when I hung it, is inspired by Pasolini's communism. Friedrich Engels appears on one side...
...Karl Marx appears on another...
And let's not forget Pasolini's insatiable homosexuality.
Speaking of, here's a louche, sinister screen grab from 120 Days of Sodom on an ornament by Mark Morgan Pérez.
Guitar pedal mad genius Jonny Steele, Hollywood producer Leanne Murphy and art collector Mark Morgan Pérez.
A heavy rap session in my bedroom with Gazelle, Drew, Katie and Swedish actress Helena.
Writer extraordinaire Christopher Voigt assesses the tree-trimming progress.
A harmonic convergence of legendosity: Randy Jones and Patrick McDonald.
The flip side of Todd Thomas' ornament. Well, yes, that is Tadzio from Death in Venice. Not Fellini or Pasolini, but we do love Visconti, so it's right at home on my tree.
Well, aren't these ingenious? Fellini and Pasolini scenes adhered to rigatoni by Joselle Yokogawa.
My longtime friend Camille Paglia could not make it to the party, so she sent her ornaments virtually:
"Representing the planks laid down, end to end, by the middle-aged prostitute to access her flooded basement rooms in the shoddily constructed postwar apartment complex that Marcello Mastroianni ends up in, on a manic lark by the chicly ever-bored Anouk Aimee in La Dolce Vita......"
The tire treads are for Pasolini. Ouch!
Having your photo taken with Randy Jones at my Christmas party is the New York rite of passage du moment. Here he is with Katie Degentesh...
....and the beat goes on. You can't stop the music. No one can stop the music....
With Joselle Yokogawa.
With South American chanteuse Carlota Gurascier and PR poobah Jay Blotcher.
With Joselle again and Crazy Legs.
And the casting for the remake of Boys in the Band has begun! Turning!
And it just ain't a party until the Rosenberg Twins show up! Charles enjoys the hammam-like climate in my apartment (thank you, global warming!) as Alan stays miraculously dry. Grace under humidity, darlings!
Philly Abe and her pal Jeffrey Keefe. Look at those cheekbones!
The sacrificial rite of the organic prosecco potion: Alan Rosenberg, John Kelly and writer Nancy Stout.
Artist Mo K. and Carlota.
Associate Director of the Glennda Orgasm Archives Stevin Azo Michels and artist Scott Neary.
Stevin Azo contributed a rather curious and beautiful ornament for my tree. I'm waiting for those babies to hatch!
Jonny Steele and Leann Murphy brought this wonderful ornament that evokes the peacock in the snow in Fellini's Amacord.
Katie Degentesh brought this enchanting sperm whale.
Gazelle Paulo brought a bejeweled cross for some Catholic glamour...
...and some chianti. Now that's Italian!
Art director Dan Liu and his boyfriend William brought bunny dolls that whimsically represent their coupledom.
Swedish actress Helena went all free-form with her Pasolini/Fellini interpretation, so I'm not sure what this references...
...and the flip side is a handsome wild boar.
It just wouldn't be my annual Christmas party without my world-famous radis farcis au chèvre.
I have a strong suspicion that Palermo, the city I chose for my yearly end-of-summer holiday, is not a physical destination but really just a hallucination. It’s said to be part of Italy but it’s more Tangier than Turin, more Ramallah than Rome. A walk around the city starting from, say, the splendid Palazzo Lanza Tomasi (the last home of the author of The Leopard, Giuseppe di Lampedusa) begins as a simple stroll before transforming into a phantasmagoric experience. Grand Arab-Norman fortresses (recently anointed as UNESCO sites) abut dilapidated buildings where only one inhabited apartment is surrounded by a burnt-out hollow shell, gauzy white curtains swaying defiantly in the breeze over a crumbling terrace precariously held up with wooden stilts. At times, the city makes Centro Habana look like Beverly Hills.
One minute you’ll be walking down a tidy alleyway bursting with jasmine bushes, the air thick with the flowers’ delightful perfume, like that of the bewitched poppies that sent Dorothy and friends into a heroin nod. (It is indeed an addictive alley.) A few minutes later you’ll be confronted with mountains of garbage spilling from armies of dumpsters, and you’ll stand and stare and exclaim “Oh my gaaahd,” just like Sandy Dennis encountering the New York City garbage strike in The Out-of-Towners.
Now turn back toward the sea—Sicily’s capital lies on the north-west coast of the island—and then try to find the sea. It’s there, somewhere, beyond piles of scrap metal and foreboding corrugated aluminum fences that seem cut-and-pasted from the Mexico-Arizona border. Finally, an oasis of verdant lawns appears and the lonely seaside promenade greets you, its desertion and odd decorative elements making a de Chirico look like a Norman Rockwell. The Mediterranean is a deep, satisfying blue; the rustling palm trees tease with the promise of tropical fiestas that never manifest.
But forget about the sea. You’re not in Miami and Mondello, the chic beach town, is only a 20-minute (which, I’m told, is more like two hours because of the traffic) bus ride away, should you need that. Head southwards instead, down the old city’s main artery, the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, an intoxicating riot of honking horns, narrow sidewalks, compelling architecture, retro storefronts and street scenes full of drama and mystery. By the time you arrive at the Quattro Canti, the city’s iconic intersection comprised of four impressive 17th-century Baroque palazzi, your head will be full of questions and your stomach will be ready for lunch—I suggest some delightfully inexpensive bucatini with pistachio sauce and stuffed swordfish rolls at Bisso, the former art-nouveau-era bookshop Libreria Dante.
Liberty legacy at Bisso
If you’re feeling flush, 14 euros will get you a plate of Palermo’s most famous dish, bucatini con sarde, at (my recommendation) Casa del Brodo. A fine example of the centuries-old Arabic influence on Sicilian cuisine, the dish is like nothing I’ve tasted elsewhere in Italy. It is a perfect composition of wild fennel, sardines, currants, pistachios, fennel seeds, pine nuts, pepper flakes and breadcrumbs. I suspect there was a pinch of saffron in there, too. (For breakfast on most days, I skipped the gelato-stuffed brioches and went straight for outsized arancini—rice balls stuffed with, in my case, sausage ragu, a recipe invented by the Arabs and brought to Sicily in the 9th century.)
Turn to the west and you’ll be on your way to Il Capo, Palermo’s oldest and most picturesque street market. Travel east and you’ll find yourself in the markets of Ballarò, denser and wilder than Capo, and redolent of North African souks. Continue south till you’re just beyond the city limits (you’ll need to walk off all that heavy food, right?) for what is arguably the world’s greatest vintage fashion show. Eight-thousand looks, from the 17th through 19th centuries, are modeled by the mummies of the Capuchin Catacombs. Elegant gowns, the handsome uniforms of the Garibaldini, haute-couture clerical vestments and baby-wear creepy chic adorn the corpses who are lined up against the walls or sprawled out elegantly in dusty coffins.
Checking out the 1864 menswear collections in the Capuchin crypts.
Capuchin cemetery
When the increasingly oppressive feeling of dread becomes too much for you, flee the airless tombs and hail a taxi to “aperitivo street” (Via Chiavettieri, if my memory serves me)—it’s time for a Negroni and all-you-can-eat snacks. And then you’ll be ready to wander the streets after dark, when the city’s phantasmagoria levels rise significantly.
On one surreal evening, I wandered down a dimly lit thoroughfare and was seduced by the smell of burning frankincense and liturgical singing. When I arrived at the entrance of a massive cathedral, I realized that the entire congregation was south Asian—and the decidedly Catholic sermon and hymns were in Hindi, complete with a Bollywood backbeat. I stood there hypnotized for several long moments before continuing my journey down several curving, cobblestoned streets, arriving at a piazza that looked like someone had recently dropped a bomb on it.
Well, yes, someone had—the Americans—but not so recently. More like 1943. While a good portion of Palermo’s historic center has been repaired and restored after suffering the ravages of WWII, it is rather astonishing to see how much of the city still bears its massive wounds from that war. Reasons range from mafia corruption to lack of funds doled-out by the Italian government. (“Northern funds sometimes are not even planned to go to the south. Yes, a lot is stolen by the mafia, but also there was a plan in Italy to keep the south poor,” my new friend Stefania, whom I had met at an opening at Francesco Pantaleone’s gallery, told me.) I had wandered into Vucciria, once Palermo’s most vibrant and famous outdoor market, now somewhat of a low-key, tired affair, at least during the day. But at night, this is the place to be, and most of the action is centered around Palermo’s most celebrated dive bar. Situated at the foot of a dark street littered with mountains of busted-up wooden carts and rotting vegetables, Taverna Azzurra is so perfect in its divey-ness and crowd mix, it should join those Norman palaces in UNESCO-protected status.
“Uh-oh, look out, doll!” I warned my friend Nicole during a subsequent visit there. “That old guy is super-drunk and splashing his marsala at those hipsters standing by the door.” Sploosh, and the one-euro-per-cup wine almost doused one of the many large dogs running around the place. One of the dog owners, who was just as soused as the other guy, “explained” to me what was happening, over and over in slurred Sicilian. “This is really my kind of place!” I enthused as I sipped from my plastic flute of one-euro prosecco, which was surprisingly not as rot-gutty as one would expect. (Nothing will ever be as bad as the free midnight “champagne” served at CBGBs on New Year’s Eve when the Lunachicks played.)
Nicole tipped our charming lazy-eyed bartender, Nino, a euro and he rewarded us with a flight of sweet wines, served from upturned jugs that were lined up like wonky water coolers behind the bar. And then it was time for dinner, served al fresco across the street from the bar: the most divine pork-loin sandwich, with sautéed onions, peppers and hot sauce, cooked up fresh in a cart. This supreme example of Palermo street food was heartily recommended by a handsome Sicilian psychotherapist named Salvadore, a regular at Taverna Azzura. “I have to leave in 30 minutes,” he told us. “I have several appointments with patients, some via Skype.” That must be the Palmeritan therapy schedule: Princess Licy, a psychologist who was an acolyte of Sigmund Freud and the wife of Giuseppe di Lampedusa, was also in the habit of seeing her patients in the evening.
Nicole brings some Pucci realness to the dive-bar proceedings.
Palermo street food par excellence. Skip the city's ubiquitous spleen sandwiches and go for this pork loin instead. Let's hope Anthony Bourdain doesn't shanghai this guy into working at his street-food market in New York—the dive bar needs him!
By now, the scene outside our favorite dive bar was at its celebratory peak: tattooed young ‘uns swayed to the Talking Heads and Queen, Tunisian stoners were lighting up and getting high, the oldsters were getting more blotto, and the (well-behaved) dogs were roaming the crowd or napping under benches. Street vendors with oysters the size of Frisbees, piled high on precarious ice hills, set up shop in dark corners surrounded by mounds of bomb-blasted rubble. It was an exquisite tableau of lawlessness, and you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
Some days later, or maybe before—a week in Palermo becomes a halcyon blur—the Duchess of Palma was holding forth in her ballroom at the Palazzo Lanza Tomasi. “When I moved here in the early ‘80s, I thought this area was a movie set. It looked like Beirut,” she explained. “The other side of the street was in ruins.” She then somberly related the tale of General Patton’s aerial raids on Palermo, and the departing planes whose pilots dropped excess shells at random to save gas on the flight back to their base. Palazzo Lampedusa, located outside of the city, lay in ruins. Giuseppe Lampedusa, forced from his beloved home, moved to the Palazzo Lanzi Tomasi in 1948. When the Duke of Palma moved in decades later, the property had 40 or so different owners and was in varying states of disrepair. Over time, he bought out the owners (including a witch who lived in the garage with a fleet of enchanted toads) and today the Palazzo is beautifully restored, with apartments for rent (I stayed in #6) and a cooking class conducted by the Duchess (more on that in my next report.)
The Duchess of Palma, Nicoletta Polo Lanza Tomasi
After listening to the Duchess’ stories, it was time for another stroll down that jasmine-saturated alley—and onwards to whatever mysteries awaited in the dark, gritty streets. There are plenty of pristine, predictable cities in Europe. One comes to Palermo to be surprised, mystified, occasionally repulsed—but never bored.
Love,
Glenn Belverio
The view from Bar Bruno, home of the world's best coffee.
Entrance to Butera28 Apartments in the Palazzo Lanza Tomasi.
Above: Enrico Palazzo, Diane Pernet and I arriving at the Zoolander 2 wrap party at the Villa Brasini.
Dear mambo Italianos,
After missing the winter edition of AltaRoma (I was busy touring modernism and sampling tiki drinks in Palm Springs) it was a thrill to be back in one of my favorite world cities, Rome. Diane and I were invited to cover the summer edition of AltaRoma for A Shaded View on Fashion. Following is a roundup of links to my reports:
Azzedine Alaïa: the teacup Tunisian with titanic talent
Costume drama at the Accademia Costume e Moda
The money shot: Ben Stiller and Diane Pernet at the Zoolander 2 wrap party. Diane has a cameo in the film.
Cooling off with some stiff tiki drinks in the Locarno Bar's lush courtyard with fashion designers Alessandra Carta and Paola Balzano.
Rome, sweet Rome: On the evening of our entrance into the Eternal City, journalist Rebecca Voight and I were invited to a dinner party on the voluptuous roof terrace of the home of my friend Rinaldo Rocco. His pesto was invincible and the anecdotes from the various guests were compelling.
A Linda Blair-like moment on Via Giulia after a decadent dinner at Assunta Madre with Paola.
Pope Francis in St. Peter's Square, January 29, 2014. Photo: Glenn Belverio
Dear Francesco fanatics and pizza populists:
I was in Rome again in January for various reasons: Diane Pernet's fashion film festival. AltaRoma fashion week, to write a story about the Hotel Locarno and to visit friends. Here is a roundup of all my stories:
Director Bruce LaBruce and I are both January Capricons so we celebrated our birthdays together at the venerable El Quijote restaurant in New York on my birthday, January 11.
Artist Superstar Marco Santaniello & Japanese pop sensation Crystal Kay.
Bruce with artist and designer Simone who flew in from Rome to spend time with his boyfriend--and to attend my birthday party!
Screenwriter and actor Rinaldo Rocco and I. Rinaldo lives in Rome but is working on a project in New York.
Pretty on the outside.
Desi Santiago and Zaldy
I wasn't that hungry so I just ordered something small.
Mark Morgan Perez, Simone, Luca Cruz Salvati and Katie Degentesh.
Susanne Oberbeck of No Bra, BLaB and Jason Thome.
Viva Ruiz and friend
Desi, Zaldy and singer Carole Pope
The boys in the band
Patty Powers and friend
Billy Miller of Straight to Hell fame and Carole Pope
Writer Bruce Benderson (right) with his date
Celebrity chef Corey Sabourin and author Nancy Stout
Poet Katie Degentesh and Hurricane Isabel
Since the theme of the night was more or less "The Boys in the Band" we ended the night at Julius' where the opening scenes of the film were shot in 1970.
From l'Égypte to Gay Paree, here is my year in pictures...
Pyramid Club
Last February, at the suggestion of my friend Susan Sabet, editor of Cairo-based fashion magazine Pashion, I jetted off to Cairo to cover Susan's Cairo's Fashion Night at the First Mall of the Four Seasons Hotel. Of course I made the requisite trip out to see the Great Pyramids. Tourist numbers have been very low since the tumult that erupted in Cairo during the first anniversary of Mubarak's ouster, so my experience at the Pyramids was quite existential.
For years I've fantasized about visiting the Great Sphinx of Giza and I did find his gaze mildly terrifying.
"I am standing in the sun I wish that I could be a silent sphinx eternally. I don't want any past only want things which cannot last and I can't even cry though God knows how I try - a sphinx can never cry and sphinxes never die." - Amanda Lear, The Sphinx
During my stay in Cairo, my friends Ahmed and Daki of the jewelry brand Sabry Marouf took me on a whirlwind tour of Islamic Cairo aka Fatimid Cairo. It was definitely a trip into the past.
Ahmed took this photo of me, for some reason I was feeling sassy.
With Ahmed (pictured) and Daki for some traditional mint tea and sheesha pipe at al-Fishawi, the most famous ahwa in Cairo.
After we left Fatimid Cairo, we drove near to Tahrir Square and I jumped out of the Ahmed's car to take photos of this women's protest. They are protesting against the institutionalized sexism of the Muslim Brotherhood and their government-organized sexual assault. (They send teenage boys into the Square to sexually harrass women to discourage them from protesting.) Work it, sisters!
On another day, I had a very meditative visit at the Citadel of Saladin. This was my favorite mosque, because it has an understated elegance. It was completely empty save for a mullah who pointed out some details for me. Built in 1318, the Mosque of Sultan al-Nasir Muhammad ibn Qala'un is the only Mamluk (Egypt during the Middle Ages) work that Mohammed Ali didn't abolish.
Inside the walls of the Citadel.
An elegant gentlemen in the Al-Rifa'i Mosque, one of the "twin mosques" not far from the Citadel, where the Shah of Iran is entombed.
Susan Sabet, organizer of Cairo's Fashion Night, at the event at the First Mall in Giza. We sipped Egyptian champagne (which is actually quite good) and I met lots of interesting young designers and cosmopolitan Cairenes.
Ahmed and Daki of Sabry Marouf. They showed me their fantastic collection of neo-Pharaonic jewelry.
I work as a copywriter for Tiffany & Co. so it was fun to toast the Cairo boutique where I chatted with Hibba Bilal, the director of PR of the Four Seasons at the First Residence. I stayed at this luxe hotel for three nights--my room had a view of the Pyramids!
Hibba and I (and Ricky Martin looking over my shoulder) outside the Bulgari shop.
One of the craftsmen at the Azza Fahmy jewelry workshops outside of Cairo. Ms. Fahmy is the Middle East's leading jewelry designer and is known for breaking down barriers in design. In 1969, she became the first woman in Egypt to be permitted to train as an apprentice with the masters in Khan El Kahlili, Cairo's jewelry quarter.
After enjoying Cairo for 6 days (my visit to the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities was a standout), I jetted down to Aswan, located on the most beautiful stretch of the Nile, in the middle of the golden Nubian Desert. This view is what I woke up to every morning as I stood on the terrace of my royal suite at the Sofitel Legends Old Cataract Hotel. Agatha Christie wrote Death on the Nile here. At night, the only sound one hears is the drumming of the Nubian tribes on Elephantine Island, which you can see in the photo above.
During my stay in Aswan, I took an idyllic cruise in a felucca on the Nile. We sailed past the Mausoleum of Aga Khan.
Moi and the Nile on my suite's terrace. To my left is the original building of the Old Cataract Hotel, now called "the Palace Wing."
When one winters in Aswan, it is absolutely essential to visit the mind-blowing Temples of Ramses II in Abu Simbel, near the border of Sudan. A 3-hour drive through the Nubian Desert is required to get there. Because of the drop in tourist numbers, my arrival at the temples was quite surreal--I was the only one there! Not even a guard. Just two black dogs languishing in the sun. (Lucky for me they were friendly dogs!)
When I told Camille Paglia about it, she remarked that I must have felt like a British archeologist discovering it for the first time in the 19th century! More accurately, I felt like I was in a Ray Harryhausen film! All it needed was a Bernard Herrmann soundtrack.
Inside the Temple of Ramses II
A charming building in one of the Nubian villages on Elephantine Island.
My hotel wasn't keen on the idea of me wandering around alone in Aswan's Fatimid Cemetery (which dates back to the 9th century AD), but I went anyway. The caretaker of the cemetery took me on a tour of the graves.
The pièce de résistance was this tomb of an important imam, decorated with hsbd-irty, or artificial lapis lazuli, which is considered humanity's first synthetic pigment. It was developed in ancient Egypt during the Fourth Dynasty, c.2575-2467 B.C., when it used to decorate the tombs of the Pharaohs.
When the caretaker showed me this blue-dusted tomb, I was struck with a jolt of déjà vu. I then realized I had visited this site in a dream a few years ago.
Little Egypt
In July, I flew to Rome to cover Alta Roma fashion week for Diane Pernet. One of the highlights was our exclusive tour of the ateliers where the costumes and sets for the Rome Opera are created, at the Circus Maximus.
Even the fake set for the Mouth of Truth knows I'm a big, fat liar.
Below the Roman Opera ateliers is an ancient temple of Mithras. Popular before the Christians drove it out around the 5th century, the cult of Mithras was an all-male cult comprised of working-class and military men. After a bull was slaughtered and sacrificed, the animal's blood would pour down like a waterfall from the ceiling. As an initiation rite, the strapping, naked young military men would bathe and frolic and wrestle around in the deluge of blood. Now that sounds like a party!
I ran into fashion designer Paola Balzano at the A.I. Artisanal Intelligence exhibit at the show-stopping Palazzo Altemps, home of Angelica Library which, starting in the 17th century, became the world's first lending library.
Inside the library, Paola's dresses are up on the catwalk in the background. The skull sculpture is by Davide Dormino.
Musician Diego Buongiorno and I at the A.I. exhibit. Diego's latest piece is The Bush, an innovative project that puts both music and narrative together, which he devised, wrote, composed, arranged and produced.
After attending the sensational Jean Paul Gaultier show at Santo Spirito in Sassia (a communion-wafer's throw from the Vatican), we were invited to a dinner in Monsieur Gaultier's honor by Italian Vogue at the breathtaking Galleria Borghese. Above is one of the museum's most famous sculptures, The Rape of Persephone by Bernini. It certainly was a delight to be able to wander through the galleries at night while the museum was closed to the public.
Reunited: me and journalist Rebecca Voight arriving at the dinner.
We Are a Photograph
My biggest thrill of the night was meeting disco goddess Amanda Lear. JP Gaultier created the costumes for her recent one-woman show in Paris. I've been a big fan of her music for years. In September I read her amazing memoir, My Life with Dali. It is absolutely the best book to read while on holiday.
La Dolce Vita, Indeed
Dining under the stars: the enchanting table setting in the Villa Borghese gardens. I was over the moon for the caramelle arancia e cannella con vellutata di spinaci and the operatic sfogliata caramellata di millefoglie con crema chantilly e fragole, coulis di frutti di bosco. Yum!
One of the guests at the dinner was Simone Valsecchi. A true renaissance man, Simone has collaborated with Jean Paul Gaultier, Peter Greenway, Gianfranco Ferre and others and works as a stylist and also curator and collector of museum-quality dresses starting from the 7th century. He was a lender to the Museo Fortuny for the exhibit "Diana Vreeland After Diana Vreeland."
It was fun to see Susan Sabet again and we discussed the situation in Egypt at length during dinner.
Sisters Are Doing it For Themselves--and God
On another day, I was treated to a bespoke, hisory-laden tour of Medieval Rome by Roam Around Rome, a boutique tour company. Our first stop was the Basilica of Santi Quattro Coronati--the 4 Holy Crowned Martyrs.
The Basilica's hidden Romanesque cloister.
Paolo and Antonio of Roam Around Rome.
Ceiling of the Basilica di San Clemente, founded in the 4th century.
One of the main reasons to come to Rome, it goes without saying, is the food.
(She's In A) Bad Mood
On my last night in Rome I attended the opening of the new Ermanno Scervino boutique. Asia Argento, whom I adore, was there promoting her album Total Entropy.
Before Asia arrived at the party in a burst of glorious punk-rock impudence, as if she had been shot from a cannon, the soiree was a rather soigné affair. Men in expensive suits and women dressed as if they had raided Halson's closet floated in circles around the crowded room through champagne bubbles and a DJ set of fabulously louche '70s disco. Such a refreshing change from the typical New York fashion party, where douchey faux-hemian "DJs" try and fail to spin their way out of a wet reclaimed hemp paper bag...and everyone is dressed like they're competing in a Chloe Sevigny costume challenge.
The DJ booth at the party which doubled as Asia's stage.
In New York we have a plethora of bland, generic Duane Reades. Rome has this. (Located next to Leon's Place, the official hotel of Alta Roma this season.)
Sunset at the Temple of Vesta.
I always go to Europe for holiday in September and this time around I went to Paris to visit friends. Frédéric lives in a glamorous penthouse with a vast terrace that overlooks the Eiffel Tower. I offered to make us some of my world-famous Belgronis™ but since Frédéric had limited spirit options, we went into War-time rationing mode. We made do with some gin and red vermouth. Since he didn't have a proper cocktail shaker, I had to mix the cocktails in a wine decanter with a swan-like neck. Not easy to get the ice cubes in there! But we ended on a high note by drinking my Belgronis™ from Fréd's Christian Dior crystal tumblers.
The view from Fréd's terrace at night.
I stayed for two glorious nights at the Hôtel de NELL in the center of Paris. The star of my room was a Japanese bathtub carved out of a single block of raw marble, bathed in natural light. The tray, seat and footstool are made from the lightest Oregon myrtlewood. I thought the seat was a bit strange but then again, I've never taken a bath in Japan!
I dined in the NELL's formidable restaurant, La Régalade Conservatoire, with Rebecca Voight. I chose as my main the scorpion fish fillet cooked in a bouillabaisse with snow peas and shaved fennel. Supèrbe!
Meanwhile, at the Folies Bergère the gilded tuchas of the iconic Art Deco can-can dancer was being polished for maximum shine.
Because it's just not a trip to Paris unless you drink Champagne with Diane Pernet at Café de Flore on the Rive Gauche.
Diane & Akiko Hamaoka, the Mayor of the Marais. And Lemon!
Après Champagne, Diane and I embarked on a magical mystery tour of Paris with Akiko. One of our stops, L'Hotel, was where Oscar Wilde uttered his (disputed) last words, "These curtains and I have been fighting a duel to the death. One of us has got to go" or "Either this wallpaper goes or I go." Or, more likely, "WHAT a DUMP!"
We passed by the majestic Tour Saint Jacques and Diane was amazed that she actually walked through tourist-y Les Halles, where she was barraged with gawking gasps and boorish commentary. But Diane is stoic, as am I, so it rolled off her like water on a duck's back. And we had a good laugh and exercise.
I think this might be how the day started out: the healthiest vegetarian lunch you can possibly imagine at The Tuck Shop. This zucchini soup rocked my world.
The divine Puurple Rain! She works hard for the money at the TUCK SHOP (which she co-owns)! Bringing vegetarian delights to the Croque Madame-stifled masses....
On my last day in Paris, I had lunch with the delightful Angélique Bosio, director of the terrific documentary on Bruce LaBruce, The Advocate for Fagdom. I (and my alter ego) appear in the film and Angélique interviewed me for it in 2009 when I was staying in an apartment in Pigalle.
See if you can guess which one is moi in this trailer:
After my high-end stay at the Hôtel de NELL, I schlepped my cookies up to Montmartre and checked into this very homey bohemian flat that was discretely tucked away in the Passage de Abbesses. Backstage photographer Sonny Vandevelde turned me onto it.
Renting an apartment means having your own kitchen to make dinner: salad, baguette and cheese from the fromagerie around the corner. Rich and perfect morbier and pesto gouda which I only bought because of the color (the pesto flavor was too overwhelming.)
One day I had brunch with the boys--fashion designer Teddy Parra and his partner, the actor Jean-Luc Bertin--in Le Marais. I paid a visit to Teddy's boutique--where he designs and produces splendid made-to-measure men's and women's clothing--and this book was displayed in the salon. Le bulge seems to upstage everthing else in the photo.
Dali in Montmartre
I went to my friend Nancy's favorite Moroccan restaurant and on the way back I of course had to take a photo of Sacré-Cœur Basilica, or "the giant baby bottle for angels" as one anonymous poet once put it.
After Paris, I jetted over to Vienna to meet up with my friend Carole Pope and to attend MQ Vienna Fashion Week.
Detail of my suite at the 19th-century circus-themed 25Hours Hotel.
Amazon alert! MQVFW organizers Elvyra Geyer and Zigi Mueller-Matyas.
Taking in the sights backstage at the Tiberius show.
Moi avec champagne et Tiberius ostrich-leather gloves in the VIP Tent at MQVFW with Tiberius designer Marcos Valenzuela.
Carole and I paid a visit to the atelier of Austrian couturier Susanne Bisovsky and it was quite a treat!
Susanne's enviable high-ceilinged kitchen is a riot of cookie tins collected from flea markets all over the universe.
After our atelier visit, Carole Pope and I sank into some sublime apple strudel at my favorite cafe. Yes, dolls...this is MY joint in Vienna.
The cafe is tucked away behind Vienna's famed opera house.
On another day, Carole and I were treated to a rather grand vegetarian lunch at Tian in the center of Vienna. The multi-course meal included this "tea" of tomatoes and basil that was simmered in a Japanese coffee pot.
The dizzying array of dishes at Tian kept soaring higher and higher to new artistic heights. While this salad resembles a Cubist painting, it's meant to mimic a game of Tetris. Bravissimo!
J'Adore the old storefronts of Spittelberg.
Elvyra and The Shit it girl, Bonnie Strange in the VIP Tent at MQVFW.
The top of my tree: Lou Reed portrait by Marco Santaniello, Waiting for the Man ball ornament by Sameer Reddy (detail later on this post) and a Nico Christmas by Isabel Hernandez.
Dear Venii and Penii in furs,
Last Saturday was THE social event of the season: my annual tree-trimming party. To honour the passing of Lou Reed I chose the theme, "Lou Reed & the Velvet Underground."
Even though there was a heavy snowstorm, followed by an intense ice storm, raging that night, a large group of diehards tromped over to my apartment with ornaments to enjoy some of my special Belgronis™, bubbly and my signature canapes.
My legendary radis farcis au chèvre and my favorite Champagne.
I was absolute obsessed with this Velvet Underground tribute ornament made by Joy Szilagyi and Carlota Gurascier. Andy's name is stencilled exactly how it appears on the cover of the Velvet Underground & Nico album.
But even more miraculously was how she painted the other side to look exactly like Warhol's banana. And even though this is a real banana (I think!) it is much heavier and denser than an ordinary bananan and the skin feels like it's made from fine Italian leather. I want to know what she did to it!
Superstar Marco Santaniello and Supermodel Yuen C Jia. Marco had a fab show of his digital paintings up at Tazza Gallery recently. This is the first time I'd met Yuen but I recognized her from the catwalks of Malaysia Internationa Fashion Week which I attended in 2011.
Nancy Stout and Suzanne Batmanghelichi were awarded a special treat for being early arrivals: my famous Belgronis™!
Kao Wei Hao avec Champagne; Christopher Voigt and Helen Yun of Tiffany & Co. con Belgronis™...
Me and Nancy flanked by the world-famous Rosenberg Twins, Alan and Charles.
When the Rosenbergs arrived, I whipped out my copy of Amy Arbus' photography book which features this photo of the Twins from the early '80s.
Mohamad and his version of the V.U. banana.
Helen, Susan and my friend Marie whom I hadn't seen in 10 years. She entertained us with hilarious stories.
The legends of New York: Nancy Stout, Adrian Milton, Patrick Lehman and Brian Butterick aka Hattie Hathaway of Pyramid Club and Jackie 60 fame. There were no Emily Post readings but Hattie brought his signature downtown New York realness.
There were a few people I forgot to photograph (I was too busy serving prosecco!), like DJ Tennesse who brought some terrific Xmas song CDs that he compiled. Tennessee used to DJ at the Pyramid Club.
New York's most important dandy, Patrick McDonald arrived late--and it was worth the wait! I was feeling a bit boozy by this hour.
Yuen attempts to confiscate Sameer's controversial ornament.
The Rosenberg's draped a PUNQUE garland on my tree.
Hattie also donated a Warholian banana.
Jonny Steele impressively handmade this wooden syringe!
As an homage to Mo Tucker, Nancy brought this beautiful metal drum kit.
Because Diane Pernet could not be at my party (she's in Paris, but I will see her in Rome next month), I made this ornament out of a photo of her sitting in my kitchen when I gave a party for her in 2008. She is next to Suzanne's hot dog ornament (which was from last year's '70s NYC theme) and it's an inside joke why I paired it with Diane.
Suzanne made this Diet-Coke-can ornament because Lou Reed loved Diet Coke.
Helen brought this cute little piglet ornament. Think pink!
Christopher brought this lovely gilded piece with a monogrammed L for Lou.
Sameer's Waiting for the Man piece: the little bags of "heroin" are made from brown sugar and something else, I can't remember.
Me reflected in a big silvery ball.
Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather. My friend Daki in Cairo sent this S&M Barbie!
It is now a yearly tradition for Mark to hang one of his empty prescription bottles on my tree.
This ornamanent didn't make it to my tree last year (for '70s NYC theme) so it's featured now: a homemade Saturday Night Fever ornamanent sent by Penny Saranteas.
Writer and enfant terrible Bruce Benderson was feeling under the weather and didn't make it to the party--but this ornamanent is coming soon to my tree: a handmade syringe homage to Syracuse. Bruce and Lou were both from there.
Artist Scott Neary, who was also down with a cold, made this Candy Darling Cane. It will arrive on my tree soon.
My cousin Kathy Garrigan was snowed-in in Conn. so she sent me a photo of her ingenious homage to Venus in Furs: a Venus de Milo salt shaker in a Barbie fur coat!
I love this little star and you can see the ghost of Sharon Tate hovering in the background.
The party got VERY wild later on...thanks to Mo's now-infamous dou-dou shots, a Lebanese speciality. Tequila and hot sauce garnished with an olive. We had more than a few of them. Here he is with Cecilia and Mac.
I took my September holiday in Paris this year to visit Diane Pernet and other friends and then onwards to Vienna for MQ Vienna Fashion Week 2013. Here is a roundup of my stories from A Shaded View on Fashion:
Last month, I was in the glorious city of Rome--back after a 3-year absence--to cover the Alta Roma fashion week for A Shaded View on Fashion and partake of the city's myriad earthly and heavenly delights. Live! Live! Live! as Mame Dennis was fond of saying. Here is a round-up of my stories from the Eternal City on Diane Pernet's site:
I wintered in Egypt this past February and had a fantastic time discovering Cairo and Aswan for the first time. Here is a roundup of all the stories I posted about my trip on A Shaded View on Fashion:
