A Trek to Wilmington for Lunch with an Old Friend

18 Monday Nov 2013

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Delaware, Food, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50, Travel, Wilmington

Downtown Wilmington, Delaware, 2013.

I do not know anyone who would describe Wilmington, Delaware as a knock-out city one should visit before one passes away. It is depressing and drab – albeit perhaps poised to be revived:

But once a year, I make a point of getting to Wilmington. It is halfway between New York City, where I live, and the environs of the District of Columbia, and therefore is the ideal place to meet for lunch with my friend, Liz, whom I met 31 years ago when we both lived in the District, and swam laps at the YMCA on 17th Street. We engaged in enough lightweight locker room chit-chat that when she ran into me around Dupont Circle one night, she spontaneously invited me to a party. She mentioned there would be a guy there I might like. The guy didn’t work out, but Liz and I struck up a conversation that hasn’t stopped. On Fridays we would meet for a glass of wine on the front stoop of my apartment on U Street; we had countless dinners at Lauriol Plaza, a favorite because it was sooo good and cheap; and made sure we had at least one weekend every summer in Chincoteaque at the Harbor Light Motel – long since demolished:

We took a three-week trip to Italy, where we hiked along the Cinque Terre, climbed the Tower of Pisa and took the night ferry to Sardinia. Wilmington is a perfect place to rehash and renew.

Usually we meet at Harry’s Seafood Grill. This year, to break up the routine, I did research and found Vinoteca 902 at 902 N. Market Street. The website menu appealed to both of us and we planned to meet there at 12:00. The game plan went awry at 11:42 when Liz called to tell me Vinoteca 902 was no more. Given that midday restaurant choices in Wilmington are limited, we ended up back at Harry’s, which was perfectly fine. At 12:15, we were seated in a booth, and started to talk. And then it was 3:30 and time to go. We’ll be back next year to pick up where we left off this year.

Same time, same place – next year.

The Stuff of Mike Kelley; The Fare at M. Wells Dinette

13 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by WS50 in Art, Food

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Art, Food, Julie Seyler, M. Wells Dinette, Mike Kelley, The Write Side of 50

Blackboard of wines.

BY JULIE SEYLER

I milked a lot of blog mileage out of 17 days in Indonesia, but it’s time to move on. A couple of Saturdays ago, I made plans with a friend to see the Mike Kelley exhibition at PS 1, the public school converted into an extension of the Museum of Modern Art located in Queens. I was familiar with his stuffed animal sculptures, and was interested in seeing the full spectrum of his work.

The subway ride out there is not fully subterranean:

Emerging from Hunts. Pt. Av. on 7 train.

There is art to be seen as you emerge from the nether-regions of the underground to the rooftops of Queens. If you appreciate the grit of urban beauty expressed in colorfully decorated graffitied buildings and boxy industrial complexes, it’s nice to take it all in.

While the purpose of the excursion was to see “art,” we also wanted a meal at M Wells Dinette. I had heard about this restaurant when it opened in Long Island City about three years ago, and received over-the-top reviews for its celebration of the fattiest, lardiest parts of the pig. Then it closed. When I read that it had reopened as the cafe at PS1, I really wanted to go there, and see if it was as intriguing as the reviews had indicated.

In keeping with the whole public school theme, the dinette is a classroom. The students, i.e. us eaters, are seated at long tables facing the kitchen. The menu is printed on a page from a lined composition book, and the wine list is written in chalk on the blackboard. The selection that day included cavatelli with goat meatballs, blood pudding, oysters and tete de cochon. We opted for the rabbit and foie gras terrine, and the tart with escargots and bone marrow: Paired with a glass of petit Chablis, the ensemble was the perfect meal to have in your stomach before wandering through a terrain of 40,000 square feet to view art. And great art at that:

The show was fabulous, albeit raw and sometimes too vulgar for my tastes, but absolutely honest. I stand in awe of someone whose width and depth of imagination, not to mention curiosity, led him to explore and master materials in every shape, size and texture to create sculptures, paintings, videos, performance, and installations that ranged from small to large. Each piece was infused with originality, intelligence and wit – wit that could be sardonic, sarcastic, skewering and tender. His work is both compassionate and enraged. There was a lot to take in, but the mad vividness and unique perception of the way this particular man expressed his ideas remains unforgettable.

From the Kandor Project.

There were stuffed animals, stuffed together and stuffing each other, and stuffed animals that gave the fleeting impression of being hung as disco balls, scatological posters and a classroom sized table top rendering of every school that Mike Kelley attended. There was a multi-room installation devoted to Superman’s hometown, Kandor, and this does not take in all the videos and paintings and and other pieces that filled the three floors of the museum.

Deodorized Central Mass with Satellites.” (1991-99).

Mike Kelley committed suicide in 2012. The only reference I read for an explanation was from The New York Times obituary, which indicated severe heartache. We will never know. He was only 57. He is immortal through his work.

Indonesia, The Finale: Ubud, Bali

11 Monday Nov 2013

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Indonesia, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50, Travel, Ubud

Welcome to my world. Goa Gajah.

BY JULIE SEYLER

I have no way of knowing whether this is a fact, but I think everybody who plans a trip to Bali lands in Ubud at some point. Not just to walk through the inside of the 9th century cave known as Goa Gajah, “the elephant cave,” or to get pounced on by a monkey in the Monkey Jungle,

but because it is a village that packs a wallop. Ubud has everything.

A foot massage after dinner on the street:

Daytime visits to museums and galleries that are set in lavish gardens, and festooned with welcoming marigolds where you can see a vast collection of paintings by artists, that I believe, are completely absent from the Met:

Museum Puri Lukisan.

“Punished Souls in Hell” (1932) by I Gusti Nyoman Lempad.

There was nightly, live, entertainment: dance performances under the stars, folk music in local cafes, and shadow puppet shows. We opted for two different danced versions of the tale of how Sita is abducted by Ravana from the Ramayana tale. The Legong, which is performed with the gamelan, was a bit more accessible than the Kecak, which has no music- only a group of men chanting, but the Kecak is more iconic and is performed with a fire on the stage:

There were restaurants galore, and thousands of shops. Shops that sold handcrafted soap and shops filled with Buddhas and shops devoted to paintings, sarongs, batiks, jewelry, and wind chimes:

It was glorious.

But we didn’t just shop. Steve would have blown his brains out. In fact, he almost did after one full afternoon of walking in and out of every single store on the Ubud Main Road. (And a few side roads.) But he was saved because Ubud is also a central location to take in Pura Goa Lawah aka the Bat Cave Temple because there really are thousands and thousands of bats living in the cave:

Neither the intense odiferousness of mounds of guano, nor flying, screeching bats deter the devoted from making offerings in this cave. In fact, it is a hugely important temple because it is situated close to the sea, and close to the mountains.

And we took a mighty fine, and easy, bike ride down around Mount Batur through the ever present verdant and plush rice fields:

We visited the temple at Tirta Empul, with its baths that have been devoted to purification since the year 962. Still today, Hindus from all over Bali come here to be cleansed and blessed with good health:

There was Pura Kehen, another temple dating from the 11th century, that may win the prize as the most ornate and delicately carved. Inside there were magnificent statues of Hindu gods and goddesses. It was mind-boggling just to take in the level of detailed design on every surface of the facade. Even the steps were incised with a motif of individually sculpted swirls:

And there was Yeh Pelu, a 75-foot frieze carved into the rock face of a cliff that tells, in life-size renderings, the story of a heroic hunter warrior. It is not known who did it, or why he did it, but the pundits believe it was done sometime between the 10th and 13th centuries, and the hero may be the Hindu god Krisna:

And when the day was done, and we were hot and caked with sweat, there was the en suite infinity pool:

There was so much more, and I have the 3,788 photos to prove it. I have shared a few, and have loved every minute of recounting some of the highlights of the trip. I guess it was made even sweeter because of the cancellation last year due to my hip. Thank goodness we canceled. I know now that I could never have done that trip with no cartilage. Anyway, this is the last official installment on Indonesia. No doubt I will periodically revisit, but in the meantime, I want to scream out loud THANK YOU to Diane Embree of Bali Barong Tours. She is the travel agent par excellent. She worked with us on every aspect of the itinerary, picked out all of the hotels, and was ALWAYS accesible. Anybody wanting to go to Indonesia, CALL HER. I did just last week, because I want to go back next year- Sulawesi, Sumba, Lombok and the Gili Islands beckon from across the sea! Not to mention more shopping in Ubud.

Time Flies Quickly (and Backwards) on the Internet

04 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by WS50 in Concepts

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confessional, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50

BY JULIE SEYLER

2013
2012
2011
2010
2009
2008
2007
2006
2005
2004
2003
2002
2001
2000
1999
1998
1997
1996
1995
1994
1993
1992
1991
1990
1989
1988
1987
1986
So I am filling out relevant personal data online to obtain the cheapest airline ticket possible, and my date of birth is required. I click “1” for the date and scroll down to October for the month. Then I must enter the year. Up pops 1988, and I start scrolling down and down, past
1985
1984
1983
1982
1981
1980
1979
1978
1977
1976
1975
1974
1973
1972
1971
1970
and I am still not there! I ealize that people born in 1973, the year I graduated high school, are so young. They are only 40. Even though it seems like yesterday, it really was a while ago. Anyway, I keep scrolling.
1969
1968
1967
1966
1965
1964
1963
1962
1961
1960
1959
1958
1957
1956
And bingo! I finally hit 1955.

Gosh. It is so far from the top, and with each passing year so much closer to the bottom. Today, online, the oldest year you can be born is 1893. In 47 more years it will be 1955. What a way to visualize time marching forward and backward.

Indonesia, Part 5: Pemuteran, Bali

28 Monday Oct 2013

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Bali, Indonesia, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50, Travel

Bali rice terraces.

BY JULIE SEYLER

The island of Bali is all that it is cracked up to be: rolling, verdant, rice terraces, tropical flowers in every hue, massages and facials galore, temples everywhere, and fabulous shopping. I have never read Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Eat Pray Love, so had no preconceptions of the island except an overall sense that it is supposed to epitomize beauty. It does. But the photos do not do it justice.

Birds of paradise.

The beauty comes from the entire vista; the panoramic scope of a landscape treated well by its inhabitants. There is still hands-on tending to the rice in much of Bali, although it is slowly being leeched dry by the tourist trade. (Mea culpa.)

Our first introduction to this island of lushness was on the drive from the airport in Denpasar to Northern Bali for a couple of days of snorkeling. We stopped along the way to buy fruit we had never eaten before, like mangosteens and jackfruit,

Jackfruit.

and to see a temple called Pura Ulun Danu Bratan. It is not so old (1926), but because it honors the goddess of lakes and rivers, who helps make the rice grow, it is very important.

It is built on an island in the lake, and is quite festive in spirit. The goddesses and gods, like Ganesha, the elephant god, were draped in various colored cloths, and protected from the sun by fringed parasols. There were priests dressed in white preparing for a ceremony and families out for an afternoon stroll and of course the group tourist trade in droves. The grounds were lush with orchids and trumpet flowers and hibiscus. As we wandered around we came upon a sort of private-mini avian zoo of various exotics, like giant bats and mega-toucans.

If you wanted to, you could have your picture taken with one of them. (I have a funny feeling this whole business might not be permitted under some law of the U.S., but cock-fighting, albeit illegal, is an open sport in Bali.) In any event, the collection was interesting, and the animals looked awfully well taken care of. Ultimately I could not resist having my picture taken with a wise old owl. (Forget the bat.)

So after indulging my need to play consummate, hokey tourist, we moved on to a waterfall hike, and about 4:30 arrived at our destination – Pemuteran, a small village on the cusp of a development boom. According to our guide, Pemuteran is what Kuta in south Bali was like 20 years ago. There was our hotel, and a few more dotted along the beach, but no shops and few restaurants. We had come to snorkel, and there really was nothing else for us to do but relax. What I did not know was that we were going to be doing nothing in a place with so many delectable options of where and how to relax. Therefore, I never really relaxed.

There was the private plunge pool to constantly dip into, especially at night once the stars emerged. Then there were the choices of where to sit or lie: the veranda located directly in front of the pool, which was furnished with inviting armchairs, perfect from which to sip a Bintang beer, or the double-wide chaise, with soft fluffy pillows perfect to take a nap on. But the piece de resistance was the upstairs sitting room, reached by an outdoor staircase, which hovered above the pool. It was equipped with chairs, a desk and a mosquito-netted daybed in case we wanted to sleep outside.

The whole place was a little slice of paradise. But before I could take a nap or read a book, I had to fit in a facial, a massage and a reflexology treatment (all at price points one-tenth of what one pays in New York City), plus the snorkeling excursions. And we only had two days. There was way too much to do, but we managed to do it all.

Indonesia, Part 4: Komodo Dragons

25 Friday Oct 2013

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Indonesia, Julie Seyler, Komodo Dragons, The Write Side of 50, Travel

Welcome to Komodo Land.

BY JULIE SEYLER

It takes four hours by boat from Labuan Bajo, on Flores Island, to see your first Komodo dragon:

Komodo on Rinca Island.

They are the largest lizards on earth. Mighty predators that will eat anything. We saw a few collector buffalo and deer skulls on our trek (the rangers’ sense of humor), but according to our guide, the last attack on a human was back in 1988, when a little boy died. All they need to do is give you a swipe with their bacteria-laden tongue and you’re a goner – slowly poisoned. Then they come around and lick you clean. But however deadly they may be, they are otherwise not particularly interesting creatures to observe. Basically, they lie there. Sometimes, they move an eyeball, or lumber an inch or two on their short stumpy legs:I guess they are hot, tired and lazy, which is better than them being active and feisty. I certainly don’t want to be nabbed by that: They live on Rinca and Komodo Islands, and the ride there and back includes snorkeling off a pink sand beach, sleeping on the boat under the stars, and eating some wonderful local food: fresh caught fish, the ubiquitous noodle dish, mee goreng, tons of bananas and the best watermelon ever. It does not involve running water or a toilet that flushes. But it is one beautiful boat ride: The sea shifts from turquoise to aquamarine to transparent cerulean. A sea that crystalline is a finite resource because we keep mucking it up. For now though, it is still pristine, broken up only by thousands of small brown islands dotted with sparse vegetation and, occasionally, a fishing village:

Can you see all the blues?

Then you arrive at Rinca Island, where you are given a choice of a short, medium or long walk to find Komodos. We chose the long haul (in 98 degree heat at 1:00 in the afternoon), and saw three dragons slurking around some holes a mama had dug to lay her eggs in, as well as indigenous megapode birds, and lots of water buffalo actually hanging around, and in, a watering hole:But no more dragons until we returned to the ranger station, where they seem to hover, thereby guaranteeing that a tourist who travels zillions of miles, will see a Komodo dragon:We reboarded the boat, and headed farther east as the sun sank, and docked near Komodo Island so we could start our second hike for the dragons at 7 the next morning. The trek was gorgeous,but we did not spy a dragon. Instead, we had our best best birdwatching session for non-birdwatchers: falcons, a golden oriole and a cockatoo: Back at the ranger station, there they were – perfect chameleons laying about, allowing us to take a photo or two: It was about 10:30, and time to start the return trip to Labuan Bajo, but there were a few more pit stops for snorkeling in that AMAZING body of water. And then it was over. We were back on dry land, missing the boat, but loving the shower. The next day we had an early morning excursion to a cave of dripping stalactites with such pointed spears you had to wear a helmet to protect yourself not just against the sharp edges, but also the fruit bats and spiders that inhabit the cave: A quick stop at the local market: And a mad dash shopping splurge for ikats at the airport,

Fabric shopping at Labuan Bajo Airport.

and we were on our flight to the island of Bali.

Indonesia, Part 3: Temples; Shopping

22 Tuesday Oct 2013

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Indonesia, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50, Travel

In the middle of a transaction to buy wooden puppets

Buying shadow puppets. All photos by Julie Seyler.

BY JULIE SEYLER

One thing you can count on when you travel are the touts that mass you as you emerge from the tourist sight-du-jour. Be it the Colosseum in Rome, the Pyramids in Egypt, or, as had recently happened to me, the temples in Central Java – the pitch and plea is identical. With near-perfect English, you are beseeched with, “How much you want to pay for that?” and “Here this is for you!” as something is shoved in your face.

I love the whole process! I am just the person these marketers of local wares are looking for, because I am a tchotchke collector. I can’t get enough of the wooden masks, puppets and other paraphanelia that are stockpiled in the outdoor stalls. I was thrilled when we made our way out of Candi, Mendut where Buddha sits with such serene majesty,

and were bombarded with offers to buy “stuff.” There was an explosion of possibilities: the wooden shadow puppets known as wayang klitik used in shadow puppet shows, the topeng masks, miniature bronze Buddhas and countless Batik sarongs. Had I not been with Lingga, our wonderful tour guide, and Steve, I could have spent hours going up and down the stalls looking at the minor variations of the exact same things, and never getting exasperated. But I was not alone. I had two pairs of eyes trained on me in utter disbelief that I could possibly derive such pleasure from paying too much for the Indonesian equivalent of a souvenir of the Statue of Liberty. In any case, “window” shopping was not an option. Prambanan, a whole other temple complex, beckoned:

Prambanan was built around the same time as Borobudur, but its structure is completely different. Instead of one large temple designed as a mandalic maze, there are separate temples, ranging as high as 157 feet, with interior chambers designed to house a statue of a Hindu god:

Durga, Shiva’s wife, in Shiva’s Temple.

The three largest temples are dedicated to the gods Shiva (“The Destroyer”), Vishnu (“The Preserver”), and Brahma (“The Creator”); the smaller temples to other deities. As in Borobudur, the stone blocks that comprise the temple are masterfully chiseled to tell a story, this time of Lord Rama, the hero of the great Indian epic The Ramayana and the natural world around him where monkeys may sit contemplatively under a tree:

We scaled and circumnavigated the six temples in Prambanan, following the protocol of walking from east to west, and even though we had begun the day at 4:30 a.m. with Borobudur, and had seen three other temples before even arriving at Prambanan, there were more to visit. I could see that Steve, who for some crazy reason does not share my passion for shopping and temples, was becoming glassy-eyed. Visions of the hotel pool and a cold beer danced in his head:

I could not be that easily dissuaded. I mean, here we were in Indonesia. When was the next time we would get to see the ruins of Sewu and Candi Kalasan? We reached a compromise and chose one: Kalasan, the oldest on the Prambanan plain:It cannot be entered, but the facade is peopled with what seemed like dozens of ornately carved Kala heads. These bug-eyed creatures are found on all of the temples, but the ones gracing the porticos here were especially exquisite: Then it really was time to end temple viewing.

The next day started with the hotel staff in Yogyakarta singing Happy Birthday because I was now 58. It ended with Beef Rendang and a Bintang beer in Denpasar, Bali:

Check out the chocolate double layer cake with the candle.

Check out the double layer cake with chocolate icing and a candle.

In between there was a rickshaw ride to visit the Sultan’s Palace,

Balustrade of outdoor pavilion of the Sultan’s Palace.

a live musical performance of the traditional Indonsian orchestra known as the gamelan, where the instruments may look familiar like xylophones, or unfamiliar, like hanging frying pans and covered cooking pots:

And an excursion to the market with a final stop at a shop that makes gamelan instruments by hand:

The next day we took off for Flores Island. It was time to begin the journey to see the Komodo dragons.

Indonesia, Part 2: Borobudur

17 Thursday Oct 2013

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Borobudur, Indonesia, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50, Travel

BY JULIE SEYLER

I am a temple fiend. I was converted in 1999, when I arrived in Khajuraho, India, and laid eyes on the 100-meter-tall monuments dedicated to the belief that Tantric worship leads to a higher power. The passion was solidified when I climbed up the steps of Angkor Wat in Cambodia in 2003. I was determined that one day I would visit Borobudur, the largest Buddhist temple in the world. It is located on the Indonesian island of Java, and was built between the 8th and 11th centuries AD, thereby falling on the same timeline as Angkor and Khanjuharo. And like those two sites, Borobudur is designated a World Heritage Sight.

Corner view of Borobudur looking east.

On Monday September 30, 2013 I was there in time to catch the sunrise, except that, that morning clouds dominated. It did not matter. The pure majesty of this testament to nirvana exerts its power regardless of weather. I mean, check this guy out:
The temple consists of a network of over two million stones fitted together to tell stories and teach morals. It spans 15,000 square feet, and towers up to the sky on nine different platforms, each of which gets slightly smaller as you ascend. As you walk east to west, the panels may reveal the biography of Prince Siddhartha from his mother’s dream of how he was conceived to how he learned the lessons that became the tenets of Buddhism:

From the story of Buddha, Level 3.

Under the Bodhi tree.

Or there may be a series of pictorial depictions of “modern” life in 900 AD in central Java:

Horse and carriage.

There are various theories as to who built Borobudur, and why it was built. But from the minimal knowledge I gleaned, the inherent raison d’etre for its existence sprung from an inherent spirituality. Borobudur is a three dimensional representation of the path we must follow to reach nirvana. An architectural roadmap to Buddhism.

The first level contains friezes of what happens when one is dissolute and selfish vs. honorable and charitable:

See how sad and pinched they are?

Another lower level contains scenes of desire:

There are more sinuous curves at this lower level than higher above.

But by the time you have entered Level 3, you are ready to be introduced to the prophecy of the man who was born as Prince Siddhartha and died as the Buddha:

This level, as well as Levels 2, 4, 5, and 6, are built in a square formation. Each platform contains rows of cross-legged, seated Buddhas in near identical poses. Four hundred and thirty two Buddhas decorate the four facades of these six lower levels, and depending if you are facing north, south, east, or west, the Buddha’s right hand changes position in accordance with a spiritual teaching. In the east, the right hand clasps the knee. In the south, Buddha’s palm is turned up to the sky. In the west, the Buddhas are meditating. And in the north, the palm is extended out. (Even though our guide Lingga was wonderfully informative, I had to buy the book to find out more.):

East-facing Buddhas.

South-facing Buddha.

North-facing Buddha.

West-facing Buddhas.

Then the whole layout changes. Instead of corners, the path turns circular. There are no sharp edges as one moves closer and closer to nirvana in Levels 7, 8 and 9:

Pictorial depiction of Borobudur showing 5 square levels and 3 circular.

Pictorial depiction of Borobudur showing 6 square levels and 3 circular.

In these three levels, the Buddhas are no longer exposed – they are enclosed in 72 separate lattice belled stupas:

Stupas.

So we walked round and round, and I tried to absorb as much as I could, but it would take many many visits to fully comprehend all that is Borobudur.

And then it was time to say goodbye, and eat breakfast, and move on to more temples:

Indonesia, Part 1: Kalimantan

15 Tuesday Oct 2013

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Julie Seyler, Kalimantan, The Write Side of 50, Travel

The Sekonyer River. Kalimantan. All photos by Julie Seyler.

BY JULIE SEYLER

To get to Indonesia from New York City takes about 24 hours door to door. It is a small sacrifice because this country, which is composed of over 17,000 islands, delivers everything from Komodo dragons to golf courses; fine art museums to volcano treks; the cleanest of seas; the nicest of people. In a little over two weeks, Steve and I managed to cram in five different destinations on four islands.

The first destination was Kalimantan in Indonesian Borneo, and a boat ride up the Sekonyer River through Tanjung Puting National Park to Camp Leakey to see the orangutans:Camp Leakey was established by Birute Galdikas in 1971 to protect and rehabilitate orangutans that were being poached and killed for a profit. Today they thrive!

The viewing conditions are somewhat staged by the preset 10:00 and 2:00 feeding times, when bunches of bananas are dropped on 12-foot high viewing platforms. Slowly, on cue, the orangutans emerge from their hidden haunts, and the performance of their dining process commences:

Feeding platform for the orangutans.

But, the predictability does not in any manner diminish the fascination of watching these grand primates, and their endlessly expressive faces, change from anger to docility as they play with their buddies, entertain themselves, and protect their young ones:

They are the great ape most like us, and to the extent we are a culture that loves selfies, the orangutans present different, but familiar images of who we are at our core: moody, playful, hungry and protective:

: Playing.

: Eating.

: Protecting.

And of course, the excursion into the rainforest was not just about the orangutans. There were so many other things to take in: luscious vegetation in every shape, variety and texture that hugged the meandering curves in the river, plants shaped as pitchers, and trees so dependent on each other they grew into each other:

Pitcher plants. Tanjung Puting National Park. Kalimantan.

Tree on tree.

There were long-tailed macaques, and probocis monkeys with Cyrano de Bererac noses, huddled in groups in the tree tops, swinging from limb to limb, solitary gibbons and wild boar:

Check out the nose.

A long tail.

A gibbon watching us watching him.

A wild boar crosses the road.

But this vista, and these animals, which have been part of the earth for millions of years, are at risk for demolition and destruction. It should not be surprising that the battle for preserving the world’s natural heritage is not confined to the debate over the Keystone Pipeline. In Borneo, the ever expanding palm oil estates are winning over conservation efforts and the Sekonyer River – once pitch black and clear – is now more dank and muddy – a perpetual reminder of the pollution from upriver mining:

Off the main stream of the Sekonyer River. Tanjung Puting National Park. Kalimantan.

Off the main “road” of the Sekonyer River. Tanjung Puting National Park. Kalimantan.

View of Sekonyer River and Tanjung Puting Park from plane.

So I was left with one thought: Don’t let these guys down, and made a donation to the Orangutan Foundation:

Compassion.

A smile.

Cyrano de Bergerac.

Grooming.

I’m a Scammed Artist

10 Thursday Oct 2013

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Art, Julie Seyler, scam artists, The Write Side of 50

“Twisted 2: Josie & David’s Lovers.”

BY JULIE SEYLER

Hello from Bali. Steve and I fly home on Saturday, October 12. We arrive Sunday morning around 7:00, and the post–vacation routine commences. The mail is retrieved; the bills are sorted; the bags are unpacked. And the dirty laundry is washed. That first night home, you go to sleep with a different feeling because the illusion of being an unemployed vagabond without a money care in the world is replaced with the dread of obligations that have stockpiled on your desk over the past two weeks. The unfettered bliss of suspended reality is dashed to smithereens in about 24 hours. So, in anticipation that real life is about to descend, I shall tell you the tale from August (which is still on my mind), of Kimberly Collier.

On August 17, I received an email from Kimberly Collier:

Hello,

My name is Kimberly Collier. I am interested in purchasing an artwork from you. Kindly write back with your webpage so that I can view more of your recent works.
Thanks.
Kimberly

That was cool. She had seen some samples of my work on the website Artsicle. I sent her the link to my personal website, julieseyler.com, and the next morning, I found this message waiting in my Inbox:

Hi Julie,

Thank you for the email. I am interested in making an immediate purchase of the work “twisted 2: josie & david’s lovers oil 52” x 30””. Can I have a detailed information about the work, its availability and pricing? As soon as we reach a concrete agreement on pricing, I can instruct my p.a to process a cashiers check to you for the payment of the work so that my mover can have it picked up along with my properties that are to be moved to Munich.

I await your email soonest.

Regards,

Kimberly.

This was even cooler, so I sent her the requested information, and received a reply:

Hi Julie,

Thank you for the mail. I am ok with the price of the work but I want you to deduct the shipping charges from the cost as my mover will take care of the pick up and delivering to my new resident in Munich. He has other properties to pick up for me so he would get the work along with other boxes. But before then, your cash must be at hand. Can you provide me with your full name as you want it appeared on the check, your full address which includes(street name, house number, city, state and zip code) to ensure safe delivery and your working phone number where my mover can easily reach you at. As soon as I get these details, I will fwd it to my p.a so that he can go ahead with the issuance of the check to you after you must arrived back on Saturday, August 24.

I happy to have this piece purchased as it would look good on the walls of my guest room.

Thanks.

Kimberly

But there were a few logistical problems in getting the painting to Ms. Collier. I was down at the beach in Allenhurst. The painting was in a warehouse in Union. And the keys to the warehouse were in Manhattan. Even if we did get it, I could not get it home because it would never fit in the roadster, and the schedule for the next seven days was crazy. Somehow, we had to get the painting back to New York City that Sunday.

Steve had his van, but he preferred keeping it in New Jersey, rather than dealing with parking in the city. But after numerous back and forths (and back and forths), the only option was to drive the van back to Manhattan, then back to Union to pick up the painting, then back to Manhattan. Two trips in, and one trip out, of the Lincoln Tunnel in a period of three hours on a Sunday afternoon in August is not anyone’s idea of fun. Plus, I kept fretting that Kimberly Collier would change her mind. Steve, always my supporter, said, “Don’t worry. Of course she wants the painting.”

Monday morning I e-mailed Kimberly Collier that I had the painting, and we could start making arrangements for her to send the money, and pick it up.

Two hours later, I received this email from Artsicle:

On Saturday, a variety of you received an email via the new messaging system from “Kimberly Collier” requesting more information about your work. Sadly, this is part of a known scam involving fake cashiers checks. I recommend you do not respond to this request – or simply delete the email chain if you already have.

What a bummer. But after talking to the people at Artsicle, it was confirmed that the scammers really do want the art – they just want it for free. To me, that was better than being taken just for the money.

In retrospect, there were lots of little hints this was a scam. No one pays for anything without knowing the return policy.

The Write Side of 59

~ This is What Happens When You Begin to Age Out of Middle Age

Tag Archives: Julie Seyler

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I’m a Scammed Artist

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