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Six ways to celebrate 100th anniversary of the Armory Show this weekend

A study in madness:  a view inside one room of the 1913 Armory Show

This Sunday marks the 100th anniversary of the opening of the 1913 International Exhibition of Modern Art -- aka, the Armory Show of 1913 -- which stunned New Yorkers and revolutionized the direction of American art in the 20th century.

So on top of celebrating Presidents Day weekend, add a little art to your agenda this week! Some ways to celebrate across the country

1  "Inventing Abstraction 1910-1925" at the Museum of Modern Art in New York features many works that were displayed at the Armory Show, including the powerful "Dances at the Spring" by Frances Picabia.  The show will be open a few more weeks.

2  The 69th Regiment Armory at 68 Lexington Avenue is where the lunacy took place, so walk by and imagine the rows of limos and carriages and the throngs of shocked art enthusiasts spilling out on to the street.

3  For a new show focused specifically on the Armory Show, take a short ride to the Montclair Art Museum in Montclair, NJ, for their new show "The New Spirit: American Art in the Armory Show 1913" which celebrates some of the American stars who participated in the show, including John Marin and Robert Henri. According to their website, Edward Hopper will also be featured, so I assume they will have his little sailboat.

4  The Philadelphia Museum of Art is the permanent home of the Armory Show's most notorious entrant -- "Nude Descending A Staircase, No. 2" by Marcel Duchamp -- and I assume it's still there confusing audiences, if it hasn't been loaned out.

5  A new documentary about Marcel Duchamp's participation in the Armory Show makes its debut this Sunday in Provincetown, MA, at the Provincetown Art Association and Museum.  The film was made by Richard N. Miller, who worked with Duchamp during a 50th anniversary commemoration of the Armory Show. If you're in Cape Cod and want to check it out, visit their website for more information.

6 But the easiest thing to do is simply listen to the Bowery Boys podcast on the Armory Show! Download it for free on iTunes, find it on Stitcher, or click this link to listen to it on the original blog page. Art Insanity: The elegant audacity of the Armory Show of 1913, the daring exhibit that awed and outraged America

What if? Meteors over Manhattan, 1922

In 1922, the New York Tribune envisioned what it would be like if a meteor hit downtown Manhattan. 

The article is a real scare piece on the potential of meteors destroying life on Earth.  It references the American Museum of Natural History's own meteor, Ahnighito, brought to the institution by Robert Peary in 1904.  As I mentioned in my post from 2010, that famous rock was of no particular threat and in fact was itself pummeled by the jackknifes of rowdy young children.

"Ahnighito ... had it reached Earth this year instead of ten thousand or more might have shattered the Woolworth Building," writes Boyden Sparkes in the Tribune article.

Unfortunately, as you've probably noticed, this image also accidentally recalls other, more recent tragedies. You can find the original image at the Library of Congress (read it here)

Just in case you think the recent meteor in Russia is somehow an aberration and a true sign of the times, you should remember that meteors have already landed much closer to home  here.   For instance, in 1922, a meteor almost crashed into Asbury Park, NJ!

Whip it! Early Valentine's Day custom in old New York involved public displays of flirtatious flagellation

In old New York, there was a curious Valentine's Day custom involving young women running around town whipping men with rope.

Yes, you read that correctly.  This form of socially acceptable violence was popular in the colonial era and extended well into the early 1800s.  It derives from a tradition practiced as part of an early Dutch holiday known as Vrowen Dagh* (or Woman's Day) and was likely popular among the young ladies of New Amsterdam, New York's precursor.

According to the 1850 history 'Rural Hours' written by Susan Fenimore Cooper (daughter of James), "[e]very mother's daughter ... was furnished with a piece of cord, the size neither too large or too small" and fitted with a "due length left to serve as a lash."  Cooper elaborates on this playfully violent custom:

"On the morning's of this Vrowen Dagh, the little girls -- and some large ones, too, probably for the fun of the thing -- sallied out, armed with such a cord, and every luckless wight of a lad that was met received three or four strokes from this feminine lash."

Young men of marrying age dashed from place to place, fearful of being flirtatiously struck in this whirlwind of flying rope.

At left: Woman with a whip, 1780

"Every lad whom they met was sure to have three or four smart strokes from the cord bestowed on his shoulders," writer Gabriel Furman recalled in 1875.  "These, we presume, were in those days considered as 'love-taps', and in that light answered all the purposes of the 'valentine' of more modern times, as the lasses were not very likely to favor those with their lashes whom they did not otherwise prefer."

There obviously seems to be some statement about domestic violence in this practice.  At one point, injured males suggested the following day be a "Men's Day," allowing men to chase women around with these braided whips.  But they were told "the law would thereby defeat its very own purpose, which was, that they should, at an age and in a way most likely never to forget it, receive the lesson of manliness -- he is never to strike." [source]

At some point in New York, this custom actually did blend with the English custom of Valentine's Day, and young women of the colonial era continued enjoying this frivolous custom -- in fact, well into the early 1800s.  It blessedly vanished by the mid-19th century, replaced with the more recognizable gesture of sending valentines through the mail.

"We heard that 20,000 [valentines] passed through the New  York office last year," Cooper writes in 1850.  But it seems the writer had grown tired of even this custom. "They are going out of favor now, however, having been much abused of late years."

*I think the actual Dutch word would be Vrouwendag but I'm preserving the original spelling from Fenmore and Furman's text. An 1832 Dutch dictionary says Vrouwendag means 'Lady Day'!


Vintage valentine and whip lady courtesy New York Public Library

"The First Dandelion" and Walt Whitman's very bad timing

In 1888, the New York Herald ran this poem by the great Walt Whitman:

                                         The First Dandelion

                                         Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close 
                                                    emerging, 
                                        As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, 
                                                   had ever been, 
                                       Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass— 
                                                  innocent, golden, calm as the dawn, 
                                      The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful 
                                                  face 

Whitman was a living legend by this point.  The infirm 78-year old writer lived in Camden, New Jersey, and rarely left his home.  His most notable appearance in New York the previous year had been as a lecturer at the Madison Square Theater, discussing the legacy of Abraham Lincoln to an audience which included Mark Twain and Augustus Saint-Gaudens.

A poem by Whitman would have been reason alone to buy an edition of the New York Herald. And indeed, as the Herald's 'poet laureate', several of his most notable works had debuted there.  "Mannahatta," for instance, debuted in the Herald on February 27 that year.

At right: Walt Whitman in 1887, taken in New York by George C. Cox

Unfortunately, "The First Dandelion," a little ode to the coming spring, ran on March 12, 1888, the worst day of the Blizzard of 1888, a day when several feet of show and deathly winds were making the American northeast a very unpleasant place to be. The poem "made its appearance at a most unfortunate time," said the journal Illustrated American in 1892.

Nobody wanted to read about a gentle dandelion that day.  And in proceeding issues of the Herald, the poem was roundly mocked with parody verse.  Two days later, ran a verse below, signed simply "After Walt Whitman."

                                     The First Blizzard

                                     Simple and fresh and fierce, from Winter's close 
                                          emerging, 
                                    As if no artifice of summer, business, politics 
                                         had ever been, 
                                   Forth from its snowy nook of shivering glaciers-- 
                                        innocent, silver, pale as the dawn, 
                                  The Spring's first blizzard shows its wryful 
                                         face. 

Not quite finished, the Herald ran another mocking poem the following day:

                                  Served Him Right

                                  The poet began an ode to Spring--
                                 "Hail, lusty March! Thy airs inspire
                                 My muse of flowers and love to sing--"
                                 And then the blizzard struck the lyre

Neither the Herald nor its readership held it against Whitman personally. Four days later, the paper published "The Wallabout Martyrs," his tribute to those held capture aboard prison ships during the Revolutionary War.

And the reputation of "The First Dandelion" was saved when it appeared in the 'deathbed' edition of Whitman's Leaves of Grass, where its beauty was better appreciated.

STB January Winners!

 Today I am sharing our three lucky winners of the Scrap The Boys January Challenge, it was great to see everyones summer activities!!!

*If all winners can please email me at scraptheboys@hotmail.com


The winner of the Scrap Friends $25.00 Voucher is...

WENDY SMITH...

The winner of the $20.00 Scrapbook Divas Voucher is...

LEONIE WALDRON...

 The winner of the Njoyull Crafts $20.00 voucher is...

LAUREN HENDER...

Frozen in time: The Blizzard of 1888 knocks New York City off its feet, creating the deadliest commute in history

In the blizzard of 1888, the streets disappeared and the snow came down almost horizontally. Imagine being trapped at work, several miles from your home. This was the plight experienced by thousands of New Yorkers (and others throughout the northeast) that Monday. (Library of Congress)

PODCAST This year is the 125th anniversary of one of the worst storms to ever wreak havoc upon New York City, the now-legendary mix of wind and snow called the Great Blizzard of 1888.

Its memory was again conjured up a few months ago as people struggled to compare Hurricane Sandy with some devastating event in New York's past.  And indeed, the Blizzard and Sandy have several disturbing similarities.  But the battering snow-hurricane of 1888, with freezing temperatures and drifts three stories high, was made worse by the condition of New York's transportation and communication systems, all completely unprepared for 36 hours of continual snow.

The storm struck in the early hours of Monday, and many thousands attempted to make their way to work, not knowing how severe the storm would be.  It would be the worst commute in New York City history!  Fallen telephone and telegraph poles became a hidden threat under the quickly accumulating drifts.

Elevated trains were frozen in place, their passengers unable to get out for hours.  Many died simply trying to make their way back home on foot, including Roscoe Conkling (at right), a power broker of New York's Republican Party.

But there were moments of amusement too. Saloons thrived, and actors trudged through to the snow in time for their performances,  And for P.T. Barnum, the show must always go on!

STARRING: Hugh Grant (although maybe not the one you're thinking)

To get this week's episode, simply download it for FREE from iTunes or other podcasting services, subscribe to our RSS feed or get it straight from our satellite site.

You can also listen to the show on Stitcher streaming radio and Player FM from your mobile devices.

Or listen to straight from here:
The Bowery Boys: The Great Blizzard of 1888

NOTE:  And, yes, we can't believe the timing of this one, releasing on the same date of an ACTUAL blizzard.  We really had this one planned for awhile, delayed it a bit because it seemed too eerie to do it so close after Hurricane Sandy.

So if you're in New York or the northeast United States, stay inside, stay safe and let this podcast be the only dangerous snow drifts you experience this week!

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Why did the 1888 blizzard become such a hazard for New Yorkers? Let this picture be your first clue. The city was a cobweb of elevated telegraph, telephone and electric wires.  This picture is from 1887. (LOC)

One example of a terrible (although minor) snow drift that might have kept this family in their home all day.  Because of the unpredictable changes in wind, some houses might have been drift-free, while others close by completely locked in with snow. (LOC)

George Washington at the Sub-Treasury Building (today Federal Hall). I ran this photo a few weeks ago, but it's so bizarre that I think it needs a second posting.

The Brooklyn Bridge, not even five years old, weathered the winds quite well, but became a hazard due to ice. In this picture, people are crossing over as there was no other way to get between Manhattan and Brooklyn.  It's not clear if any of the trains are operating in this picture.

The biggest danger for those venturing outside were the hundreds of downed telegraph, telephone and electrical poles, no match for the intense gusts.  The poles would quickly fall then get covered with snow, creating deadly hazards for people walking past.  The snow would just as quickly cover over an unconscious individual; many New Yorkers froze to death when they fell and were instantly shrouded.

Henry Bergh, founder of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. He did not survive the blizzard. (NYHS)

Transportation in and out of the city was at a complete standstill for half the week.  Here workers frantically try to clear the way for trains going into Grand Central Depot.

Clean-up was truly chaotic, a feeble effort by the city paired with private contractors with horses, shovels and carts. The piles of snow were taken to water's edge and dumped, or, in a few less preferred cases, people just started bonfires and melted it away. (For a great picture of a snow dump in the river, see this photo at Shorpy of a blizzard from 1899.) Top pic courtesy LOC, at bottom Maggie Blanck.

The cover of Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, usually one of the more sensational pieces of journalism people might have found at their newsstand.