Confessions from the Velvet Ropes

2019: My year in jet-setting photos. By Glenn Belverio

New gold dream: Fondazione Prada in Milan

 

Dear jet boys/jet girls,

From Italy to Great Britain, fashion weeks to exhibitions (with a few healthy dollops of holiday downtime), it was an eventful year of European travel.

In February, I was invited by the Italian Trade Commission to Milan to cover the MICAM shoe fair for A Shaded View on Fashion. Chinese designer Wang Ping sent his charming wife to represent the brand. I really liked her style!

 

I made the obligatory trip to Fondazione Prada which is located in a rather desolate area, replete with vast, dusty lots and melancholic, abandoned train tracks that provide an arresting juxtaposition to the various artworks. Indeed, the windows of the galleries in the Fondazione's tower are designed to make the landscape an important component of the exhibitions. Sure, Jeff Koons Tulips are quite lovely, but for certain viewers who have that seen-it-all jadedness associated with Koons’ work (that would be me via my exploits in NYC’s Soho art world of the ’90s), the lay of the land outside transformed my feelings about the piece into a totally new and satisfying experience. Take that, boring white gallery walls!

 

Milan's mysteries blossom at night.

 

After the shoe show folded, I made a beeline to Milan's majestic train station. Destination: Turin!

 

Referred to by some Italians disparagingly as "southern France" because of its far northwestern proximity and its decidedly un-Italian-ness, Turin is quiet, elegant and unbothered by tourists, especially in the winter.

 

Art Nouveau details abound in Turin.

 

I lodged at the splendid Hotel Victoria, centrally located. One evening while I was taking my aperitivo by the fireplace, this cozy cocktail den was invaded by gaggles of seriously chic ladies of a certain age, festooned in furs and leading their equally stylish canines on leashes through the lobby. They threw themselves on divans and overstuffed club chairs as they gossiped about their husbands and quaffed copious amounts of Moscato d’Asti.

I highly recommend this hotel. The affordable rooms are comfy, full of quirky character (mine had a golf theme), aperitivo is accompanied by a very generous array of freshly made complimentary canapes, and the breakfast, served in a bright, lemon-yellow room next to a garden, is indulgent. (Have the lemon cake—it goes with the decor.)

 

One of the reasons I made the jaunt to Turin was to once again commune with Lord Lucifer, who guards the Gates of Hell in the Piazza Statuto, which are located under a manhole cover (according to legend). This seriously sexy statue—who floats over a monument to the workers killed while building the Frejus rail tunnel linking Italy and France—was designed with the Sigil of Baphomet sprouting from his head. (This square is referred to as "the black heart of Turin," and indeed the city is a point in both urban triangles that represent the world centers of Black Magic and White Magic.)

Much to my dismay, the five-pointed star was missing from the statue's head. In a panic, I rushed into a nearby witchcraft store in search of an explanation. The proprietor, sighing with resignation, told me that the official story is the star fell from the statue during a storm. There should be a movement to have it replaced!

 

Diana the Huntress on a sport's store façade. Speaking of game, I was treated by my dear Turinese friend Barbara Papuzzi to a delicious, if unusual, dinner at Ristorante Consorzio, notorious for its experiments in all manner of offal. At one point, Barbara passed a bowl of spicy, ultra-velvety chunks of mystery meat to me which were quite delicious.

Our lesbianic waitperson hovered nearby, grinning broadly, and when I had finished every melt-in-your-mouth morsel, she approached the table and announced what I had just eaten: a cow's vagina! I rose to the occasion and fired back, "Well, this is the first time I've ever eaten pussy—and it was wonderful!"

 

Ristorante Consorzio in Turin

 

"Our lesbianic waitperson hovered nearby, grinning broadly, and when I had finished every melt-in-your-mouth morsel, she approached the table and announced what I had just eaten: a cow's vagina!"

 

All roads lead to Rome: After my Turinese idyll, I jetted down to the Città Eterna to visit friends.

 

As is my custom, I took a suite at the legendary Hotel Locarno.

I sprinted down to the Accademia di Costume e di Moda to visit my dear friend Adrien Yakimov Roberts (and his colleague Barbara) before he jetted off to a business trip in India.

 

My friend Alessio de' Navasques invited me to the opening of "Giardini Acquatici" by artist Giovanni Vetere (center in cobalt corduroy pantsuit) at The Orange Garden Gallery. Lupo Lanzara from the Accademia is on the right.

 

After the opening, Alessio and Clara Tosi Pamphili took me on an adventure at the Piazza Vittorio. Despite all my visits to Rome, I had never been to this area that's famous for its immigrant populations, and that was documented most excellently in Abel Ferrara's film Piazza Vittorio. We strolled through this arcade next to the piazza—unusual for Rome but common in Turin—and I was mad for the old tiles.

 

As in many multi-ethnic and working-class neighborhoods around the world, hipsters have swooped in, taken advantage of the lower rents and opened trendy bars and restaurants. Here's me and Alessio at one housed in what used to be either a haberdashery or jewelry shop (can't remember which) in the 1920s.

 

After drinks we had Chinese food at a place I've been dying to go to ever since I saw it featured in Abel's documentary, Hang Zhou da Sonia—and here's Sonia in action!

 

A glamorous Maoist and Gucci model, Sonia gave Abel's cameras a hair-raising, hilarious account, in Italian, of the time she was robbed at gunpoint in the restaurant. (The robber was Italian, not a migrant, btw.)

 

I loved the t-shirts of the waitstaff.

 

Turns out I'm not the only person in the world who has a Mao Room!

 

The Hotel Locarno is right behind the beautiful Piazza del Popolo.

 

Designer Hina John, a refugee from Pakistan, and A.I. co-curator Clara Tosi Pamphili.

In July, I was back in Rome again for AltaRoma fashion week. The highlight of the week was the summer edition of A.I. Artisanal Intelligence, "The Shape of the Water." Clara and Alessio de’ Navasques worked with Nation25, an open platform founded in 2015 by Elena Abbiatici, Sara Alberani and Caterina Pecchioli, to bring together a selection of immigrant-created designs.

During the two-day exhibition, we met migrants from African countries and Pakistan who have honed their skills to create beautiful clothing. Many of the migrants live in Italy’s detention camps (centered in Treviso) in the evening, while spending their days searching for fabrics in the Piazza Vittorio and designing clothes.

 

Journalist Rebecca Voight, designer Marianna Cimini and moi at AltaRoma's Showcase Roma.

 

Sylvio Giardina at his couture presentation MONOCROMO at Galleria 1/9unosunove arte contemporanea in the Palazzo Santacroce.

 

Moi, AltaRoma press agent Lavinia Caldani and Paulo Mariotti of Brazilian Vogue at Sylvio's presentation.

 

There was an al fresco sundowner each evening of AltaRoma, with guest DJs—and by far the best one was Enrico Palazzo!

 

After AltaRoma, I flew up to the northeastern city of Trieste, at the suggestion of my friend Anita Kravos, an actress who is originally from there. Peculiar and subtly beautiful, this seaport city is located between the Adriatic and Slovenia. Because of its Austrian history, the city has a Viennese vibe.

 

The headquarters of ITS, International Talent Support, is in Trieste, where they hold a yearly fashion competition every July. Rebecca Voight and I were invited for a private tour of their archives. This was a treat for me since I was not able to stay in Trieste for the event.

 

When visiting Trieste, a bus trip up the coastline to Miramare Castle is mandatory.

Built between 1856 and 1860 for Austrian Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian and his wife Charlotte of Belgium. Cursed and haunted, Miramare has a melancholy history—and bad things befell just about everyone who lived or stayed there. Jan Morris's excellent book Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere is full of vivid tales about the castle. I read the book but seemed to have lost it (did I leave it on the plane?) but do remember a few fuzzy details of Maximilian's downward trajectory as related by the marvelous Morris.

 

As I remember it: Not long after Maximilian moved into this castle—which commands splendid views of the sea from just about every room—France offered him a gig as an Emperor in Mexico. (France was in the midst of colonizing Mexico to give Europe a toehold in the region.) He was hesitant at first, but realized he could do it for a few years and it would be something that looked good on his resume. Above is my photo of the marble-topped table, a gift from a pope, where Max signed the contract to accept the crown in Mexico. Also of note: when the castle was built, the windows were all tinted so that the sea's colors would appear more vivid.

So Max and Charlotte set sail for Mexico where they were crowned Emperor and Empress. Long story short, the French chickened out and withdrew their troops from Mexico not long after Max arrived. Max was captured by the Mexicans and executed immediately. Charlotte (now Empress Carlota of Mexico) fled back to Miramare Castle. Upon her arrival—I'm really improvising here, so correct me if you know the exact details—she discovered that their court had organized a giant cage of doves, awaiting the return of the Emperor and Empress as a token of their affection. Charlotte/Carlota opened the door of the cage and watched wistfully as the doves escaped and flew across the sea. She soon went mad and went back to Belgium where I think she committed suicide.

 

The sphinx and the sea.

 

I had a wonderful lunch of fish freshly caught from the Adriatic, near the castle.

 

My lunchtime view.

 

After Trieste, I returned to Rome and checked into the Villa Laetitia's Black & White Suite. Equipped with a kitchen, a spare bedroom, two bathrooms and a garden, this suite in the Fendi-owned hotel features a bed by Mies van der Rohe, and shelves, sconces and a writing desk by Ettore Sottsass.

 

After cocktails at the Hotel Locarno, Consuelo Aranyi and I went to one of our favorite trattorias (the name escapes me) where we had artichokes four ways: raw, steamed, sauteed and deep fried. Yum!

 

I was mad for this Brutalist apartment building near my hotel.

 

On another evening, I was blessed with the company of Adrien and Kamen Yakimov Roberts. They took me to Le Grotte, a pizza joint with an interior that looks like a Dean Martin movie on acid. We dined al fresco and I opted for a rather marvelous plate of pasta. And that wasn't the only dish that was served, if you catch my drift!

 

On my last day in Rome, I lunched with Samuel Beckett, and my close pal, screenplay writer and actor Rinaldo Rocco, at the prison-chic Fendi Hotel. Rinaldo is delightful company, so I barely noticed the sadistic experience of lunching here. First, we were roasted under Rome's merciless midday July sun as we waited, and waited, for a waitperson to appear from the seemingly deserted restaurant. After a few blistering moments, a blasé waitress sauntered out from seemingly nowhere—Waiting for Godot, waiting for the waitstaff—who didn't deign to open the roof's automated canopy until we begged her for mercy.

My entree, a mere wispy tangle of pasta small enough to fit inside a teaspoon, came with a Fendi price tag, and as soon as the plates were cleared, the impassive waitron cruelly retracted the canopy (vaguely citing a time constraint on roof access), leaving us once again exposed to the unrelenting Mediterranean sun. But as I mentioned, Rinaldo and I were so enjoying our conversation, I barely noticed any of these unpleasantries!

 

Rinaldo attempts a dialectical discussion with Signore Beckett.

 

After lunch, Rinaldo and I took a stroll around the charming Isola Tiberina, an island in the Tiber.

 

Fast-forward to September where I was once again in Vienna, covering MQ Vienna Fashion Week for A Shaded View on Fashion. I met up with my friend, the Austro-Egyptian editor and owner of Pashion Magazine, for dinner at the famed Zum Scharwzen Kameel, followed by cocktails in the Blue Room of the Hotel Sacher. Here we are afterwards in the Red Room. Redrum!

 

Fashion supernovas Elisabeth Muth and MQ Vienna Fashion Week co-founder Zigi Mueller-Matyas at the residence of the Thai Ambassador to Austria. We were invited there for a delicious Thai breakfast and a preview of collaborations between Thai and Austrian designers.

 

We loved the collab between Ek Thongprasert and Karin Oèbster of Kayiko.

 

Head games with Iris van Herpen at her Vienna boutique.

 

After Vienna, it was onto Bristol, UK to unchain unicorns and to attend the opening of Act 3 of Still I Rise: Feminisms, Gender, Resistance at the Arnolfini Centre for Contemporary Arts.

 

This groundbreaking feminist and queer art exhibition—previously staged in other iterations in Nottingham and Bexhill by Sea—featured two of my videos: Two Spirits Speak Out from 1992 (above) and Glennda and Camille Do Downtown (1993), my collaboration with Camille Paglia.

(If you missed this show in Bristol, you can catch Two Spirits Speak Out at the Museum of the City of New York, in the exhibition Urban Indian: Native New York Now, through March 8, 2020.)

 

Moi (center) with the Still I Rise curators—Cédric Fauq, Rosie Cooper and Irene Aristizábal—and Kieran Swann, Head of Programme at the Arnolfini.

 

Cute guy watching Glennda and Camille Do Downtown at the opening.

 

It was a thrill meeting punk feminist artist Rachael House, who was in from London for the opening.

 

Rachael's piece in the show celebrates punk icons Patti Smith, Ari Up and Poly Styrene.

 

My friends from the North, Mark & Mark Simpson, drove down to spend some quality time with me. We took a tour of Brunel's SS Great Britain.

 

First Class dining, 1850s style.

 

The two Marks and I also paid a visit to Bristol's breathtaking Suspension Bridge.

 

But perhaps the biggest thrill of all was discovering, quite by accident, this show-stopping Brutalist cathedral in Clifton, a serene, residential area of Bristol.

 

Designed by architect Ron Weeks, the Clifton Cathedral was completed in 1973.

 

After Mark&Mark returned to the North of England, I lied down on a grassy knoll in Castle Park, enjoying the last remnants of summer.

Thank you for taking this journey with me.

Love,

Glenn Belverio

My Saints Tree-Trimming Party, December 7, 2019. Photos by Drew Gardner. Text & additional photos by Glenn Belverio

Ellen Sampson & Alexis Romano

Photographer Catherine Talese, lesbian rock icon Carole Pope, Terry & writer Katie Degentesh as Saint Scholastica

Fashion designer Ela Erdogan, fashion icon Lauren Ezersky & your host, Glenn Belverio (wearing my John the Baptist tee)

Living saint Chay Costello, Swiss artist Nives Widauer & makeup artist Virna Smiraldi

Filmmaker Allison Berg & Catherine Talese

Filmmaker Allison Berg & Catherine Talese

 

Dear Saintly Sinners,

What do you get when you combine halos, Catholic accoutrements, a Biblical flood of prosecco, sacred and profane gossip, sanctified hors d'oeuvres, beautifully rendered ornaments and an international crowd par excellence (the most important ingredient)? Answer: a party far more interesting than the Met Gala for Heavenly Bodies—it's the latest edition of my annual tree-trimming bash!

The theme for this year's already-legendary fête, Saints, was chosen by my MoMA colleague Chay Costello. We collaborated on the dress code:

St. John the Baptist headless couture, sexy Saint Sebastian arrow accessories, Joan of Arc melting hearing aids, Buñuel surrealist saint and Jodorowsky Holy Mountain acid trips, Saint Nicholas and Krampus mud wrestling, Danny Kaye Saint Jude cocktail attire, nun looks a-go-go: Anita Ekberg killer nun, Sally Field flying nun, The Nuns punk-rock DIY ready-to-wear, Nina Hagen Nunsexmonkrock runway realness, Saint Dolly Parton real Christianity Opry glamour, Edna St. Vincent Millay boozy melees, Padre Pio stigmata realness, Saint Lucy eyeballs worn as earrings, brooches or pasties, Lili St. Cyr non-stop burlesque action, Vatican Swiss Guard uniforms for butch lesbians, reliquary zombie re-animations, 1980s S&M leather looks from The Saint club, halos, wings and harps for holier-than-thou attention whores, and Saint Teresa multiple spiritual orgasms.

Now, onto the party....

A mysterious flapper accompanied by her patron saints: writers and curators Ellen Sampson and Alexis Romano.

Chay Costello was inspired by the stigmata of Saint Padre Pio, a distant relative of hers.

Billy Miller of Straight to Hell fame.

Legendary East Village artists Peter Cramer and Jack Waters of Allied Productions and Naked Eye Cinema fame.

Louis Armstrong by Dana Schein

North West Kardashian by my MoMA colleague Miranda Lim. My prediction for the get-go has been that he will one day launch a fragrance called North by North West.

r

Virna Smiraldi's ornament was inspired by the Blood of the San Gennaro Miracle in Naples. On the feast day of San Gennaro, believers gather to pray and follow specific rituals, to bring about the miracle that is the liquefaction of the saint’s blood. The “miracle” of liquefaction takes place inside the Duomo, when the substance in the cruets dissolves into a vivid red liquid. The event is celebrated on the first Sunday of May, then again on the 19^th of September, and also in December.

Eerily, a few days after my party, Virna's ornament leapt from my tree and landed on the kitchen floor with a loud POP. The dark "blood" slowly spread across the shattered glass and glitter, forming a large viscous pool. It was very Dario Argento art direction.

A couture-clad Barbie with a Jesus brooch. Ornament by Kyle P. Wagner of the National Arts Club.

St. Elmo's Fire by my cousin Kathy Garrigan.

Saint Andy by Corey Sabourin.

My MoMA colleague Lisa Carr brought this owl ornament because "Glenn is wise." Aw, shucks!

Creator unknown. (Meaning, I can't remember!)

Another Saint Andy, this one by writer Janice Eidus and her husband John Kastan.

Creator unknown.

Two views of an ornament celebrating the 1960s TV series The Saint starring Roger Moore.

Another Roger Moore Saint ornament with a young Yves Saint Laurent on the flipside.

Ornament by Vienna-based Swiss artist Nives Widauer.

Two views of the Saint Catherine of Siena ornament created by my MoMA colleague Cathy Citarella. Yes, dolls, the severed, mummified head of St. Catherine is on public view at the Basilica San Domenico in Siena. I saw it with my own eyes during a day trip to Siena back in 2003, during a press trip in Tuscany which involved a multi-town tour of Chianti Classico vineyards, punctuated by a lavish dinner party at the 12th-century Castello di Brolio, to celebrate the 1000th anniversary of Brolio, land of the Ricasoli Barons.

"Next we are off to Castello di Cacchiano's wine tasting room that is housed in a former 18th-century prison," I wrote while living and working in Hong Kong as a guest editor for WestEast magazine. "As I noted the day-counting marks on the wall left behind by assorted criminals in 1781, we sampled Cacchiano's incomparable vin santo ('wine of Saints,' known also as 'wine for meditation'), a nectar so sublime that I would, if I could, bathe in it daily."

Creator unknown.

Which saint is this? "Whichever one you want to be," said this ornament's creator, fashion designer Ela Erdogan.

Creator unknown.

Another St. Elmo's Fire ornament, this one by Christy Nyiri. And now it's time for me to admit I have never seen St. Elmo's Fire—however, I did meet Judd Nelson (and Anthony Michael Hall) in the Michael Todd Room at Palladium in 1986.

Saint Elvis by Billy Miller.

That's gotta hurt! St. Loempius by painter Scott Neary.

Creator unknown.

More Catholic torture porn! Saint Agatha by Suzanne Batmanghelichi.

Santo Orgasm by Peter Cramer and Jack Waters.

Ornament by Alexis Romano. Apparently there's a pannettone inside there—I guess I better eat it soon before it descends into reliquary decrepitude!

Saint Nicholas Cage by MoMA colleague Nemtsov.

Saint Padre Pio by Chay Costello.

Creator unknown.

Another Saint Nicholas Cage ornament? How on earth does he get to be a saint? Snap out of it!

The following photos are by Drew Gardner (my official event photographer):

My MoMA colleague Audrey Gascho and Virna Smiraldi

Katie as Saint Scholastica looks on as Nives Widauer shows off her pussy tie.

Earth angels: Catherine Talese & Chay Costello

We are family: Carly Sommerstein chats with my paternal cousin Kathy Garrigan.

Terry telling tall tales to the gals.

It takes two: Rob & Chay

Saint Scholastica (Katie Degentesh) makes a beeline for the bar. I love the trompe l’oeil t-shirt!

We are living in the digital age (even if my apartment is a time warp of old New York…)

She’s into leather: Lauren Ezersky with Ela Erdogan.

Quaff, baby, quaff! Cathy celebrates the moment as Jack Kastan looks on.

The radiant Suzanne Batmanghelichi.

Moi delivering Saint Elvis to the tree.

As I am often happily marooned in the ’90s, I was a big fan of Allison’s Amanda de Cadenet look (remember that night she and Courtney Love went out in matching ensembles?)

Writers Corey Sabourin & Nancy Stout.

What is Christy Nyiri saying to Catherine Talese?! (We love Catherine’s pendant.)

Janice Eidus in a Warholian mood in my Mao Room.

Artist Dana Schein with graphic design guru Christy Nyiri.

Giddy-up, cowboy! Saul Arber & Catherine Talese.

Nancy having a rap session on my bed with painter Scott Neary.

Alexis Romano partaking in the holy sacrament that is my famed radis farcis au chèvre.

South American chanteuse Carlota Gurascier and her pal David.

Nives and Saul

Josh Casey of MoMA Design Store holds onto his makeshift crown.

Moi, Katie & Carlota

Alexis & Dana

Nives & Alenia

Katie & my MoMA colleague Lisa Carr

And a few more of my shots…

Chay's husband Rob channeled Saint Sebastian via Steve Martin's A Wild and Crazy Guy.

Glennda Orgasm archivist Stevin Michels and artist Dana Schein.

Alenia in—you guessed it—The Mao Room!

Josh Casey, king for a day? Almost!

The ever-ebullient Lisa Carr loved meeting Peter and Jack.

Found under my tree the next morning: an Eve Kitten Clock designed by Nancy Bacich!

Not sure who brought the beautiful Saint Ziggy candle...the Greek Orthodox icon of my favorite saint, John the Baptist, was picked up during my 2008 trip to a fashion week in Thessaloniki.

Merry Christmas,

Glenn Belverio

Johnny Rotten Talks Punk History at the "Too Fast to Live, Too Young to Die: Punk Graphics" Exhibition at the Museum of Arts & Design. Report by Glenn Belverio

 

On Monday afternoon I was invited to a special press event at The Museum of Arts and Design (MAD) for the recently opened Too Fast to Live, Too Young to Die: Punk Graphics, 1976–1986, an exhibition that explores the punk, new wave and post-punk movements through the lens of graphic design.

MAD invited "John Rotten Lydon" (nice name branding there, Johnny) to give some remarks and answer questions from the press (there was a panel discussion later in the day as well). Well, I'm sure you all saw the recent video of Johnny on a panel with Marky Ramone, Henry Rollins, Donita Sparks, et al at a screening for the new punk documentary, and all hell broke loose (especially between Johnny and Marky).

The scabs that seemed to have healed over the rifts between the NYC and British punk scenes were violently ripped open, old grudges were dragged out onto the stage like so many dead cats, and the contentious arguments regarding the origins and storyline of punk were flung through the air like 40 ouncers hurled onstage at a Pogues gig, or gobbers spit at a PiL concert (I was an eye witness to this at a very excellent Public Image Ltd. show in Allentown, PA in 1984).

At MAD, it was just Johnny alone asserting his positions (see the video I filmed, posted above) with no-one to contradict or correct him, but that's show business. I'm not going to pick a side in the NYC Punk vs. British Punk war, however it does seem like I've found my theme for my next tree-trimming party.

The exhibition, which takes up two floors of the museum, felt like a tour of my old, beloved record collection which I ended up selling for a pittance to the long-gone Adult Records on Avenue A in 1994 because I was six months behind on my rent and I needed the money. (I felt like Judas betraying Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, and I'm sure I spent that money on Glennda wigs and vodka instead of back rent.)

I took a bunch of snaps of some pieces in the show, posted below. The exhibition is up through August 18, 2019 and is well worth seeing. It includes rare concert  and documentary footage on big and small screens.

Love, Spit, Love,

Glenn Belverio

 

2018: My year in jet-setting photos. By Glenn Belverio

Yabba dabba doo! Moi at the Indian Canyons Hiking Trails in Palm Springs. Photo: Sameer Reddy

 

Dear jetsters,

Elsa Peretti said it best: "Travel is important for your mind." Art, architecture, nature, friends, fashion, food and the occasional dalliance—I had so many reasons to head to the airport in 2018. It began in the late winter with my return to relaxing Palm Springs.

 

For the first half of my trip, I stayed at my favorite hotel in Palm Springs, the Alcazar. Here, you won’t be bothered by cocktail waitrons or distracting raw-bar towers. Drinks are DIY from the petite lobby and the best breakfast spot in Palm Springs, Cheeky’s, is a 5-second walk away (the hotel owns it). Cheeky’s is the only place in the world where I will eat bacon, and once you’ve sampled the ever-changing bacon flight (Beeler’s apple cinnamon, anyone?), you’ll know why. After a beaker full of the red-purple lusciousness that is their blood-orange juice, you’ll stroll down North Palm Canyon Drive, throw your arms up to the Sun God while exclaiming “California!” and wonder why you continue your real life of stress and toxicity in New York City.

 

After an idyllic breakfast at Cheeky’s with the painter Scott Neary and his ex-NYC pal Diane, we piled into the convertible and drove to the “House of Tomorrow” aka Elvis and Priscilla’s honeymoon house.

 

Me and Scott stockpiling Vitamin D in preparation of the return to frozen New York.

 

Moving from the blinding-white austerity of the Alcazar to that kitsch riot known as The Parker Hotel is like being airlifted from a Zen monastery and dropped into a Long Island flea market.

 

Designed by Jonathan Adler, The Parker boasts a carpet sourced from the creators of the carpet in Kubrick's The Shining. It was fun staying here for for two nights, even if there was an eerie undertone of dystopian luxury.

 

My rather secluded room had a lovely view of the lush gardens.

 

It may have been 85F outside, but that didn't stop The Parker from having a roaring fire going at all times in the rear lounge. That's Michael and his twin brother Patrick McDonald, the Northern Hemisphere's most famous dandy, hanging out in the background before we headed out to their favorite Mexican restaurant in Palm Desert for lunch. 

Pity I didn't take more photos of the McDonalds but there were plenty of Facebook live videos, including our trip to tiki heaven Tropicale where we dined with our friend Carlos King before taking in a show by 1970s disco legend France Joli, of "Come to Me" fame, at the gay club next door.

 

During my stay at The Parker, I hung out with my (camera-shy) friend Sameer Reddy, visiting from LA. At his suggestion we took a long, invigorating hike through the Indian Canyons.

 

I absolutely adore desert flowers.

 

After the hike, Sameer and I repaired to The Parker's Lemonade Stand for frosty libations and hot gossip.

 

I'm always in Rome—at least that's what Nicholas, the head bartender at The Locarno Hotel, always says of me—and indeed, there I was again at the end of June for the summer edition of AltaRoma and to visit friends.

 

This edition of AltaRoma was held at the storied Cinecittà Studios. These recreations of the temples of Jupiter and Venus were built for HBO's Rome. (They made me chuckle because whenever anyone asks me if I was raised Catholic I tell them that my paternal Grandfather was not Christian—he preferred to commune with the pantheon of ancient Roman gods instead.)

 

On our first day at Cinecittà, Diane Pernet and I were taken by curator Clara Tosi Pamphili to Makinarium, the award-winning special visual effects studio, founded in 2014, that produces lifelike creations for TV and film, as well as those famous baby dragons and severed heads for Gucci’s Fall 2018 runway show.

 

During my first evening at Cinecittà Studios for this edition of AltaRoma, we were invited to the premiere of La Moda Proibita, a documentary about couturier Roberto Capucci, at Sala Fellini. During the cocktail I was thrilled to meet costume designer Milena Canonero, resplendent in stylish knots of ethereal white.

Canonero was born in Turin (where I'll be visiting this February) and grew up in Genoa, and designed the costumes for three of my favorite Stanley Kubrick films: Clockwork Orange, The Shining and Barry Lyndon (clip below for the scene that was naturally lit only with candles). She won an Academy Award for her work on Barry Lyndon and also picked up Oscars for Chariots of Fire, Marie Antoinette and The Grand Budapest Hotel. When my friend Susan Sabet (above left) from Pashion, a magazine based in Cairo, said to the designer, “I want to interview you for my magazine,” Canonero replied, “No, no…I want to interview YOU!”

 

Lebanese trans woman couture designer Robert Abi Nader showed ghostly glamour at the 17th-century Biblioteca Casanatense.

 

Lupo Lanzara, Deputy Chairman of the Accademia Costume e Moda, Diane, Paulo Mariotti of Brazilian Vogue, Rebecca Voight and Alessio de Navasques during a tour of the Accademia.

 

As humiliated Italian World Cup fans gathered in piazzas before wide-screen TVs, my friend Consuelo Aranyi and I enjoyed marinated zucchini, raw artichoke salad and rosé from Israel in the Jewish Ghetto.

 

My pal Rinaldo Rocco—the actor and screenwriter who was just back from walking the red carpet at the Shanghai International Film Festival—invited me to his rooftop terrace where we caught up on a full year’s worth of global anecdotes over a delicious dinner of figs, octopus and tomatoes the color of rubies.

 

On my last night in Rome, Nicholas made me a heroic martini at the Locarno, my favorite hotel in Italy where I always stay.

 

"Travel is important for your mind." —Elsa Peretti

 

Gold rush: It's always a thrill to return to Vienna where I'm invited to cover MQ Vienna Fashion Week for A Shaded View on Fashion every September.

 

The opening night extravaganza was a best-of Austrian designers.

 

The Queen of the Catwalks: MQVFW co-curator and my friend Zigi Mueller-Matyas!

 

A delightful lunch at the home and atelier of Vienna-based Swiss artist Nives Widauer: Moi avec Champagne, Nives, my publicist pal Elisabeth Muth, New York’s one-and-only Chip Duckett of Spin Cycle and Werner Greigertisch of Kracher Weinlaubenhof wines.

 

Nives' Syrian chef friend prepared a delightful vegetarian lunch for us, with wonderful Austrian breads.

 

Just about every day in Vienna, I had lunch at Glacis Beisl. Favored by locals, this garden patio restaurant is hiding in plain sight, tucked away in a corner of the Museumsquartier. On this day, I had an appetizer of Styrian pumpkin mousse, with squash salad, all dressed with Kürbiskernöl. I always eat meat here and my favorite dishes are beef goulash, blood sausage, wiener schnitzel and their famous dumplings stuffed with pork cracklings.

 

I was again blessed with a suite at my favorite hotel in Vienna, Le Méridien, where the illuminated headboard had me galloping off to dreamland.

 

No, it wasn't the legend of Robin Hood that drew me to Nottingham, England (even though Errol Flynn's tights loom large in my imagination): my 1993 video Glennda and Camille Do Downtown, co-starring feminist pugilist Camille Paglia, is featured in a major exhibition of women and queer artists—Still I Rise: Feminisms, Gender, Resistance—at Nottingham Contemporary, and I flew in to attend the opening.

 

Journalists view my video during the exhibition's press preview.

 

The wall text I wrote for my piece.

 

Moi on opening night sporting my very limited-edition Rick Owens x Vaginal Davis shirt, a gift from Lia Gangitano of Participant Gallery.

 

Yes, folks, that is the one-and-only Mark Simpson, author of Saint Morrissey, Anti-Gay, Male Impersonators et al, who drove down from northern England to attend the press preview and opening night party with me. We also did some sightseeing around Nottingham, including an amusing tour of 18th-century prison cells and gallows at the Justice Museum, and lots of pub visits (because the weather turned cold, rainy and miserable—in England, whaat?!—the day after the opening).

I hadn’t seen Mark since my 37th birthday dinner at Antica Pesa in Rome, in January 2016—an evening that shall live in economic infamy!

 

It was a delight meeting Matt Carter, who works for my London video distributor LUX, and curator Cédric Fauq at the opening night party!

 

The entrance to one of Nottingham’s most famous buildings, an Art Nouveau masterpiece from the early 1900s. (The ground floor houses a Zara—groan!—and I’m afraid that this magnificent building is now officially known as The Zara Building. The architect was Albert Nelson Bromley.)

 

"Travel is useful, it exercises the imagination." —Louis-Ferdinand Cèline

 

The Castle Rock

 

No visit to Nottingham is complete without a pint at Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, a pub—which purports to be England’s oldest —that’s carved into medieval caves. (Mark referred to it disparagingly as "The Medieval Times Restaurant.")

 

An outstanding venison pie, with bacon, red wine and shallots mixed in with the luscious chunks of deer meat, served with mash, mushy pies and gravy, at Pieminister.

 

Wollaton Hall: Grand on the outside, tatty on the inside (it houses a rather shop-worn natural history museum).

Thank you for taking this trip with me. See you somewhere, in some time zone, for cocktails and effervescent gossip in 2019, dolls.

Love,

Glenn Belverio

 

 

 

Club 57 Exhibition Opening Bash at MoMA. Photos by Glenn Belverio

A year ago, Ann Magnuson performed at MoMA with a show that combined live music (Bongwater, Bowie and songs from her latest album Dream Girl) with her films and videos —including a montage of dream sequences from some of her favorite films—oh, and she sang "The Porpoise Song" from The Monkees film Head!

She also announced that in just a little over a year—on Halloween, in fact—MoMA would open an exhibition dedicated to Club 57 (where she was a manager, party host, DJ and performer), and I was over the moon....but it seemed like such a looooooong time away! After much anticipation, the night finally, FINALLY arrived—and what a night it was!

Truth be told, I was too young to have attended Club 57, which ran from 1978–1983, but I was a regular at many clubs that were influenced by 57, from 1985 onward: The Pyramid Club, King Tut's Wah-Wah Hut, Danceteria, The World, Siberia, Palladium, Boy Bar, Tunnel, Mars and Jackie 60.

The exhibition catalogue for Club 57: Film, Performance and Art in the East Village, 1978–1983 describes the scene thusly: 'New York’s East Village was alive with artistic activity in the 1970s and ’80s, fueled by low rents, resistance to the Reagan presidency, and the desire to experiment with new modes of art, performance, fashion, music, and exhibition. Club 57, located in the basement of a Polish church at 57 St. Marks Place, began as a no-budget venue for music and film exhibitions and quickly became a center of the neighborhood’s constellation of countercultural venues, with artists such as Keith Haring, Ann Magnuson, Klaus Nomi, Tseng Kwong Chi, John Sex, Fab 5 Freddy, John “Lypsinka” Eppperson, and Lisa Baumgardner.'

 

Club 57 ringleader, the amazing Ann Magnuson and Animal X with Klaus Nomi stage costume by Natasha.

 John Waters

 Theodora Richards, daughter of Keith Richards and Patty Hansen

 Johnny Dynell

 Joey Arias

 John Kelly

 Club 57 founder Stanley Zbigniew Strychacki (center)

 John "Lypsinka" Epperson and friend. John is a guest curator of the exhibition's terrific film series Your Are Now One of Us: Film at Club 57 (organized by Ron Magliozzi, Curator, and Sophie Cavoulacos, Assistant Curator, Department of Film). John introduced the first night of the series when Beyond the Valley of the Dolls was screened. It was a hoot seeing one of my favorite films of all time on a big screen again and such a gas to hear how the audience responded to certain moments that I've watched hundreds of times—they laughed at things that I've always regarded with earnest seriousness!

Video featuring Joey Arias

Painting by Kenny Scharf

Peter Zaremba of The Fleshtones

Kenny Scharf's Cosmic Closet

Kenny Scharf

Video featuring Joey Arias

Detail of “Klaus Nomi” by Stefano Castronovo 1983, unfinished at the time of Nomi’s death.

Kenny Scharf

Kenny Scharf

Ana Roth, Alan Rosenberg and Robert Hawkins

John Waters and former Mudd Club owner Steve Mass

 David Ilku and Johnny Dynell

Jef Bretschneider's Shifting Borders, 1978 (Christmas lights, chicken wire, plaster gauze, drywall, gesso) "hung over the bar at Club 57 in the fall of 1980 and was created as commentary on the national debate over the dangers of nuclear power. With Ronald Reagan's election to the presidency that year, the work took on new meaning, serving as a reflection of the country's increasingly divided electorate."

 

Frank Holliday's The Lingerie Family, 1983 features a creepy, watchful moving video eye!

 

Always missing John Sex. I saw him perform at Wigstock and the Pyramid Club a few times before he passed away from AIDS in 1990.
 

 Kenny Scharf

 Self portrait by Stephen Tashjian aka TABBOO!

 Keith Haring

 I saw the Alien Comic perform many times at Dixon Place and PS122.

Club 57: Film, Performance and Art in the East Village, 1978–1983 is on view at MoMA through April 1, 2018.

 

Later,
Glenn Belverio

 

 

2015: My year in jet-setting photos. By Glenn Belverio

Dear frequent-flier free spirits,

When I wasn't chained to a desk in an office, I managed to have a fascinating year of flitting from Bermuda to Palm Springs, Rome to Palermo. Here is my year in pictures.

 New Year's Day in Bermuda: a harbinger of hope near Horseshoe Bay. I flew down to the pristine British Overseas Territory to visit my cousin Kathy and her family.

Ivory tower view: Kathy's husband, David, took this photo of me atop Bermuda's famed Gibbs Hill Lighthouse.

A spelunking we will go: deep down in Crystal Cave.

 As Hyacinth Bucket might say, yelling to everyone within earshot of her white slimline telephone: "It's my cousin Kathy, the one with a swimming pool, sauna and room for a pony!"

Kathy has a lovely house with lovely hospitality in Hamilton, located conveniently near the Pink Princess Fairmont Hotel, home of the formidable hand-shaken bartender piña colada. It packs a wallop!

 At the end of January, I escaped the wet gloom of NYC and took a jaunt to the divine desert community of Palm Springs. I never got used to the 3-hour time change and fell asleep early every night (the bed at the Alcazar Hotel was like sleeping on a cloud)—so, I might have missed out on a few swinging nights at the Purple Room (next time) but I awoke every day at 5am and walked down to the corner of North Palm Canyon Drive and Alejo Road and watched the sun rise. The dawn's early light kissing the sky and the mountains is one of the greatest shows on earth!

The main reason I went to Palm Springs was to visit Patrick McDonald, North America's most important dandy institution. Patrick relocated to Palm Springs from NYC, transmogrified into the Desert Dandy and helped run the charming shop No. 6 Palm Springs with his twin brother Michael. Now Patrick is back in NYC because he missed the limelight—and the soup at Veselka!

 During my stay I took a tour with Palm Springs Modern and visited some of the most fantastic examples of mid-century modern architecture in the world! The clean lines of modernism are the perfect complement to the zen minimalism of the desert landscapes. My idea of heaven.

 The Edris House by E. Stewart Williams, 1953

 Side view of the iconic and meticulously restored Kaufmann house (yes, the one that appears in the famous "Poolside Gossip" photo). Designed by Richard Neutra, it is widely considered to be one of the finest works of residential architecture in North America (along with Frank Lloyd Wright's "Falling Water," which was commissioned by the same family.)

 Another view of the Kaufmann house designed by Richard Neutra.

A very rare Studebaker Avanti, manufactured in Palm Springs in 1963.

 I had a lovely outdoor brunch with Michael McDonald and Carlos King at the Escena Lounge & Grill where we had a visitor: a very chic roadrunner!

 My close pal, the Hollywood-based lesbian rock star Carole Pope, took a private stage coach down to the Springs to join me for some desert sun and tiki drinks at Bootlegger Tiki.

Bootlegger Tiki is located on the site of Don the Beachcomber's PS outpost, which opened in 1953. Don the Beachcomber arguably invented tiki pop in the U.S. in the '30s and here he served his trademark Zombies and Cantonese food dressed up as exotic Polynesian cuisine (just add pineapples!). Now, only a small area of the space is dedicated to the old tiki mecca, and Bootlegger Tiki has updated the aesthetic by serving more refined versions of tiki cocktail classics.

  Here I am in what quickly became my daily cocktail-hour booth enjoying what I think is the most delicious cocktail on the menu: the Pod Thai. It's made with Selvarey rum, house-made cardamom lemongrass syrup, coconut cream, lime juice and Thai basil. I need more of this in my life!

 Carole and I stayed at the idyllic Alcazar Palm Springs, located in the chilled-out Uptown Design District. The Alcazar, opened in 2011, is a classic Spanish Colonial building transformed into a modern boutique hotel that oozes charm and relaxation. In the 1930s, the property was a secret hideaway for celebrities who went there to dry out (which was the last thing I was there for!) and in 1950 it opened as a hotel called the Pepper Tree Inn.

 In July, Diane Pernet and I were invited to my favorite city, Rome, to cover the bi-annual fashion event Alta Roma for A Shaded View on Fashion.

 The Inn Crowd: me, Ari Seth Cohen of Advanced Style and fashion writer Rebecca Voight at the Rome Times Hotel before the Azzedine Alaïa cocktail at the Galleria Borghese.

 Skin is always in: python halter top by Azzedine Alaïa.

 The man of the hour: Azzedine Alaïa during the morning press preview at the Galleria Borghese.

 Designer Alessandra Carta, moi and Pashion magazine editor Susan Sabat at the Alaïa cocktail. (No, that is not Vaseline on the lens—it's what happens when you hand a real camera to someone who is used to taking photos only with an iPhone. Oh, the times we live in....what a world, what a world...)

 Trigger warning, dolls! The Galleria's most famous sculpture: The Rape of Proserpina.

 The Galleria's gorgeous ceiling.

 A diaphanous delight at the Rani Zakehm show at Alta Roma.

 Enrico Palazzo, Diane Pernet and I arriving for the Zoolander 2 wrap party at the Villa Brasini.

 Diane, who has a cameo in Zoolander 2, took a moment to chat with the film's star Ben Stiller.

 Susan Sabet during the open house at the Accademia di Costume e di Moda.

 It was boiling hot this past July in Rome, so Diane and I sought air-conditioned refuge in a cash machine.

 During my leisure time in Rome after Alta Roma, I visited the show of Uruguayan sculptor Pablo Atchugarry at the Mercati di Traiano.

Say it loud and wear it proud: I love-a the spaghetti! From the "Tales About Fashion & Food" exhibit at the Mercati di Traiano.

Hangin' and a' jiving—good times! Me and Moz at the Rome Times Hotel.
 

Tiki madness in the Hotel Locarno garden with designers Alessandra Carta and Paola Balzano.

 The Holy Trinity: Alta Roma's Conseulo Aranyi, luscious Italian olives and the Locarno's Earl Drunk.

In September, I was back in Italy—Palermo, Sicily to be precise—for my yearly end-of-the-summer holiday. I was over the moon for the Arab-Norman architecture.

 Just about every day I had an aracina, bigger than my head, for breakfast at Arancini Bomba. This one was filled with spinach and mozzarella but my favorite was the sausage ragú version. Divoonly delicious and gloriously greasy.

You see the most curious things wandering around the rambling back streets of Palermo. I loved this '70s-style spaghetti ad wheatpasted to a crumbling shack.

I met Sicily's most important art gallerist, Francesco Panteleone, and he took me on a tour of his family's mesmerizing, multi-level religious articles shop.

I paid homage to one of Italy's founding fathers, Giuseppe Garibaldi, in the Giardino Garibaldi, famous for its mammoth banyan tree and the arrow-motif fence.

 The so-called Fountain of Shame, named thusly by a group of frustrated nuns who had had to gaze at its nudity from their cloister window.

 I visited the fascinating Museo Internazionale delle Marionette (puppet museum) and wandered around alone in its spooky rooms, absorbing the history of Sicilian puppets that began sometime in the early 19th century.

This looks like a Christmas present from Krampus for hopelessly naughty adults.

 I took a day trip to the town of Monreale, which seems to have more consideration for the impossibly blue Mediterranean than Palermo does.

 The reason one goes to Monreale is to visit the jaw-dropping 12th-century cathedral, famous for its gilded mosaics that depict just about every story in the Bible.

 Meanwhile, back in Palermo...

 The famed Quattro Canti.

 The most transcendent dish I ate in Palermo was the bucatini con sarde at Casa del Brodo: a perfect composition of wild fennel, sardines, currants, pistachios, fennel seeds, pine nuts, pepper flakes, saffron and breadcrumbs. This is what life is all about.

 Palermo's massive cathedral.

 One of the games you play in this city is trying to locate all of the Genius of Palermo statues. This one was tucked away in a tiny garbage-piled alleyway. Pre-Roman in origin, this mysterious icon is the laic patron of Palermo. One interpretation is that, because Palermo has an ancient history of colonization and conquerors, the snake represents the foreign presence which eats from Palermo while imbuing it the knowledge and cultural contributions.

During one of my epic flânerie, I stumbled upon this Genius in the Piazza della Rivoluzione.

 I rented this splendid apartment in Butera28, which is run by Nicoletta Polo, the Duchess of Palma, in the Palazzo Lanza Tomasi (the last home of the author of The Leopard, Giuseppe di Lampedusa).

 View from the Duchess's garden.

Nicoletta Polo Lanza Tomasi, the Duchess of Palma, by the bay laurel tree in her garden at the start of "Cooking with the Duchess," a cooking class that I took.

Nicoletta took us to one of the city's oldest markets, Il Capo, to buy ingredients for the lunch we prepared. Here's where we got the swordfish for our involtini.

 At Capo Market.

 Me in the Duchess's kitchen zesting some lemon for the involtini (swordfish rolls) stuffing.

The table is set for lunch in the grand dining room.

 The white gloves were out for the silver-service lunch. We started with the ruvidelli con pesto alla Trapanese.

After lunch, we adjourned to the ballroom where Nicoletta recounted the compelling history of the palazzo, Palermo during WWII and The Leopard.

Later that evening, the Duchess and I attended an opening at Francesco Panteleone's gallery in the Quattro Canti. Here she is with Francesco exchanging stories about their lives and businesses in increasingly popular Palermo. (The New York Times did a story about the city shortly after my piece appeared on A Shaded View on Fashion.)

 

 During the opening, I met Stefania Galegati Shines, who is wearing a clever Clash-goes-classical t-shirt designed by Palermo Studios. Stefania gifted me this fab t-shirt along with an "Out in Palermo" version. Among the city's top movers and shakers, Stefania and her husband Darrell recently opened the club Caffè Internazionale.

 Palermo is famous for its street eats and this grilled pork and peppers sandwich, consumed with a Negroni outside my favorite dive bar in Vucciria, was the food of the gods.

 Dinner at Bisso with Nicole and Rafaella.

In November I was back in Bermuda to spend Thanksgiving with my cousin Kathy and her family.

Chic Vespa, check. Chic Burberry trench, check. An incredible bargain on luxury fashion, check. A helmet for protection on the battlefields of Longchamp and Chanel? Priceless. Kathy returns from Black Friday shopping in downtown Hamilton.

 Move over palm trees, the Christmas tree has arrived in Bermuda!

Kathy and I went out for industrial-strength piña coladas at the Fairmont Hotel. We checked out this creepy-cute bunny by Tom Sachs.

 Dinah Shore, eat your heart out. A relaxing game of luxe miniature golf on the sea was a perfect way for me to unwind after a hectic year in aggressive New York.

Thank you for taking this trip with me.

Love,

Glenn Belverio

 

Opening party for "Secrets of the Great Pyramid: The Pyramid Cocktail Lounge as Cultural Laboratory" curated by Brian Butterick. Text & photos by Glenn Belverio

Dear nightclub spelunkers,

It was Old Home Week on October 17 in the East Village with "Secrets of the Great Pyramid: The Pyramid Cocktail Lounge as Cultural Laboratory", an art show curated by Brian Butterick aka Hattie Hathaway. Even though I was nothing more than a wee wisp of a lad (carding at the door was unheard of in those days), I frequented the Pyramid Club often, from the mid-'80s to the mid-'90s. On my first visit, circa 1985, I felt that I had entered a secret society. There were sinister, mohawked mannequins propped up in the corners. Punky, decidedly unglamorous drag queens danced and stalked on top of the bar (if you weren't careful while reaching for your screwdriver—everyone drank screwdrivers in those days—you ended up with a spiked-heel-inflicted stigmata on your hand.)

The tiny dance floor was usually jammed with gays, punks, junkies, artists, Eurotrash, stockbrokers and professional lushes, grooving to everything from punk to disco to acid house to the requisite Madonna hit, way before we all became embarrassed of her. The shows in the backroom (where the walls were festooned with TABBOO!'s quirky, curly-q artwork) were gloriously messy, irreverent, unrehearsed spectacles of ratty wigs, metallic polyester schmattas, and sharp-tongued satires of contemporary culture, including mainstream gay culture. At once bawdily silly and seriously subversive, the Dadaists would've been pea-green with envy.

By 1989, Sunday was the night to be there, when Hattie Hathaway and Hapi Phace hosted the gay night Whispers. In between hilarious performances by local drag stars (including, sometimes, pre-fame RuPaul), Hattie and Hapi would tell aggressively bad, un-PC jokes ("I'm from Queens." "Really? I'm from normal parents.") And then, like clockwork, we would once again endure Hapi's dance of the 7 veils, submitting to the sight of "her" Venus of Willendorf naked magnificence and malevolence. Afterwards, with a dozen screwdrivers under our belts, we would throw ourselves at each other on the dance floor to "Like a Prayer."

This exhibition, which runs until November 7, is "more than a reunion, a retrospective, or a forced march through niche history. Secrets Of the Great Pyramid shows how a simple cultural laboratory continues to resonate in Post-Millennial America. Featured in the three-week exhibition will be a recreation of the legendary Pyramid bar; artwork and visuals from deceased trailblazers and working artists embraced by the Pyramid; ephemera and ancient artifacts; and a veritable three-ring circus of performances and other events that spotlight the enduring spirit of the club.

On December 10, 1981, Ronald Reagan had been president for less than a year when a group of New York art-school flunk-outs threw a party at a small Polish/Ukrainian dive bar on Avenue A in New York’s East Village. Ed Koch was mayor, the East Village was in flames, the street drug trade was rampant, and rents were cheap. First Avenue was viewed as the farthest east any sane person would dare to tread. The bar was called the Pyramid Cocktail Lounge; the party, On the Range. Within a few weeks, a simple excuse to frolic had transformed into a seven-nights-a-week venue—an epicenter of art, music, performance, and social change." —Brian Butterick

The late, great, beautiful John Sex. I remember when they used to play his music video "Hustle with My Muscle" on cable TV and his shows at Wigstock in Tompkins Square Park were a highlight of the event. He died too young, at age 34 from AIDS, in 1990. I adored his partner, Wendy Wild, who was also a regular performer at the Pyramid and King Tut's Wah Wah Hut across the street. She often worked the coat check on Sunday nights and I would arrive early so I could hang out and chat with her before the show began. She appeared on my cable show Glennda and Friends at Wigstock in 1995, held at the piers, and left this world in 1996.

 Transgendered supernova International Chrysis, another angel now in heaven. I wrote about seeing her perform at The World in the introduction of my book, Confessions From the Velvet Ropes.

 The man of the hour, Brian Butterick, with work by Connie Fleming aka Connie Girl.

 Early issues of Linda Simpson's drag 'zine My Comrade/Sister...TABBOO! as Patty Hearst!

 Scot Wright and his doggie pose beside Scot's piece for the show. Scot is a legendary NYC doorman...I remember him from the Pyramid in the late '80s, and then Barracuda in Chelsea and now I think he still works the door at Eastern Bloc in the East Village. I rarely go to gay bars these days, but when I do go, I go there. Of course, I'm sooooo old ("How old are you?") that not only do I remember when that space was the Wonder Bar, I remember when it was a quirky pansexual performance space and rock 'n' roll bar called Chameleon.

 Pyramid Club ad by TABBOO! aka Stephen Tashjian. That's an illustration of the great Dean Johnson on the right, also gone from this world now, of Rock 'N' Roll Fag Bar at the World fame.

Kembra Pfahler of the Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black. Back in the '90s, my drag queen alter ego, Glennda Orgasm use to have a cameo in Karen Black shows: my job was to break paint-filled eggs on Kembra's vulva as she stood on her head.

 More work from Stephen Tashjian.

Marjan Moghaddam Screen Cap Dress from her video about the Pyramid Club, "Drag Queens, Skinheads, and Some Girls."

 When they were young: RuPaul, Hattie Hathaway (in animal print), Larry Tee and Hapi Phace.

 Bugs Kwaloff

 Work by Chris Tanner.

 Stephen Tashjian with his Halloween spider brooch.

 Belly up to the bar! We can't get enough of Hapi Phace.

 Bob Dylan painting by Samoa Moriki.

 Samoa Moriki and writer Nancy Stout.

 A jockstrap festooned with sunflowers by Peter Cramer.

Meet the living legends: Hapi Phace and filmmaker Jack Waters.

Thanks for reading.

Love,

Glenn Belverio

"Goddess of Love Incarnate" Lili St. Cyr book party at the home of Susan and David Rockefeller, Jr. in New York City

Above: David Rockefeller Jr, Susan Rockefeller, author Leslie Zemeckis and director Robert Zemeckis

Dear striptease enthusiasts,

A few nights ago, Kelly Cutrone of People's Revolution invited me to an intimate soirée at the Upper East Side home of Susan and David Rockefeller, Jr. Guests, including Amy Fine Collins, Tony Bennett, Cameron Silver, Jason Binn and Joe Coleman, were there to celebrate the publication of Goddess of Love Incarnate: The Life of Stripteuse Lili St. Cyr by Leslie Zemeckis.

"God bless Lili St. Cyr!" as Susan Sarandon famously sang in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, the 470-page tome chronicles the life of, as Mike Wallace put it, the "highest paid stripteaser in America." St. Cyr was the first stripper to work in the swanky nightclubs on Sunset Boulevard. The first stripper in Las Vegas! She was on top of her game for over 30 years. Award-winning documentary filmmaker and writer Leslie Zemeckis spent years researching this book, restoring Lili to her rightful place in American history.

We toasted the spirit of St. Cyr during a party that was a giddy swirl of burlesque anecdotes from Leslie and guests (there was a woman present who had seen Lili perform decades ago in New Orleans), film industry chatter, Chinese lawyer intrigue, global mummy gossip (between Joe Coleman and I), and a dizzying array of toothsome hors d'oeuvres and fine wines.

We all received copies of the book at the party. I can't wait to dive in and it'll be the perfect poolside read at my cousin's house in Bermuda next month. Stripping is something that was a big part of my life back in the '90s. I had a lot of girlfriends, many of whom performed at the legendary club Jackie 60, who danced at Billy's Topless over in Chelsea, where I often hung out with Bruce LaBruce and various dyke friends.

"Don't act like fags or the bouncer will make you kiss the sidewalk!" LaBruce and I were chided by a certain stripper friend of ours. It didn't stop us from cruising the horny guys in the restroom. Warm, fuzzy, g-string memories. Dolls hopped up on dolls and amusingly themed routines, inspired by everything from punk to Peggy Lee. And then, of course, there were all those nights that Michael Schmidt dragged me off to The Gaiety in Times Square for full-frontal male nudity, avec hardons in the second act. The audience was full of raincoat-wearing perverts. (Mine was by Helmut Lang.)

It just isn't a party until Tony shows up. Mr. Bennett strikes a pose with Leslie and Robert Zemeckis.

Lady-in-red alert! Moi and the gorgeous Shruti Ganguly. No, your eyes are not deceiving you, dolls—that IS a Picasso behind us.

Baby faces all around: Leslie, Kelly Cutrone and the toddler who crashed the party.

Whitney Ward, Joe and Leslie.

Jungle red nails and storied jewels: Leslie was wearing a ring that once belonged to Mae West. Legendary Hollywood!

I always keep my friend Camille Paglia abreast of my party hopping via email and she had this to say when I sent her this shot of the Picasso hanging over the fireplace:

"The Rockefellers were of course in the forefront of the American acceptance of modernist art--it started with Abby Rockefeller, and her son Nelson (governor when I was in college) was a big advocate of abstract art also.  I've often remarked how impossible it would be today to imagine a Republican collector of avant-garde art!!"

During the party, Leslie shared some stories about Lili's life that appear in her book. St. Cyr often did stage shows which were delightful voyeuristic experiences for the male audiences. Vignettes would include her getting undressed and dressed in her "apartment" or "dressing room," acting as if no one was watching.

Thank you for reading.

Love,

Glenn Belverio

Rome & AltaRoma, January 2014

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:

1. A Shaded View on Fashion Film premiere at Hadrian's Temple

2. Ludovica Amati's fashion show in the ancient ruins beneath the Piazza Navona

3. Pope Francis' address in St. Peter's Square

4. My stay at the Marriott Grand Hotel Flora & Room Service fashion presentation

5. My stay at the splendid Hotel Locarno, an Art-Nouveau gem with fascinating bohemian history

6. Opening cocktail for the Hans Feurer photo exhibit at a show-stopping 17th-century palace

7. Sarli Couture and Arthur Arbesser catwalk shows at Santo Spirito

8. The Rome Academy of Costume & Fashion show

9. A rare visit to Sartoria Farani to see the costumes from the films of Fellini, Pasolini and much more

10. Quattromani catwalk at Santo Spirito

11. Comeforbreakfast catwalk at Santo Spirito

12. An adrenaline-fueled live swing session at Gregory's Jazz Club

 

Diane Pernet & I in Piazza Navona.

Anita Kravos, star of the Oscar-winning The Great Beauty in Trastevere.

 

Baci,

Glenn Belverio

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Dear Pan Am Pamelas & around-the-world Wandas,

 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.

 

Thanks for taking this trip with me.

Love,

Glenn Belverio

 

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Interview with the designers of Sabry Marouf, the Neo-Pharaonic Cairo-based jewelry brand, & the launch of their A/W 2013 "Ultima" collection. By Glenn Belverio

My day in Fatimid Cairo. By Glenn Belverio

My visit to the Great Pyramids & Sphinx of Giza and Saqqara in Egypt. Photos by Glenn Belverio (except for the ones of me on the camel)

My stay at the Sofitel El Gezirah Cairo Hotel and dinner at Cairo Kitchen with Ahmed & Daki of Sabry Marouf. By Glenn Belverio

My trip to the Citadel of Saladin & the twin mosques in Cairo. Photos by Glenn Belverio

My stay at the Four Seasons at the First Residence Giza, Cairo. By Glenn Belverio

Some scenes from the streets of Cairo. Photos by Glenn Belverio

Street art in Cairo. Glenn Belverio reports from the Egyptian capital.