Looking For Mr. Goodman
One matchmaker, not enough mensches, and all-too-much mishegoss on D.C.'s Jewish social circuit.
Cover Story
One matchmaker, not enough mensches, and all-too-much mishegoss on D.C.'s Jewish social circuit.
"Where's the lavender??!!"
Drips and drabs of black and white paint accented with splotches of metallic aluminum and salmon pink inhabit every square inch of Jackson Pollock's Number 1, 1950 (Lavender Mist). There's no trace of purple, violet, or even mauve. The conversation-starter murmured behind my back comes across as innocuous without being idiotic. Mildly pleasant and somewhat playful. Even ironically iconoclastic. And among the gang of self-identified art lovers prowling the lower level of the National Gallery of Art's East Wing this particular Sunday afternoon, this kind of observation has been internally vetted--at least twice, if not 10 times--before the larynx has even been primed for action.
As docent Michael Weyl ushers the group through Barnett Newman's 14 black-and-white Stations of the Cross, a late-30-something homely, dark-haired man wearing jeans and a blue sweater cozies up to a brunet 20-something woman and opts for a more prosaic approach: "So--you like this modern-art stuff?"
I see the cartoon bubble floating above her head: Oy vay iz mir! I know. I'm thinking the same thing.... Continued
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