By Mark Peikert

In the pantheon of New Yorkers—Dorothy Parker, Andy Warhol, the Ramones—photographer Weegee may not be the first to spring to mind, but he may symbolize the contradictions of New York City better than anyone else. Driven, self-mythologizing and morbidly curious about the curiously morbid, Weegee spent a decade, from 1936 to 1947, chronicling the violence and urban beauty of life in the Big Apple.

Currently on display at the International Center of Photography, Weegee: Murder Is My Business (running through Sept. 2) collects some of the best of Weegee’s mostly nighttime work, from a body stuffed in a trunk to the crowds at Coney Island. What strikes the viewer almost immediately isn’t just the classic, violent aspects of these photos—bodies splayed awkwardly on sidewalks, pools of blood congealing—but the flipside, the almost embarrassingly sentimental glimpses at beachgoers or the melancholy of a Santa balloon being inflated for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

That Santa photograph is indicative of why Weegee’s work still exerts such a magnetic pull; these images are frozen in time, capturing a New York City that is long gone and still mourned (there are only a few stragglers surrounding that balloon, unlike the hordes who descend upon the Upper West Side the night before Thanksgiving now). From a distance, the gangland killings that Weegee followed so avidly thanks to his police scanner have a glamour that we can’t assign the random acts of violence we live through today.

What Murder Is My Business reveals, however, is that the famously gruesome Weegee wasn’t always interested in the details of the deaths he covered. Sometimes his photographs were of gawping onlookers, the body an indistinct detail. ICP has helpfully put these seemingly atypical shots in context, surrounding them with photos by police officers of the same scene that are more insistent on the corpse than Weegee’s. As it turns out, crime wasn’t necessarily Weegee’s business, but the business of capturing the filthy, rain-slicked city he loved in all its rubbernecking glory was.

For more of Weegee’s ceaselessly fascinating work, Chelsea’s Steven Kasher Gallery is holding its own exhibit, Weegee: Naked City, through Feb. 25 at 521 W. 23rd St.

Weegee: Murder Is My Business
ICP, 1133 6th Ave. (at 43rd St.), 212-857-0000, www.icp.org.

American art has made a comeback at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The third and final phase of the museum’s 10-year, $100 million project is complete, and 26 newly designed galleries will be opened to the public this Monday.
First opened in 1924, The Met’s American Wing originally only displayed decorative arts, such as furniture and silverware, through the medium of period rooms. In the 1930s, paintings started coming in, and by the 1980s, galleries were opened to display the paintings.

Emanuel Leutze's original Washington Crossing the Delaware is on display in the new American Wing at the Met.

Before the wing closed for the redesign, the painting galleries were on two levels in a non-cohesive order. Now they are all on one floor and have been expanded to encompass 30,000 square feet.

The French Beaux-Arts-inspired revamp of the second floor of The Met has transformed the American Wing into a bright and open area for art lovers and novices to enjoy and appreciate paintings, sculptures, furniture and silverware, pieces that reflect both the history and patriotic culture of America.

Morrison Heckscher, chairman of the American Wing, described the galleries as “chrono-thematic”—melding time periods and themes to create a story of American life.

“Our vision,” Heckscher said, “was not just to highlight American art but to bring out American life and American culture through these art pieces. After the agony of rethinking and redesigning, architect Kevin Roche and I decided that it wasn’t enough just to expand the gallery west; we had to ‘raise the roof’ in order to create a modern gallery with a historic feel.”

Each gallery has high, vaulted or coved ceilings and natural lighting. The walls are cream-colored and bare save for beautifully maintained masterpieces that hang from thin, barely visible wires. No sculptures are roped off, allowing viewers an up close and personal experience of the artist’s handiwork. Furniture and silverware are delicately displayed as standing works of art and culture that reflect the artistry of early American craftspeople.

The Anthony W. and Lulu C. Wang Galleries of 18th Century American Art are devoted to paintings and architecture, furniture, silver and other decorative arts. Thematic groupings, in a broadly chronological order, of paintings and sculpture of the 19th and early 20th centuries are showcased in the Joan Whitney Payson Galleries.

Eras covered range from the Hudson River School to the Ashcan movement. Different themes, such as American life and revolution, highlight political tension and domestic life through the paintings of John Singleton Copley, Cecilia Beaux and Mathew Pratt, among many others.

The main attraction is in the Peter Jay Sharp Foundation Gallery, where Emanuel Leutze’s original Washington Crossing the Delaware hangs in its beautifully recreated gilded frame. This vast, majestic work of art is surrounded by breathtaking landscapes crafted during the Hudson River School era, making the gallery a patriotic emblem of American art and identity.

“The curators did a great job representing American art,” said Mike E. List, a staffer at The Met. “There are a lot of visitors who come here and really enjoy seeing everything we own, and now that we have nearly 90 percent of our American artwork displayed, visitors will get a better perspective of early American landscapes, lifestyles and our patriotic nature.”

Other timeless American works of art displayed in the galleries include John Singer Sargent’s Madame X¸ Charles Willson Peale’s George Washington, and Thomas Cole’s View from Mount Holyoke.

By Penny Gray

The Howard Greenberg Gallery has just opened an exhibition of the photographic works of Vivian Maier (1926–2009) from the Maloof Collection. If the name doesn’t ring a bell, it’s because Maier’s work is a recent discovery.

Vivian Maier, “Untitled, Self-portrait, n.d.” © Vivian Maier/Maloof Collection, Courtesy Howard Greenberg Gallery, NYC

A career nanny, Maier lived a life of anonymity, caring for children and traveling with wealthy families around the world—all the while, it seems, taking pictures. While working on a definitive history of the Portage Park neighborhood in Chicago, John Maloof discovered her work at a local auction house in 2007, and so began his collection.

In her lifetime, Maier generated more than 2,000 rolls of film, 3,000 prints and more than 100,000 negatives of her work with the help of a trusty Rolleiflex she carried at all times. She shared the images with no one. The photos range in subject from candid images of women and children to snapshots of insurrection capturing the unseen lives of the downtrodden and destitute.

Of Maier and her work, Howard Greenberg reflected, “It is such an unusual story with no resolution. At first, her images are extremely well-seen, quality photographs of life on the street, in New York City and Chicago. But as one looks at the body of her work, she reveals deeper interests. Then one tries to imagine who she was, what motivated her, her personality.”

The exhibition represents the wide scope of Maier’s body of work but fails to delve into a consolidation of her essential output. Mediocre and amateurish prints of city architecture are displayed alongside well-composed and affecting images of homely humanity existing in geometric space. In one print, a newspaper vendor sleeps standing up in the midst of rows and rows of magazines, perfectly boxed in by his occupation. Maier had an astounding ability to frame displacement, and this gift has been underexplored in the Greenberg exhibition.

Indeed, the most successful of her images are the most personal. Maier’s series of self-portraits visually manifest Emily Dickinson’s meditation on invisibility: “I’m Nobody! Who are you?” In each image, Maier cleverly employs an inanimate object to diffuse her identity: a reflective window returns Maier’s distorted and ghostly image to herself, a mirror in an antique shop reveals her miniature reflection, the head of a sprinkler bounces back a minuscule version of herself next to her looming, faceless shadow. Not unlike Dickinson, Maier plays a game in her self-portraits, enjoying the intellectual conceit of un-becoming.

These are meditations on the disappearing act of existence, and they come closest to the essential spirit of Maier’s work. As she herself said, “We have to make room for other people. It’s a wheel—you get on, you go to the end and someone else has the same opportunity to go to the end, and so on, and somebody else takes their place. There’s nothing new under the sun.”

One has the sense that the world has just made a place for Maier and her work in a day-late-dollar-short sort of way. It’s a bittersweet recognition. And while Maier is correct that there’s nothing new under the sun—and there’s certainly nothing new about a female artist’s anonymity due to a lack of confidence—there is something wistful and true in Maier’s work. It’s worth a visit.

Vivian Maier: Photographs from the Maloof Collection

Through Jan. 28, 2012, Howard Greenberg Gallery, 41 E. 57th St., Ste. 1406, 212-334-0010, www.howardgreenberg.com.

Site-specific theater, the latest innovation in freeing audiences from the shackles of the proscenium, went from being an oddball concept to full-fledged event this past spring with the premiere of Sleep No More. A radical, immersive retelling of Macbeth, the Meatpacking District warehouse-turned-creepily louche hotel had everyone raving about becoming part of the performance—and producers eagerly booking more intuitive locations for shows.

After Woodshed Collective commandeered West End Presbyterian Church this summer for The Tenant, a trio of theater companies are collaborating on the East Side with David Adjmi’s Elective Affinities, performed in a secret Upper East Side townhouse, the address of which is only revealed to ticket buyers. But though Soho Rep, piece by piece productions and Rising Phoenix Repertory are on trend with their production of Adjmi’s one-person show, Adjmi himself is reluctant to describe the site-specific movement as a trend.

“I don’t think it should be a trend,” he said. “There are other ways of making theater. I love these nonprofit theaters in New York and I like the idea of puncturing the habit of what we think theater has to be. I think it’s important that people come to these plays and they’re destabilized.”

Audience members will be transformed into visitors to the well-appointed home of octogenarian Alice Hauptmann, played here by Tony Award winner Zoe Caldwell. “On one level, it’s a comedy about a very wealthy woman fighting for her way of life. And on a much more profound level, it’s about a surrender to outside forces,” Adjmi explained. “It’s short and it’s very barbed and it’s very funny. It’s kind of whipped cream and razor blades.”

Though Elective Affinities was originally commissioned by the Royal Court Theatre and produced by the Royal Shakespeare Company in 2005 on a stage, Adjmi’s fantasy while writing the play was always that it be performed in an immersive environment. When piece by piece’s Wendy vanden Heuvel—a good friend of Adjmi’s—expressed an interest in including Elective Affinities in a larger festival of plays, Adjmi casually mentioned that he’d always considered the play an ideal candidate for a site-specific production.

Of course, transferring what was once produced on a stage into something that could fit into an actual apartment required some changes.

“I have had to tweak things,” Adjmi said. “It’s a whole event now. We’ve constructed an entire simulacrum of this character’s life. There’s all this new stuff, but [director] Sarah Benson and I are having a lot of fun coming up with what that is.”

Part of that fun comes from working with a theatrical icon like Caldwell. Adjmi—no slouch in the honorarium department himself, having been awarded, among others, a 2011 Guggenheim Fellowship, the Whiting Writers’ Award and the Kesselring Prize for playwriting—described the experience of this incarnation of Elective Affinities as “surreal.”

“I was so scared of her,” he said with a laugh. “And she was scared of me, because she loves writing and she loves doing this play. And then we met and it was like a love affair. She’s so gentle and so unbelievably humble, and she’s rigorous about the text and the punctuation. I find it incredibly refreshing. I don’t write for grammatical correctness, I write for rhythm and inflection and pacing, and she is a genius with it. I feel like it’s really delicious when we’re in rehearsal together.”

Caldwell’s presence—and the chance to watch a pro like her at such close range—is certainly one of the reasons why the entire run of Elective Affinities sold out almost immediately (though some tickets may be made available on the day of performances). But as Adjmi points out, theatergoers are getting a lot more for the cost of their ticket than just stargazing.

“The intimacy of being in the room with the person shifts your relationship with the play,” he said. “There’s a conversation happening, so once you’re in the conversation, it just engages different faculties in people.”

In the late 1960s, a young woman sought the help of a lawyer. That’s how former art director Joan Niborg first met trial lawyer and photographer Len Speier.

“It was love at first sight,” Speier said.

Len Speier and Joan Niborg with his photo.

For the first time, Speier’s 4-foot by 6-foot portrait of Niborg is on public display as part of Photography and Imaging’s annual photography exhibit at the National Arts Club, after decades of hanging in his Upper West Side apartment. The exhibit brings together 150 prints by more than 60 photographers who are members of the organization.

“It’s a very touching photograph,” said Randy Duchaine, vice president of Photography and Imaging, a New York-based photographers group. “It’s a tribute to their relationship, and it’s a very nice, endearing thing.”

Speier and Niborg never married, but they are still the best of friends, Speier said. The portrait is one of four photos of Speier’s on exhibit at The National Arts Club, 15 Gramercy Park. The free event runs through Jan. 28.

At 83 years old, Speier’s resumé is five pages long and keeps growing.

He was born and raised in the Bronx. He attended Dewitt Clinton High School and City College before being drafted into the army to serve on occupation duty in Japan. After he returned, Speier earned his law degree at NYU.

“Sometime in the late 1960s or early ’70s, the photography bug bit me,” Speier said. “I was very unhappy being a trial lawyer, I didn’t like corporate stuff, my marriage was breaking up and someone recommended a photo workshop at the Educational Alliance downtown.”

Speier recalls taking photos in Japan, but once he started shooting in the 1970s, he never stopped.

“I loved the idea of immediate contact with people,” he said, having discovered the satisfaction of shooting on the street. And to this day, Speier loves photographing people. His “Bus Series” captures every kind of New Yorker on buses and subways at seemingly random moments.

“I like the thrill of the spontaneity of shooting,” he said. “It’s a challenge to put all of the elements together in an instantaneous moment.”

But one of Speier’s most famous photographs is of a person he can’t really describe. One morning, during a snowstorm in the 1980s, Speier looked out the park-facing window of his Riverside Drive apartment and spotted a mysterious, hooded figure dressed in a black cloak standing in the middle of wintery whiteness.

He ran for his camera, snapped a picture and never saw the figure again. The photo, which he titled “Hooded Figure in the Snow,” was eventually picked up by a publishing company in Australia and was used on the cover of several versions of The Book Thief.

Jon Niborg Speier, Speier’s youngest son, said his father has always carried at least one camera with him for as long as he can remember.

“He can’t help himself if he sees something that needs to be photographed,” Niborg Speier said, recalling the story of when Speier traveled to China in 1986 with his oldest son for a bicycle trip. Trailing along with the group of cyclists, Speier would stop to take a photo, and the rest of the group would have to come get him.

Though Speier’s passion for photography transformed his life, he never quit law. Speier frequently lectures on copyright laws and photographers’ legal rights. He was also an associate professor of photography and artists’ legal rights at F.I.T. for more than 20 years before retiring in 2006.

He has had works displayed at the International Center of Photography, Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, the Museum of the City of New York and the Photo Archive of the New York Public Library.

Despite his success, Speier is focused on his goal to get a book published of his photos. Though he has yet to find a publisher, he cites his favorite Winston Churchill quote: “Never, never, never, never, never give up.”

Speier will also have photos featured at the Project Basho Gallery in Philadelphia in February.

By Jay Nordlinger

The Metropolitan Opera has a new production of La traviata, though it is not really new: It is simply new to New York. This production, by the German director Willy Decker, debuted in Salzburg in 2005. The principal singers were Anna Netrebko (Violetta), Rolando Villazón (Alfredo) and Thomas Hampson (Germont). It was the sensation of the summer, maybe even the sensation of the year. The following summer, someone involved in that production said to me, “There was an awful lot of hype surrounding that show, wasn’t there?” I said, “Maybe. But I have to tell you: I have never been more moved in a theater.”

Marina Poplavskaya in a scene from the Met’s La traviata. Photo by Ken Howard/Metropolitan Opera

At the time, I wrote enthusiastically about the production, as well as about the singers. But perhaps I was grading on a curve: In Salzburg, when you don’t see out-and-out trash, you’re grateful. The production is modern, in that the stage is largely bare and the clothing the latest fashions. (Not that I’m up on the latest fashions.) It is modern in this way, too: Decker toys with the opera, making it his own. This means that it is less Verdi’s. Sometimes, Decker’s action doesn’t match the libretto, is at odds with the story. Also, the production has a few gimmicks, a few tricks. They are quite interesting on first viewing. But on the second viewing, after you know them…

At the Met, the principal singers are Marina Poplavskaya, Matthew Polenzani and Andrzej Dobber. Poplavskaya is a “genuine singing actress,” to use a cliché. She proved this earlier in the season in another Verdi opera, Don Carlo. The night I heard her as Violetta, she suffered many technical imperfections. Her pitch was approximate, often sharp (in the tradition of Russian singers, singing in languages other than their own). Also, the voice was a little small for Violetta. A phrase like “Amami, Alfredo”—not that there are many like that—requires much more sound. But smaller voices have pride of place these days. Last month, the New York Philharmonic had Ian Bostridge, the light English tenor, sing in Mahler’s Knaben Wunderhorn. Go figure.

In any case, Poplavskaya’s sheer musical and dramatic ability overcame all imperfections. From her portrayal emerged something like truth. Still, I think Decker has her doing too much: too much running around, too much acting. His Violetta is so busy. Sometimes, it’s OK for a performer in an opera simply to stop a little and sing.

Matthew Polenzani can certainly sing. How long will his voice retain its youthful sweetness and freshness? Forever? And the voice is not only sweet and fresh, it can ring out. We heard this in Don Pasquale last fall, and we heard it again in Traviata. Polenzani’s lyric instrument can turn into a lyric trumpet (or at least a cornet). And I will offer one detail, related to technique and suppleness: Polenzani’s diminuendos in Alfredo’s music were uncommon and superb. As for the Germont of Andrzej Dobber, it was stern, tender and noble. Dobber, a Pole, is full of operatic savvy, and he has a special affinity for Verdi.

So does Gianandrea Noseda, the conductor on this evening. He led the opera with a sure hand, keeping Verdi’s pulse, following his thread, doing nothing too obvious, and nothing too subtle, either. This was both learned and stylish conducting. From the orchestra, I wish to single out the principal clarinet, Stephen Williamson. His playing was gorgeous, nimble, searing—what Verdi asks for.

It seems that the Met has ditched Franco Zeffirelli’s production of Traviata, as it is ditching his productions in general. This pleases most critics, who find him elephantine, conservative and embarrassing. I’ll tell you this, however: When I saw the Zeffirelli production of Traviata—which I did maybe seven times—I did not see Zeffirelli. I saw only Verdi, only the opera. When I see the Decker production, I see Decker. I’ve seen this production only twice, six years apart. But I’m already sick of it. One of the problems with artiness is that it lacks staying power.

In any event, the Decker Traviata runs through January 29. I recommend that you see it. The first time, no doubt, it packs a wallop. And, despite my griping, there’s wallop the second time, too.

A Conservatory Contributes

The Manhattan School of Music makes a contribution to opera in this town. They educate students, of course. They also give the public a chance to see operas that otherwise might remain out of view. Last year, they did Fauré’s Pénélope. And the school has been quite kind to Lee Hoiby. He has been quite kind to it, too: His operas are a treat to sing, play, see and hear.

Hoiby was born in Wisconsin in 1926. He now lives in Long Eddy, N.Y., about 130 miles from Manhattan, on a pretty property with a waterfall. He is a very good pianist—trained by Egon Petri, no less—but he has made his name in vocal music: as a composer of operas, choruses and, especially, songs. On meeting him, Dalton Baldwin, the accompanist, said, “Your songs are for the ages.” In 2004, the Manhattan School staged the Hoiby opera A Month in the Country, which is based on the Turgenev play. Last month, they staged Summer and Smoke, based on Tennessee Williams.

In 1964, Williams asked Hoiby whether he would like to set one of his plays. “Sure,” said Hoiby, “which one?” Williams said, “Take your pick, sweetheart.” Hoiby considered A Streetcar Named Desire, of course, but ultimately passed over it. For one thing, he couldn’t figure out how you would give music to Stanley’s bellowing of “Stella!” Some 35 years later, André Previn set Streetcar—and simply had Stanley bellow it, rather than sing it. Hoiby remarked in an interview with me, “That’s a perfect solution.”

With Summer and Smoke, the Manhattan School did a commendable job. Still, it would be nice to experience this opera, and A Month in the Country, sung and played by pros. In the meantime, the Manhattan School will do us the favor of showcasing little-staged works. This spring, they will present Nina, by Paisiello, and La vida breve, by Falla. Some orchestral excerpts from the latter are very well-known. The opera itself, hardly at all.

Hoiby’s latest opera is Romeo and Juliet—based on whose play, again? The name escapes me. Anyway, this piece is still awaiting its debut. The composer is not especially worried. First, he comes from a long-lived family—a great-aunt recently died at 108. Second, he knows the important thing is to have written the piece. It exists. Posterity will do what it will. Hoiby told me, “If I never hear certain pieces performed, I have written them, which is something wonderful. I have had the thrill of writing music.” There’s a real musician.

The 2010 AVENUE Antiques & Art at the Armory show opened last week, from Sept. 29 through Oct. 3, with more than 60 exhibitors. Over 1,000 visitors enjoyed the open bar and passed apps as they strolled down the aisles of the show during the special VIP event, and more than 6,000 attended over the course of the four-day event.

Overview of the AVENUE Antiques & Art Show. Photo by: Karl Crutchfield

While the show consistently offers a diverse assortment of decorative arts, collectibles, jewelry, furniture and artwork, there was a particularly impressive curation that went into the arrangement of booths that spanned everything from blue Matisse lithographs to ancient artifacts to curios. If you’re worried that you may get burned out on silver settings and porcelain vases, don’t fret: There’s plenty to keep the curious shopper enthralled for hours.

Apart from the people watching (there were quite a few folks out in their finest duds), we also enjoyed the overheard conversations. We listened in as one woman pondered an exquisite wood table and her most difficult decision seemed to be in which home she would put it once she purchased it.

We were also quite taken with the boxes available at Sallea Antiques, in particular one fitted box that was designed to contain a fine pair of gloves. But one potential customer had another plan for the box: “I’ll put the remote in it!”

Some of the exhibitors were already making swift sales although it was only the first night. Ophir Gallery sold a rare turtleback inkwell from Tiffany Studios, New York, circa 1900. David Brooker Fine Art and Hamshere Gallery both sold paintings.

Attendees visit a booth at the AVENUE Antiques & Art Show. Photo by: Patrick McMullan

Marion Harris never disappoints with her selection of unusual maquettes, phrenology heads and other oddities. But this year a couple of other booths were also found with quirky items for collectors. The wares at Il Segno Del Tempo S.R.L. were appreciated for their unusual provenance (the large section of a thumb and industrial cogs seemed like props from a horror movie). And Mantiques Modern’s items ranged from a Silvered Bronze Hermes Kelly Bag to a Berrocal Mini David, as well as French artist mannequins.

Joe Pacetti from Dallas commented: “I thoroughly enjoyed the preview last evening. The show is a wonderful, sophisticated collection of the best there is to offer. I flew up from my main home in Dallas, for the show. I certainly wasn’t disappointed at all. In fact, I made a nice purchase for my New York apartment.”

Gale Brewer

Melissa Mark-Viverito

Apple is drawing the Council’s 51 members in prom attire in a series called NYC High for the blog ANIMAL New York. So far, ANIMAL New York posted Council members in districts one through eight.

Each drawing is accompanied by a small score card that lists the neighborhoods they represent and several facts about their time on the Council.

“Politics is kind of like high school, with factions and gossip and people always trying to hold on to or increase their popularity,” Apple told ANIMAL.

Apple contributed to a similar project in which artists drew Chicago’s 50 aldermen.

Here is Apple’s drawings of West Side Council members Gale Brewer and Melissa Mark-Viverito, who represents  the Upper West Side north of 96th Street.

The most striking image of the John Lindsay exhibit at the Museum of the City of New York is a blown-up New York Times Magazine cover from 1973. The cover is a photo of Lindsay’s face that shows how events during his seven years as mayor of New York City ravaged his youthful looks: a white line connects welfare to his grayed temples; the 1969 Queens snowstorm put a crease around his mouth; the long, hot summer of 1966 deepened the frown lines on his forehead.

This picture, shown in the exhibit, was taken in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, the day after John Lindsay won his mayoral race. Lindsay was an ardent civil rights supporter in Congress.

America’s Mayor: John V. Lindsay and the Reinvention of New York is, ostensibly, a look at a mayor who was chosen to lead the city out of urban decay, only to see it split apart. But the exhibit, accompanied by a book edited by New York Times reporter Sam Roberts and an hour-long PBS documentary, paints a portrait of a changing city that rarely gets explored in this much detail.

The late 1970s is arguably the most romanticized time of modern New York City—especially 1977, the year of the Koch v. Cuomo mayor’s race, punk rock, disco, Son of Sam, the blackout, arson, the riots and the fiscal mess. Still, the Lindsay era, spanning 1966-1973, has some responsibility for the Koch era—for better or for worse.

“He comes in the midst of a wave in the process of transforming New York,” Sarah Henry, the exhibit’s curator, said of Lindsay. “There was a sense that a change was going to come.”

Lindsay’s two terms in office coincide neatly with what we think of as “The Sixties,” the 10 years from the mid-1960s to the early 1970s that recalls student protests, Berkley and hippies.

But in New York City, Lindsay, a liberal Upper East Side Republican who served in Congress before City Hall, had to address the problems that old Democratic politics didn’t solve. The exhibit shows how his policies seemed to inflame and alienate segments of the city, especially white middle-class New Yorkers. Campaign paraphernalia, tabloid headlines, television reports and photographs illustrate the fever pitch over civil rights policies, labor relations and Lindsay’s social programs that earned him the derisive title “limousine liberal.”

Henry also acknowledges how the Lindsay administration physically changed New York City with zoning rules to create European-influenced street cafes and pedestrian-friendly blocks. Maps, scale models and pictures of Lindsay studying development plans show his thumbprint on the city, including the Theater District and South Street Seaport.

Before the exhibit opened, historians were skeptical, anticipating a whitewash of Lindsay’s career, which sputtered to an end after lackluster campaigns for president and U.S. Senate.

But Henry doesn’t quite let Lindsay get the last word. His claim that New York was still a “fun city” or his supporters’ insistence that he kept the city’s racial tensions “cool” never overshadow her portrayal of New York in the middle of a tumultuous transformation.

“We wanted to use the lens of his mayoralty as a window,” Henry said, “into society, culture and politics.”

—
Through Oct. 3, Museum of the City of New York, 1220 Fifth Ave. near 103rd Street, 212-534-1672; $6 to $10.

Hand crafted cards from Beau Ideal Editions—just one of the many items available at MARTE on 3rd.

In the coming weeks, MARTE will be hosted by select Manhattan public schools that will also receive funds raised by sales. MARTE on 3rd will help P.S. 63 get much-needed air-conditioning units. Other schools will get funding for arts programs and after-school activities. At each participating school, the Parents Association will team up with Community Flea, a division of this paper’s parent company, Manhattan Media, to run the markets from summer through the holiday season, enabling the schools to use part of their space for students to sell their own goods.
So shop till you drop—there’s no buyer’s remorse, since MARTE is a fundraiser for the host school!

June 5 & 6, P.S. 63 William McKinley School, 121 E. 3rd St. (betw. 1st Ave. & Ave. A), www.themarte.com; 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., Free.