Articles

And into New York’s underground

Yes, Chef. Hail Caesar. Eat me. Incubate me.

It’s August 1965; Eileen Gray is eighty-seven and blind in one eye, and she’s spending a week on the French Riviera to design an extension for a house she’d built decades ago.

The world is rapidly urbanizing, and the theater of battle is urbanizing with it.

Ersatz pastoralism at Freedom Plaza

Phillips’s musical sequel to his haggardly wrought early Scorsese pastiche more aptly encompasses the existential malaise of NYFF62 than the proudest members of its main slate.

Peristeronic ostranenie in New York’s art world

Power moves on; another cozy suite, a different letterhead.

The RealReal’s fakes were no match for Canal Street’s bustling sidewalks.

With such distancing, refuge—or so the curators believed.

Why can’t New York let go of The Power Broker?

The desire for spontaneity was overtly political, a reaction to the perceived authoritarianism of the planners, broadly defined.

A narrow trail through the lucrative past of a working man’s multi-millionaire

What exactly is the “paradise Bronx” about which Frazier waxes poetic?