West 24th Street. It’s not even a street, or at least it wasn’t till recently. Around 1970, it was an old alleyway, off 11th Avenue, left over from the better violence of 23rd or 14th street. Even 27th had more action, with at least a bar or two for the Irish toughs to bust each other’s heads. But on 24th, nothing. At best it was the place for a drag away crime. In other words the assault occurred on 23rd and the victim was dragged over to a building on 24th for the slow completion of man’s love against man.
Today, that is oh, so different. Now in gallery after gallery, 24th street can, in a proud moment, claim to be a center of the modern art world, such as it is in the depression of 2009. After a few – how many, too many – Martinis this afternoon, I decided that no, a nap was not appropriate, but a slip out the back door of my apartment to the street that girdles my block was better. Just one block, just one stretch, that even with the Gagosian closed for rehanging (of the fabulous, shamed that you missed it, Piero Manzoni, exhibit) still has more, and better, art than all the halls of the Whitney, shame on them. This was how I would spend my afternoon…
