Christopher de la Torre

“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant. If we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.” –Anne Bradstreet

I feel as if I am waking from a dream of flurries and short days, of depression and chatters and overrated dinners, of wet socks and long city blocks: this fickle winter. Spring seems like she needs a nudge as she makes her final gasp for the surface, but I can feel the onset of the sun and all of its pleasures.

Last week, author (and good friend) Perry Brass invited me to join a panel discussion on the future of publishing. The panel was planned as a public program for the first annual Rainbow Book Fair at the Center on 13th Street — an event he’d been working hard to bring to life for months. Despite a whirlwind week and a few lost hours of sleep, I finally agreed and took to the task of scribbling ideas regarding the future of publishing. The dialogue in my head (there’s often more than one voice competing there) led to the cooperative nature of Emergent Artificial Intelligence (whoa!) — a series of words that, while being most welcome to my thesis, might not be so readily digested in a room full of authors and (perhaps) bitterly floundering publishers (could that be why we were having this panel?). Still, I followed my insticts and brought the subject back to Urban Molecule — the collective mind that has yet to fully become my online publication. I shared the stage with historian and teacher Sandy Karp; poet, performer, writer and actress Pamela Sneed; associate editor of Gay City News Duncan Osborne; and of course Perry (below).

One word for the afternoon’s event: successful. I’m very happy for Perry that the Book Fair worked out well and eternally grateful to him for including me in what turned out to be a rich and rewarding conversation with an eclectic group of witty, inspiring creators.

Later, I passed by Three Lives (where I picked up Tim Wise’s Between Barack and a Hard Place: Racism and White Denial in the Age of Obama), before hopping East of 3rd Ave for Japanese, where he surprised a few friends. He says he doesn’t need to re-acclimate to New York (he just got back Thursday). But I think a few months in a place like Thailand might alienate a person from Manhattan’s wicked pace, even after the peace has been diluted a bit with a short stint in Melbourne. On Sunday, we attempted a return to Zen with a Thai meal at home.

A few highlights from last week, real-time:

Saturday, March 21. Chelsea. The art studio of Judi Harvest. Judi has amassed a striking honeybee-inspired collection, including a hanging, human-scale beehive installation, complete with buzzing sounds and the aroma of beeswax. A giant canvas covers one wall and many smaller sculptures line the studio: sentries protecting the larger piece as it floats free. Luis arrives shortly after me. We enjoy a spread of fruits, nuts, cheese, honey and wine. I throw in a Guwertztraminer from a Chilean region named after the beehives that once lined its vineyards. Good conversation; Judi’s a great host (below with Luis and I). Jeff and I chat about the floral notes, etc. He is under the impression that I know a lot about wine. He later invites me to a trade show. I accept enthusiastically. We joke a bit more. I leave content.

Sunday, March 22. Jazz for Peace: a benefit at the National Historical Museum in Manhattan. Alex and I arrive just in time for champagne brunch. I introduce her to painter and friend Jonathan Fritz, who generously invited me to the benefit a week earlier. Jonathan (below with Alex and I) created an amazing cover for Rick Della Ratta’s latest album. We stare, nibble and stare some more, before heading into the auditorium to hear a bit of jazz. Victor Jones is a magician on drums and when the concert is over, the gala host introduces an artist from the Netherlands who has painted an inspired piece while the musicians jammed on stage. Silent auction. Sitting next to me is Rolande R. Hodel, chemist and president of AIDSfreeAFRICA. Immediately inspired, I wonder how she might fit into the Urban Molecule ’09 re-launch. We shuffle out of the auditorium and take a few photos in the foyer with Jonathan and Victor Jones before hitting the outdoor flea market on 77. Back in Queens, Alex’s mom makes us a killer meal and we get a dose of Ru Paul’s Drag Race before calling it a night.

Thursday, March 26. After a day of work on Wall, I head north to the “Work To Do” SoHo show, hosted by The Combine. The show brings together the talents of Endless Love Crew and the Godfathers of Hip-Hop, Afrika BamBaataa and the Soul Sonic Force. Bobby Hill, a street artist and master illustrator I pulled into Urban Molecule in 2008, tells me he’s “just chillin’” amidst the centrifugal force of art and hip-hop enthusiasts. To my surprise, the art is affordable and for the most part the vibe is chill. It’s a light drizzle outside and I feel like a wet dog, weighed down by my bag and coat and umbrella. Despite the white amber oil on my neck, I feel as if I smell like a musty newspaper. But I manage to enjoy a few fleeting moments in the hipster soup, snap a shot with Bobby (below) and make my way around to take a look at the art. Later, out on the street, a tourist loses his footing where two slick cobblestones meet on the sidewalk and takes a dive. I curse the rain softly, put on my Yankees cap and head for the N train.

Friday, March 27. I hear the sobering news that author and friend Ihsan Bracy passed away. His diabetes just got too complicated. Fuck. I’m taken back, unprepared. I never thought he would actually call it quits. I leave work early and sit on a bench outside by the East River, contemplating my life and Ihsan’s. I wonder how his wife, daughter and sons are coping. The sun is shining but I don’t feel warm. A memorial is planned for next Saturday. I’m not very good with this sort of thing. Later across the river, I prepare for the panel discussion, trying not to dwell on what could have been. Instead, I think about Ihsan’s comforting embrace — his life’s work — and the fire he brought to every word, every passage of his acclaimed 2008 novel Paths of Sanctuary. On the second blank page of the copy he gave me, Ihsan wrote:

Christopher,

Thanks for visiting my Sanctuary and for being in my life.

Love Ihsan