Perfect Days

Wim Wenders Perfect Days— is the best movie I’ve seen in the last several years. I saw it on a Sunday. My favorite day of the week.

Maybe it’s the analogue-style life of the protagonist— 60ish looking Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho). Listening to Lou Reed, Van Morrison, The Kinks. Taking pictures throughout the movie. With the same old Olympus Stylus I’ve used occasionally since high school.

Throughout the movie, Hirayama takes pictures of what’s often overlooked. Wenders has at times been a photographer. I felt like he was referencing Lee Friedlander’s Cherry Blossom Time in Japan.

The movie made me think about the digital apps we all use to make life more convenient— but instead complicate things. Change how we behave. How we see and think about each other. There are less quiet moments. That’s what resonated with me in the movie. It’s slow paced. Visually and sonically it made me happy. I didn’t want it to end.

I thought about The Sopranos. I rewatched it recently. Funnier than I remembered. Carmela struggling to find her way around Paris with Ro. Using a paper map. Life before Google Maps.

It was tv that was existential and introspective. Unlike what I see today— surface level content with very little left to nuance.

I remembered this scene with Christopher after seeing Perfect Days.

Because Hirayama escaped into a mundane, structured, simple existence. Between the lines you’d read— something happened. And he bowed out.

I thought about this Gerhard Richter I saw at Gagosian on W24th. New to my eyes.

An early photo painting. 1966. Reminded me of a story my friend Erik told me about Tarkovsky. While on a scout for a movie, he tried to give a polaroid he took to an older man in Uzbekistan. The man handed it back. Said, “Why stop time? That story, the idea of photography as a thing to do, a moment, to try and freeze, remember, hold on to— made me think of Face in the Crowd

That someone existed outside of you knowing them the way you did.

All of the above and the song put me back at this Carl Phillips poem. The Greatest Colors for the Emptiest Parts of the World. This part of it sticks out to me.

I can see how easy it is to confuse estrangement with
what comes before that, what’s really just another
form of being lost, having meant to spell out—
wordlessly, handlessly—I’m falling, not Sir,
I fell. As for emptiness spilling where no one
ever wanted it to, and becoming compassion, as

for how that happens— What if all we do is all we
can do? what if longing, annihilation, regret are all this
life’s ever going to be, a little music thrown across and
under it, ghost song from a cricket box when the last
crickets have again gone silent, now, or be still forever,
as the gathering crowd, ungathering, slowly backs away?

.

New Tech & Google maps made me think about After Hours. 1985. Griffin Dunne gets stuck in Soho. Can’t find a cab late at night. No venmo, uber, ATMs, Apple Pay. Scorsese won best director at Cannes.

The airy scenes in Perfect Days and the Friedlander picture reminded me of this Expressionist Milton Avery painting, “Gaspe - Pink Sky”

Brought me back to a picture my friend Daniel Arnold took. Stuck with me for a year.

I xeroxed it. Scanned it. Cropped it into four. Then had each quadrant printed 36x54in. Making it 72x108in. It is available to buy. There are three left in the edition.

The tall grass looks like it’s swaying in the breeze. Reminded me of Wyeth’s Christina’s World.

Both made me think of one of my pictures that’s hanging in someone’s West Village apartment.

Hard Copy was up all of May— opened on the 3rd. To a couple thousand people. I wanted it to be an overstatement. Collage the gallery with pictures of other peoples work that I liked. Xeroxed and printed life sized.

It felt positive, inside the show. There was happiness on a stream of faces I saw blur past me. As I lapped the room.

Then the night was over. Attendees trickled out. I thought about an email the poet David Wagoner sent me. Ten years ago. Almost to the month. After I asked if he’d ever felt a post project come down.

“like mailing postcards over the side of a cliff.” I’ve reread that line to myself at least a few times over the years.

Which reminded me of something I wrote for Michelin Guide. But they didn’t publish. Kinda like mailing a postcard… you get it.

I was in Rome in July 2022. 102° in the shade. 96° when the sun went down.

On our last and third night we went to Le Jardin de Russie, in Hotel de Russie. We must have walked fifty thousand steps while in town.

The streets in Rome are mostly narrow. Lotta cobblestone. A heavy traffic of buzzing scooters, taxis, tourists. Time there felt hectic.

The hotel is right off the Piazza del Popolo. Cross through the lobby. Enter a canyon-like outdoor courtyard. It felt like I’d crossed over into a different city. My shoulders relaxed. 

Up a beautiful pinkish lime rock grand staircase. The restaurant exists like a garden on a plateau. Looking down on the sprawling mini piazza. Dotted by pale yellow umbrellas. Greenery. On the walls of the hotel. And at the back of the patio— a path leads into a hilly almost mountainous garden. Fountains and a stream. I even felt a breeze. 

I loved Le Jardin de Russie. And still think about it today. I’ve been to Rome a couple times. Once as a kid. And in 2018. I’ve done and seen all the things you have to. Eaten at great restaurants. But I would go back just to eat at Jardin de Russie. It was that special. 

I’m not into overly pretentious fancy meals. Which is why when it was first suggested to me, I resisted. I love going to dinner, especially when I’m traveling. But I also like being comfortable. It didn’t try too hard. Staff were friendly. Didn’t rush us out.

I was wide eyed at every dishes arrival. But it doesn’t matter what you order. Presentation, ingredients, atmosphere, service. It’s as good as it gets.

When I’m on vacation I tend to get a bit wrapped up in it. A bit of stress. Because I don’t want it to end. This was the first real trip I had taken in years. With someone I cared about. I wanted to squeeze every minute out of it. And get back to New York exhausted.

I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of lists online. Not to be missed must go to meals. There’s no shortage of great food in Rome. But I told a friend and his wife to go to Jardin de Russie. They were on their honeymoon. He texted me from the restaurant. 

“You made our trip— an incredible experience. Thank you”

If you know me, you know the level of happiness an appreciative text like that brings me. I want you to experience something I loved. And then we can talk about it together.

Certain establishments have an intangible thing. Which makes them, of course, hard to write about. 

There’s a feeling when you walk in. First thought— how lucky am I. One part calm. One part warmth. Second— I can’t wait to sit down. Third— sharp, hard working, good intentioned people created this for you to enjoy.

We wanted to linger. Ordered an after dinner after dessert drink. Extend the meal an extra 30 minutes. Sit in the quiet. Enjoy the last moments. Of the place that had become immediately special. Hear the staff quietly clear dishes. Reset place settings. I hope you read this. And go one day. Hopefully you’ll sit at a nice corner table. Facing out. With someone you love. Watching the rest of the room feel the same way you do.