The Armory (Art) Show

(Is it just me, or does the head of that…thing wearing the million button coat remind you of the snake in Beetlejuice?) Armory Art Show, Manhattan

Who doesn’t love a good art fair on a  sunny Saturday afternoon? (All our posts in good humor)

This weekend was the annual Armory Art show at the west side piers in Manhattan. Of course, being the creative type, I paid a visit. Here are a few observations that I feel inclined to point out, and, needless to say, I’ve felt that every art show is a copy/paste.

The same kitschy, repetitive subjects. You know, Mickey Mouse, Campbell Soup cans, popular icons du jour. I do adore Marilyn, but if I see one more pixelated image of her sultry face, I’m going to get more then a seven-year itch. Aren’t there other buxom beauties that you can immortalize using discarded eyeglasses and kids sippie cups? 

The least expensive art is also the most buyable. You snoozed your way through modern contemporary, but now that you’re in the venue that actually lists the price next to the art, you wonder if someone got the lists mixed up, as you actually might buy the bronze poop emoji sculpture, unlike that bare taupe square. You know, something tasteful, trendy….

A million selfies with sculptures. Sure, no worries that the giant blue (Blue? Is it rotten? Do I want to know) strawberry is listed at a price more then your years rent, and it would take longer for you to repay the damage then your student loans? Let’s all form a ring around it like we’re strawberry shortcake. Say selfie!

You want to quit your dayjob. If that guy spends his times to make machines that light up like a plastic garbage bag jellyfish, well, I want some of that. Everyone sat around mesmerized like they got the kool-aid, and I’ve always wanted to inspire beyond my jokes at the bottom of the purchase orders I do.

You’ll be tempted by the chocolate babkha. I thought this was about the art ? Not my growling stomach- or more like it, making my stomach growl, as that falafel lunch I scarfed down earlier is still making me look three months along.

Busiest places are ones with free alcohol. You nodded politely at your date’s analysis of WHY he’d buy the “gray sweatpants/ aquarium on a fur rug” piece, but now that you reached the alcohol sponsored venue, you’ve dropped all patience and elbow your way for a free Bombay Sapphire and champagne (gin and champagne? Sure why not). You’re gonna need it.

People are there to be seen, what art? It’s a fabulous place to people watch- where else would you see people who look like they should be installations of art themselves? Not to mention the obligatory hot/not hot couples making the most of his bonus from Morgan Stanley.

The people you are with look at their phones, not the art. “Sorry, I need to get this girl I met the other night at the Gilded Lily in, I told her about my VIP card you know?” “look at this photo my friend posted of her here yesterday” “Martina said she was coming, god that girl is such a bore. Can we go meet her at the entrance?” While you try to point out that we already passed these pieces.

Imagine where you are putting this things in your apartment. I swear, the people who buy this things must live in some sprawling South Dakotan mansion, because where would I fit some sculpture of a dead cowboy with balloons tied to him in my third floor walkup? Meh, maybe I’ll nix the bed. Why sleep when I can enjoy such wonderful art?

The pieces you love are beyond price upon request. Figures that the antique Persian rug with the mushrooms sprouting from it would garner you a smirk and a raised eyebrow when you inquired (damn, maybe my Hello Kitty tee shirt was a bad idea after all).

Quantity, even of quality, can dull even the most brilliant work.. Yes, the ornate frame with the ditsy floral pattern and man riding bareback is amazing, but after you’ve seen 398420 different works, it barely generates a flicker of your eyes. 

There is some lovely, thought provoking pieces amidst it all. Really, after fighting your way through the crowds, you actually can discover why you came here in the first place. Stand, search, sigh, and remember why you love art and buying things in the first place. Visit Japonicanyc.com to purchase vintage tableware and other atsy items!

 

Top 10 Ways You Know You’re Obsessed With Your Stuff

(There’s nothing wrong with carrying an antique mouse- look, she fits right in !) Berlin

You’ve been this way since you were two (home videos to prove it). Written with more then a touch of humor-Happy Friday!

1. Your cats knock over your snow globe from Austria and you scream so loud your downstairs neighbor phones in a distress call and the cops show up only to find you covered in fake snow and sobbing while your cat’s green eyes peep out from the cage where you have banished them (possibly for good).
2. When doing an airport transfer, you happen to book the flight out of Vienna instead of a direct flight, just so you can replace the said broken snow globe (authenticity is important! And that 8-hour glue repair job leaked the water, making a ring on your antique table, thus causing another catastrophe).
3. You purposefully step AROUND your antique Persian rug to avoid wearing it out- you want to be able to hang on to it for another 400 years, and just because the museums hang up the holy ones, doesn’t mean YOU like that raggedy look!
4. When traveling, you opt to stay in the room one night because the new guy who moved into the bunk below you kept eyeballing your newly purchased lederhosen, and there’s no way you’re going to let that creep run off with them (after you just spent 45 minutes haggling with a man who kept drenching you with a shower of spit.)
5. You buy a backup of each memorial shot glass so that in case the one you have on display breaks, you will have another one to remember the occasion by. Hey, when you say you have a shot glass from every state, you mean every state. Just because Hawaii was the last state to join doesn’t mean it’s going to be the first to leave!
6. When you have guests over (twice a year), you immediately have to give them a tour of al of the new items you’ve picked up, like you are a guide at the Met or something. It only gets worse, after you’ve consumed half a bottle of wine and then proceed to show them your family photographs from 1880, fawning over relatives you never met.
7. You don’t let your best friend Magdalena from high school ever stay with you, even though she now lives 5296 miles away, because you remember her “sticky fingers” and know she’d love to set them onto your Barbie-esque pump collection. So, you pretend that you’ve now become a recluse, and can’t have guests, even though you live alone and have two guest bedrooms.
8. You have a concise list and strategy prepared for the next family heirloom meeting (whoever said blood is thicker then water clearly hasn’t seen godmother Ingrid’s Ming vase collection).
9. You let your battery powered toothbrush accidentally fall into your heater and in the mad rush in the morning, forgot to retrieve it, and then on the subway (do not) resist the urge to go home. Who cares if you’ll be 50 minutes late to work, the thought of your antique postcard collection from Las Vegas going up in flames after you outbid some old man by $300 is just too much to bear. Oh, and your cats? Yeah.
10. Whenever someone mentions that you have too much stuff, you sigh, start combing the room, looking for things you “haven’t used in the past 10 months (years)” and such, move it all into a “going away” pile, only to stare pitifully, remembering how that was your first tube of Chanel lipgloss you bought back in the sixth grade…..

…and the items gravitate back to their spots, the spots that were all clean and shiny, from lack of dust. Boy, did your room just look, for a fraction of a second, so shiny. Wowwww!

So, you “forget” to give them away. Shop for vintage porcelain and other items  www.etsy.com/shops/japonicanyc

Pickin’ My Brain About American Pickers

(Now, if Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz found something like this, I’d totally go for it…) Hamptons Art Fair, Bridgehampton, New York

Why do we pick to watch what we watch? (All in good humor)

As we all know, when you turn on a TV, practically every channel boasts some reality TV. It’s not just MTV and the Real World, with college kids chugging beers (I don’t know actually, never watched it).  Now, there is a show for everyone- Real Deal for the Wall Street wonders, Iron Chef for those of us who don’t actually set the kitchen on fire, Catfish for those of us who can emote with relatable online dating horror stories, and American Pickers for those who like old stuff. Two friends who travel far and wide, taking that old bowl you were using as an ashtray and declaring it belonged to Napoleon (you know, Bonaparte). The show gets quite the views, but why? Why do we set out (with our ultra American array of snacks) to watch two dudes sift through old tires and trash? Hey, didn’t I just do that the other day at my grandmas? People get paid to do this- and we watch? Here’s why.

It Appeal to our American Columbus-like motives of exploring,but from the comfort of your LaZ-Boy. Go on any dating site, and everyone says “they love to travel/ want to travel/live in a suitcase” etc. The reality is, most people don’t travel further then the McDonalds 15 minutes away (which, in suburbia, is supposedly a bit far to travel for one?) Like (some) of our ancestors, who may have braved the scary dark bowls of a boat across the Atlantic to settle in unknown wilderness, the show appeals to the inner explorer in all of us. Discovering new things, setting out into the unknown…it’s like being a kid with a treasure map.

Speaking of being a kid with a treasure map, it’s not just the act of exploration and setting off on an adventure, but about finding something magnificent. Like Indiana Jones, the idea of pulling some ancient rare artifact from the fiery pit of doom definitely appeals to the greed in us. Even if you aren’t a fan of antiques and old stuff, there is a thrill of finding some beautiful (and expensive) item amidst all of that garbage. And Mike and Fritz are childhood friends, adding to the sweet little scenario of you and your best friend/ next door neighbor digging for gold in his mother’s prize winning petunias until she screamed like Carmela Soprano.

Sense of nostalgia. There are many explanations why we enjoy seeing them unearth tin cafeteria trays that look like our old high schools, even if those trays carried the most questionable lunch meat ever. We like to think of the “good ol’ days”, even if the good ol’ days involved having to run away from Buster Harrison every time you saw him in the hallway.  The American Pickers reality tv show provides 30 minutes of a visual trip down memory lane, just without the hours spent waiting by the phone (landline) and 24 hour Duane Reades.

Instant gratification, without having to do the work, just view it on a screen. Perhaps due to technology, (or where you are raised; I know for a fact that people from Michigan are a lot less impatient waiting those two long minutes for their bacon egg and cheese then I am) we have become increasingly impatient, wanting everything as fast as a Tinder swipe (left, duh). The American Pickers provide this.

The reality is, for every platinum ballerina they find, they find a million pieces of brass and spend days trekking across the country, living off gas station donuts and sifting through some practically blind woman’s claim that she had George Washington’s wig, whereas in reality it was just her husband’s toupee (he pulled it off pretty well, sorry for the pun). But we don’t have to witness that headache, just see them move a few items, and presto! Antique hairdryer.

We all love a bargain. For as much as we want to post “popping bottles” on Instagram, we cringe the next day when we wake up and log onto our bank accounts. As much as people like to pretend money is not option, the inner pushcart haggler in al of us love a good bargain. A penny saved is a penny served you know. So when we see the guys score a vintage scuba outfit for 5$, our inner mother in us (remember when she wouldn’t spend the extra $10 for the light up sneakers? We’re still mad) cheers.

So inspiring is the show, that we feel the urge to actually get up and go see if any old folk nearby need some help cleaning….oh wait, cleaning? Maybe….Shop www.etsy.com/shops/japonicanyc for porcelain tableware and trinkets just like the pickers might find!

10 Things To Distract You From Making A Purchase

 

(Go somewhere with absolutely no internet connection or stores. That island in the middle looks like a good bet, no?) Kotor, Montenegro

Do not watch American Pickers; it will only make things worse. Note: all our posts are in good humor, intended to brighten your day:)

• Play that Neko Atsume cat game. Completely effortless, but who knew collecting kitties and feeding them could make you forget larger responsibilities like feeding your own kitties and paying the rent, let alone buying that vintage Hawaiian cat-hula girl?
• Spend a day cleaning your parents house. By the time the day is over (read: 10 minutes) you’ll be so exhausted hearing “don’t break that” and “watch that, I got it from your great-great grandmother Edie, she drank from that Coke bottle on her first date with your uncle Benny” that you’ll vow you’ll never put your own kids through having to do this with your junk
• Look at your best friend’s photos of her recent sojourn to Europe. When was your last trip? That boozy resort in Jamaica that you never ventured off the property, and could have been in Florida for all you knew? Right. Get that jar out and put the money in it- the antique dog house can wait (you don’t even own a dog). Woof.
• Watch Hoarders. You’ll be so repulsed by the overflowing stacks of moldy newspapers that are breeding bugs you didn’t even know existed, that the thought of purchasing some old mans entire library will seem off-putting.
• Buy a bottle of rakija (for those who don’t know it, it’s a grape based drink of the Balkans that tastes like licorice.) You mix it with water and sip it slowly, consuming nuts or seeds on the side.  After a few, (consumed quickly), that collection of Steiff bears from 1912 that supposedly survived the Titanic will survive not having a voyage to your house.
• Go mountain climbing. No need to purchase those wannabe Spice Girl spangled platforms when you’re on crutches for four weeks (you knew flip flops do not constitute as hiking boots!)
• Browse through the junk mail. Find the charity invitations. Read the stories, and decide you have more noble places to spend your money (Giving is good!) These lovely causes actually deserve your money, not some dude selling handmade Jack Daniels wind chimes in Tennessee. He probably consumed them all himself.
• Hire a housecleaner, and eavesdrop. You’ll be so ashamed listening to their remarks on “does he have enough junk?” as she dusts your 80’s matchbox car collection that you’ll instantly want to live like a monk and eschew all physical property in life.
• Read a blog. One about travelers who bask on beautiful beaches, only owning a backpack, and become so immersed in the idea that you begin selling off your collections, forgetting all about buying you 299^th Iive.laugh.love plaque.
• Go on Etsy, just to browse, as your sister holds your credit card, realize that you can’t, absolutely can not resist that lamp that looks like the burlesque leg lamp in that funny cult movie “A Christmas story”, arm wrestle the card out of her (weak) grip…

….And realize that shopping for goodies is fun, and you can’t go without it! Shop for vintage porcelain and presents on http://www.etsy.com/shops/Japonicanyc

HoliDAZE (The Relay Race Of Gift Giving)

(No rushing the holidays in Czech Republic- this photo shows Christmas stands bustling with business a week after the big day) Prague, Czech Republic

 

(Am I getting the lineup of the holidays confused? Always with a touch of humor)

I’m cutting straight to the point. Mothers day blog posts. In February. February (in New York at least) is known for being the most miserable, darkest, coldest months of the year (usually). Blizzards that bring snow that doesn’t melt and sits in heaps taller then an NBA player. Wait, isn’t the next commercial holiday up Easter? I am so confused.

No where wading through this mess of snow, sappy V-Day cards and shoe-destroying salt am I thinking of warm weather, flowers (well, in my commuting fantasies, but not concrete) and …mother’s day. Worse, my heartbeat starts racing (and not from the two coffees I already consumed), but from the prices…are people really falling for it, and buying mom a $200 candle? That;s my health insurance for a month- and I don’t know if I want to tempt fate just so mom can smell gardenias for the 50 hour “burn time”.

Doesn’t mothers day fall somewhere (I just had to look this up, proving I’m a dreadful daughter) around May 8^th? Yes, May. You know the ditty “April showers bring May flowers”? I’m still bundled up in my long super warm shearling coat here. And I’m already fielding my way through posts about personalised gift bags and handmade cards made by nuns and other things about what to get the woman who always says she wants nothing, raises her voice like an opera singer the thought of having to give a gift?

The word holiday is used in Britain the same way we use the word vacation. A vacation implies(ha ha ha) a time of peace, relaxation, celebration, enjoyment, happiness. So why does the word holiday in America bring so much stress? Impatience.

As Americans, we are an impatient people. We get our coffee on the go, eat lunch standing in the pizza shop, buy have drive through weddings with an Elvis priest. Why does our impatience have to spill over to holidays?  Whatever happened to the E.B White quote “never hurry, never worry?” As soon as one holiday is over, stores rip down the displays as if some secret holiday police were going around handing out fines for keeping the marshmallow peeps out an extra day (I personally would eat them all year). As a child I used to get melancholy in mid January, begging one more week for our Tannenbaum to stay put (foot was put down on that dream, with the threat that my toys go up in flames, dry needles and all).

As soon as one is over, we have to be assaulted- visually (tacky bright displays) , aurally (Christmas songs by some horrible pop singer instead of Sinatra), even orally ( I can even taste the Halloween candy when I walk near it, the mass of sugary treats wafting through the plastic like some radioactive toxin). Can’t we have a few moments rest to see what we really need in Duane Reade like breath mints and Tide (who goes in there to buy heart chocolates and stuffed bears anyways?)?

We need to learn to relax. Life is too short for this constant rushing. Take each holiday as they come- maybe a month before the actual date. Search for a gift, but not with the rabid aggression of a childs maiden version to DisneyWorld. Buy what you can afford, not something you’ll spend three months paying off, for the friend you see only once a year (begrudgingly).  Enjoy what we are celebrating, as it comes, not raise our blood pressure levels fretting over the Frette bathrobe or the discount one at Bed Bath & Beyond months before it will be given.

Being in the marketing/selling world, I am not advocating to stop gift giving. I have a degree in merchandising; I hope I understand the monetary value that holidays bring. What I am advocating is, enjoy the day. Get mom that gift, but enjoy the day with her. Lavishing her with some “curated all natural local farm produced handpicked hand mashed gluten free face wash” bag is nice and all, but it doesn’t make up for being a terrible daughter who doesn’t see her 8 months out of the year and groans and at the thought of listening to her anecdotes about her dogs.

When the end of April rolls around, maybe I’ll take a journey out east and see my mom that weekend, IF the weather is warm and sunny. Or, I’l just send her flowers. Or buy her some porcelain at http://www.etsy.com/shops/japonicanyc.  Either way, at the end of the day, she knows I love her.