I avoid the National Arts Club like the plague. Its dress code is stultifyingly dreary, and the median age of the patrons seems to be about 90. Not to mention that the Accompanied Library was evicted, a move that didn't endear me to the Club's time-worn alleged charms at all.
Last night I went to support one of my publicity clients, Ronna Wineberg, reading from her short story collection, Second Language, along with Responsible Men author Edward Schwarzschild, as part of an evening of "Literary Debuts" sponsored by the Club's literary committee.
Maybe it's because we were in the gallery and I could overlook the horrible art (with the exception that I snapped a close-up of) for the charcoal walls and the certainty that everything's better under a chandelier. Or perhaps it was the twittering birds at the top of the landing. Or that Ronna read the perfect excerpt of the perfect story. Or that the decorating scheme is that strenuously effortless balance of classical and outre that's so trendy now.
I'd never expect the evening to be replicated given my reservations stated above, but last night rather shimmered in a most unusual way...
I Ching say that when visting National Art Club, you should try to avoid the connotations of the clubby thing. L you're a jewel.
Posted by: Marco Romano, Delmar, NY | April 12, 2006 at 09:47 PM