I’m writing from the Museum of Modern Art on a Sunday morning, where I discovered that ChatGPT is blocked on their Wi-Fi—which makes me giggle. MoMA has been lauding Refik Anadol’s “Unsupervised” in the lobby for the last three years. It is a multi-media piece that takes the MoMA’s collection and distorts the works of art into some nebulous digital throw up for the masses. And yet, ChatGPT is not allowed in the space to “protect” the collection. This “protection” seems like an anti-modern, ironic, and fear-based decision.
Reflecting on the past year, I’m still struck by my own privilege of being able to walk to one of the world’s greatest collections of modern art. I sure fought for it this year. Today, I stopped by an exhibit dedicated to Miss Lillie P. Bliss, one of MoMA’s founders, and her leadership and vision in the 1930s made the museum we enjoy today. I stood in front of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, which Miss Bliss was instrumental in acquiring for the museum, and found my favorite color seafoam painted like a river across the sky. I have never been able to get close enough to see the true colors. Sometimes we are too anxious, too tired, or too stressed, we forget to look at the details.
This year, I found myself hustling to stay afloat financially while challenged with the next steps in my career—all set against the relentless ambition of New York City. There were moments when I felt I had bitten off more of the apple than I could chew. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to make it, and yet the path is still full of ambiguity. The past 365 days were full of unexpected challenges and unplanned pivots, all shifting my perspective. It isn’t just embracing ambiguity, but living with it, that taught me more this year than any single art event.
Despite financial instability and personal struggles, I often found myself returning desperately to art. Even when I found myself up against the wall, beauty found a way in—whether through a painting, a piece of music, or the rhythm of the city street itself. I experienced more art than I thought possible through the generosity of others, getting more strategic around Rush and Lottery tickets, and optimizing my museum memberships. All in all I averaged 1.09 artistic outings per week which included 22 Broadway or Off-Broadway productions, 7 Operas, 3 live comedy specials, 3 musical acts, and 22 visits to some form of art exhibit.
Though the highlight of my year was not art-related. It was completing the 211-mile John Muir Trail in August with my boyfriend, Nicolas. While not a traditional work of art, the trail deepened my understanding of California’s landscape and brought to mind great photographers—Ansel Adams, Imogen Cunningham, Judy Dater, and Edward Weston—whose work so vividly captures the landscapes of a state I thought I knew. I was wrong. I have never been so cold, so hungry, and so proud of an achievement of walking in my life. It was a year of surprises, of tastes challenged and perspectives shifted. And how I see the horizon line has shifted walking through the mountain passes, climbing, step by step, losing my breath to the elevation changes. There were times I wanted to quit, to stop caring or yield to my own ambition. The two weeks on the trail gave me time and space to take inventory of my life up until this point. What a gift the trail was and at the perfect time.
I also stopped writing regularly for a while (as I am sure you might have noticed), trying my best, instead, to rest. Well, there was really no space to rest that much. I climbed Mount Whitney, the tallest peak in the lower 48 states and it taught me that even at my lowest, I can achieve something extraordinary. I will never count myself out again. Art, in all its forms, has been a lifeline for me. It heals, restores, and challenges. I found out that I not only need art more than ever before, but I need to share it with the people I love.
That is where you all come in. I miss hearing from you. I miss the weekly emails. And I miss sharing what I am seeing and how I am feeling about it all. What follows is a short collection of my favorite and most surprising experiences from 2024—a year of growth, resilience, and new north stars.
Best Overall Art Exhibit
Egon Schiele: Living Landscapes
Wow. I’ve loved Egon Schiele’s work ever since I first encountered it at MoMA in 2019—a striking piece of a naked man curling his fingers in a way I never imagined humans could until I tried to replicate it myself. His work has always made me reconsider my own queer body and its abilities. This exhibit, which focused on his paintings of the natural world and his approach to what we label as “landscape.”
Much like his treatment of the human form, Schiele approached landscapes as living, breathing bodies—vulnerable, raw, and overwhelming. These paintings felt alive, as if his lines leapt off the canvas, and they brought me immense joy. The emotional intensity and specificity of his work made this exhibit unforgettable. Schiele’s distinctive line, so vibrant and charged, stands out as unparalleled among artists across time. I often ask myself, “Where can I find the artist line?” to help me get to know an artist that much more. And with Schiele, there is no question, no confusion where he was headed, he leads you with his line with confidence and clarity like few modern artists do.
Runner Up Art Exhibit
Siena: The Rise of Painting, 1300 -1350
All I can say is that this exhibit profoundly deepened my understanding of perspective. As the photographer Walker Evans once said, “Educate your eye.” This exhibit certainly did that for me, and I feel like the way I see art has changed for good.
Best Unexpected Painting in an Exhibit
Harmony and Dissonance: Orphism in Paris, 1910-1930 at the Guggenheim
I was surprised to find two of my favorite American painters featured in this stunning exhibition, which primarily focused on French artists, particularly Robert and Sonia Delaunay. The "Americans in Paris" moment came in the form of works by Marsden Hartley and Thomas Hart Benton. While not necessarily the finest examples of their work, their inclusion was a subtle nod to the growing artistic dialogue between New York and Paris during that time period.
Favorite Exhibit out of New York
Scott Burton at the Pulitzer Arts Foundation in St. Louis, MO
The Pulitzer Arts Foundation, designed by Tadao Ando, is my favorite building in Saint Louis and often hosts some of my favorite exhibits, shining a spotlight on overlooked artists. The recent exhibit on Scott Burton was no exception. I had never heard of his queer, subversive “lunchtime” art in public spaces before. Since seeing the exhibit in St Louis, I’ve encountered three of his installations near my apartment in Midtown Manhattan.
Burton, who was among the many gay men who died too soon of AIDS, left behind a quiet legacy. His work in granite, marble, and other materials transformed public furniture into masterful, stylish creations, with most people not knowing who created the spaces. These pieces provide hard-working individuals with moments of respite during their day—functional art that endures in the built environment.
Favorite Surprise of the Year
The Lightning Field by Walter de Maria
There’s truly nothing quite like this experience in northwest New Mexico. Learning I had made it off the competitive waitlist just three weeks before the visit made it all the more special. Sharing this second visit with one of my best friends, Beth, has seared this remarkable piece of land art permanently into my consciousness. I cannot unsee it—and I wouldn’t want to.
Best of Broadway
Teeth at New World Stages
An off-broadway musical made the top this year of all the Broadway productions I was able to see this year. The first off-Broadway production was in the Spring of 2024 and Producers decided to re-invest in a more electric version for New Horizons and I think it was a great decision. Some productions should stay small (I think this should have been the case for “Oh Mary”) The allure of a Broadway house can’t help some Producers. But, for this production, it was the right call. I was at the mercy of Rush and Lottery tickets most of the year (a smarter strategy in the long run for my pocket book). I ended up going to see this by luck. And all I can say is go see Teeth you can - you will laugh, you will be uncomfortable, and you will wonder to yourself why Gregory recommended it. I will happily have this conversation with you. I like to keep some mystique around this recommendation. You might not like it, but I think it will be good for you anyway.
Best Public Art
Iván Argote’s Dinosaur on the High Line
The often-maligned pigeon finally gets its moment in New York City. Frequently dismissed as “flying rats,” pigeons aren’t exactly most people’s favorite bird—if they even like birds at all. As a self-proclaimed birder, I must admit I once shared in the disdain for pigeons, often judging those who fed them more harshly than the birds themselves.
Yet, Iván Argote’s larger-than-life sculpture, now towering over 10th Avenue on The High Line, has brought me unexpected joy. From a distance, it’s delightful; up close, it’s a masterwork of paint and shading on scale. It’s rare to see such a large canvas realized in this way, and it evokes the playful spirit of Claes Oldenburg—an artist whose experiments with size I’ve always loved. Who doesn’t love the large shuttlecocks of Kansas City - iconic!
This piece has made me laugh and smile every time I pass it on my way to the barber. And isn’t that exactly what we need right now? Art that simply makes us smile. I think so, and I’m thrilled to have Dinosaur towering over us for the next few months.
Best Unexpected Experience
Semi-staged performance of Turandot at The Met Opera
On March 20th of this year, my friend Meg and I experienced something extraordinary at The Met. Earlier that day, the massive stage elevator malfunctioned, stalling the scene change from the matinee performance of a different opera. Despite hours of effort, the issue couldn’t be resolved. In true Broadway spirit, the Executive Director Peter Gelb said the show must go on, with the opera performed entirely against the backdrop of a single Act II scene. That night, my favorite tenor, SeokJong Baek, delivered an unforgettable performance, singing the iconic aria Nessun Dorma—famously popularized by Pavarotti—not once, but twice.
Honorable Mention
Salon de Fleurus, a Special Project in Archiving since 2011. Currently the installation is in Lone Pine (California).
On Friday, August 23, at around 1:30 PM PT, Nicolas and I summited Mount Whitney at 14,505 feet. We then hiked down over 9,000 feet in a single day, passing through Whitney Portal, hitchhiking to an RV park, and setting up camp in a warm and gusty wind just six miles outside of Lone Pine, CA.
The next morning, we hitched another ride—this time with scientists from NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab—and enjoyed a fantastic meal of omelets at the Alabama Hills Cafe & Bakery. Wandering down Lone Pine’s main street afterward, we felt completely carefree. Nicolas stopped to eat a slice of blueberry pie outside a biker bar, while I found myself drawn to a live radio show performing The Wizard of Oz.
A tall, striking woman with wavy hair named Audrey approached me and asked if I wanted to step inside. Still carrying my hiking backpack, freshly fed, and savoring my first cup of coffee in 17 days, I said yes. Audrey smiled and cryptically told me, “This does not exist.” Perplexed, I entered—and found myself in a re-creation of Gertrude Stein’s Parisian apartment.
It felt like stepping through a portal. As their website describes, “Few versions of this work exist in the world. Metabolic Studio holds one version currently in Lone Pine (California) at 123 Main Street.” Simply magic.
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Did you have an unexpected moment of creativity or art this year? I would love to know what brought you joy or a smile this year amid all the uncertainty. Please share in the comments below.
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