I was promised trees. I don't think that is going to happen.

See the strange progression of the "improvements" (improvements, ha!) made to this Garment District (once) Zen (-ish) Garden.

Peer through this great grate to find a hidden gem in Midtown...

A contemplative little "Zen alley"

I have told you before about my unlikely-but-pet meditation spot in the middle of the chaos of the Garment District. How was I to know that shortly after I wrote this post, my urban Zen garden would be ripped apart? The trees have been removed, the name, "Springs Building" has been removed from the concrete facade, and the great grate and little "Zen alley" as I like to call it (pictured above), likewise have been removed. What???

Well, last week I finally asked one of the workmen what was going on. It seems that they are creating four new raised planters from cement bricks and putting new trees in.

Well, at least there will be trees.

But so far, things do not look so aesthetically promising. More photos to follow, because now I am obsessed, which is not really good for trying to be all "be here now" about it.

Tee Haus by Tokyo-based Kengo Kuma & Associates, was created for a recent exhibition of applied art from Japan at the Museum of Applied Art Frankfurt. Kuma describes the inflatable 9-mat Japanese teahouse, made of a double-membrane material called Tenara, as "breathing architecture," a dynamic structure that "becomes small as it holds its breath, and at other times breathes in deeply to become grander." [from Architectural Record, June 2008]

Let's face it, New York can be overstimulating. After the exciting day I had today, I need to stare at a wall for awhile. Or contemplate my favorite urban Zen garden in the Garment District of all places. The funny part is, I don't really find it very Zen, nor serene. Just around the corner is the throng of Sixth Avenue and Bryant Park. But if I crop the picture just right, I can pretend for now. Ahhh.

Stefano Arienti, Library, 2007, 300 bushels of wheat and 99 altered books,
dimensions variable.

Currently on view at Lehmann Maupin's new location on the Lower East Side is a reinstallation of Stefano Arienti's 2007 commissioned piece, Library. The cautionary sign on the gallery's outer door regarding wheat allergies drew me right in. Once inside, I didn't know which to explore first: the new gallery space on two floors that was formerly a glass factory, or the quiet Zen meditative garden-like mound of wheat, with a sign to the left that reads, "You may enter and enjoy the library. Please remove shoes." Thinking it was a Zen koan of some sort, and not an actual invitation, I did not choose to explore the piece in that way. Instead I went upstairs and was pleased to understand Library from a new perspective, with the books in view.

Had I been more brave, I would have experienced walking in the wheat mound, no doubt becoming giddy with the idea of illicitly stepping on art (my museum manners prevent me from this), and would have discovered the books that have been "selectively traced, pierced, or illustrated by the artist." That settles it. I am going back to play in the wheat and participate in the art. Library is meant to evolve and shift as people explore the work. By all means, leave your preconceived notions at the door and dig in to this piece when you go.

Stefano Arienti
through Saturday, June 14, 2008
Lehmann Maupin
201 Chrystie Street
Lower East Side
New York
212.254.0054

The new Lehmann Maupin Gallery on the Lower East Side.

More exhibition space upstairs.


Arienti's Library, viewed from the second floor balcony.

I call it, Still life with Smoking Cell Phone Talker Somewhere in Midtown. This is as Zen as New York gets.

As I said the other day, I had to buy containers (what else?) at The Container Store (where else?) to store all of our pasta, grains and assorted other foodstuffs. As I was in a shopping mood, still triggered by our visit to Foster's homeware in Philly, I wandered over a few aisles and found this clear plastic pebble-like sink mat by InterDesign, a favorite houseware brand of mine. My first instincts were, "Yes, I do want to create that faux Zen feeling in my sink!" and "Yes I do deserve to look at something lovely while I do the dishes, to brighten up an otherwise mundane, seemingly never-ending task. Seemingly, ha. It is never-ending."

And then my second instincts said, as they can do in their doubting, practical, undermining any spontaneous pleasure sort of way, "But wait, is this sink mat just going to create extra work for myself? Will this mat be working for me, or will I be working for this mat, cleaning it in addition to the stack of dishes? Will I become obsessed with making the clear pebbles sparkle? That can happen you know."

Luckily my first instincts won out, and I plunked down the $9.99 at the register, and strolled down Lex on my merry way to the E train on 53rd, swinging my bag filled with joy, containers, and a brand new pebble sink mat to brighten up my mundane existence. Doesn't that just tug at your 'nesting' heartstrings? Well it should.

The InterDesign Pebble Sink Mat, in situ

[page print from zoozoom.com]

Published: Zoozoom.com, The Zoo Daily
Read it on Zoozoom: click here
Writing: Elaine Perlov
Photo: courtesy of Patrick Weder



If you have not already discovered the furniture design and sculptural objects of Patrick Weder, please peruse my article on Zoozoom at once. You will be pleased you did.



If you cannot view on Zoozoom: click on the image above
To read more of my articles for Zoozoom: click here

Take a moment for contemplation.

Let the sesame seeds fall where they may.


I like to eat at home, if only to contemplate the empty plate after I have completed a meal. It lets my brain know what I have just accomplished. I like that feeling of accomplishment, don't you?

I would like to offer a comment to certain restaurant New York waitstaff. Stop whisking away what you consider to be my empty plate before my fork is even cold. I might want to eat that sesame seed, after all. Or at least meditate on the empty plate for 2 seconds. Haven't you ever been to a Japanese tea ceremony, for heaven's sake? I mean really. Stop trying to minimize my maximalism. It's just not what I am about, you know?


Elaine Perlov is future author of the future best-seller, Stop Messing with My Enlightenment! The Urban-Dweller's Guide to Self-Reflection