Arcade

Artful commerce.

The arcade of shoppes within the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele.
Milan, Italy. Ensconsed in you - DK

Fantasy

Because the gods blush, too.

The wonder above, upon entering the Bellagio.
Las Vegas, Nevada. Mereviglia - DK

Nocturnal

Because some creatures, only exist at night.

The nocturnal frenzy of the city.
New York City. Revitalized - DK

Implode (795 Meadow Lane, Southampton)

He stood in the shaded midst of 795 Meadow Lane, Southampton. It was a New England kitchen, traditional in nature, playing beneath the somber luminescence of a coastal dawn. It was her cathedral, and the initial space to swoon for his appraisal. Satisfied with the resplendent marble floors, his gaze rose toward the atrium. The charcoal gray two-button suit, imagined by the renowned designer who lived across the way, demurred the light spilling onto his indubitable frame.

A collection of documents littered his purposeful grasp. He continued to roll the financial offer, in a contemplative manner, into modern scrolls.

Benjamin occupied the arm of a muted sofa.

“Don’t go more than seventeen”, he advised.

Maxwell parted with his trance momentarily, to gaze at his friend.

“It’s worth twenty-five.”

“It’s worth forty,” Benjamin replied confidently. “Go twenty-five if you have to. If you absolutely must. But seventeen is the number.”

Maxwell considered his friend’s counsel, nodding appreciatively. It had been some while since he had spoken in such certain terms.

He responded in kind.

“Then seventeen it shall be.”

He started for his Blackberry.

“She’s wonderful, Max.”

Maxwell paused and turned toward his friend, who sulked in his own charcoal Tom Ford ensemble.

“Spectacular, even.”

He looked up.

“Did you know that she loves art? I mean, absolutely loves art!”

Maxwell sighed, still harbored beneath the somber caress of the opening above.

“She’s a curator, Ben.”

“I know,” he said with a smile. “She took me to the Wildenstein.”

He sat, reminiscently, his thoughts reverting toward an aquatic Saturday afternoon.

“She should be a dealer. She’d make a great dealer.”

With his head lowered and his posture similarly demure, Maxwell aborted his appraisal of the two-storey Palladian home and listened, whilst the Atlantic Ocean played alongside the surrounding bays.

“I can help her with that,” he continued. “She’s exquisite, really.”

He continued to smile, alone in his thoughts.

“She’s a married woman, Benjamin.”

Benjamin glared at the demiurgic architect. It was a specific glance, ruinous to spectacular fortunes, gross domestic products, and similarly ambitious men. And though a reactionary stare, he bore no such ill will toward his benevolent friend. As immediate as its arrival, the icy chill would thaw, his thoughts returning toward the exceptional Mrs. Horowitz.

“She’s fascinating.”

“She’s a married woman, Ben.”

Benjamin pondered momentarily.

“Yeah”, he sighed. “But that isn’t love.”

Though his demeanor remained poised, Maxwell appeared disappointed in his friend’s amorous judgment. He was particularly dismayed by his current fancy. His jaw tightened, as he prepared to engage a question avoided since the philanthropist wanderer’s sudden disappearance.

“What about Isabella?”

Benjamin's gaze fell through the Palladian windows out onto the sea.

“What about Isabella, Ben?”

Still, Benjamin idled on the armrest of the sofa, gaze attuned toward the sea. He appeared at peace, his face serene.

Maxwell sighed.

"I do not know what you've suffered. I cannot know how she confounded your heart."

Benjamin remained still, lost on the song of the ocean.

"Against my better judgment, and the inclinations of my wife, I am prepared to support your endeavors. Including the precipitous one, on which you now embark. I will set you up, financially. You may have the place on Thompson & Bleecker. There are no bounds to my munificence."

Benjamin maintained his tranquil poise.

"My only request, is that you not abandoned us again. You are my dearest friend."

Benjamin blinked once, inhaling deeply. He took a moment to visually explore the expansive oceanside estate, before addressing his friend.

“How about the house?”

Maxwell appeared perplexed. A combination of his intimidating stare and evasive conversational tactics reminded the architect of a man from a distant past.

“Do you like it?” he continued. “The house?”

Maxwell, too, took a moment to inhale the space.

“Very much so,” he contended. “I’m going to make an offer.”

Benjamin maintained his watch over the meticulous property and its muted interiors.

“Let me get it for you.”

The statement further confounded the architectural virtuoso, who observed his friend, without words. Though in this instance, Benjamin provided clarification for his altruistic offer.

“I didn’t give it all away.”

Implode. Part LIV - DK

Amour

Love from a distance.

The storied Ponte Vecchio at sunset.
Florence, Italy. In Love - DK

(Behold the artistry of the light post, if you will. The Norwegian, DM, in the foreground - DK)

Detail

Because every moment is necessary.

The impeccable detail of Il Duomo.
Milan, Italy. Focused - DK

Implode (Sunday Brunch)

An amber tide of sunlight washed through the magnitude of the SoHo loft, though it was the irresistible aroma, synonymous with her culinary skill, that beguiled the senses and seduced the air. The sizzling of farm fresh eggs, enraptured by Vacherin Mont d’Or and cracked black pepper, was locked in a furious embrace with the atmosphere. While her husband sat at the Veizla, the angular dining table of titanium and glass from the Mulberry Asgard Collection, Claire Mulberry christened the gourmet ova with green shards of sweet basil and a mite of lemon juice. She then placed the superlative omelette onto an ivory plate, handcrafted with painstaking Venetian care.

Maxwell was engaged in the Sunday edition of The New York Times. The Hawaiian coffee beans, born of a nurturing sun, the Pacific gale, and volcanic ash, were coerced into culinary submission, metamorphosed into the smoldering hazel embers of his cup. The caffeinated soil was kissed by Amaretto and whisked with vanilla crème.

Claire presented the omelette to her husband.

“My lady.”

“My lord.”

He glanced up from the news periodical, and smiled. Claire was similarly amused by their ritualistic Sunday banter. Maxwell observed his wife’s delectable creation with pride, as a linen napkin came to rest upon his lap.

And then, without notice, the Burmese door had been unlatched in the foyer.

Claire’s smile began to fade, as she turned to her husband, remiss of joy,

And sighed.

Implode. Part LIII - DK

Drizzle

Morning dew.

The summer rain, playing along the grounds of a country estate.
Somewhere along the Atlantic coast. Pioggia - DK

Donna

Impeccable flair.

Milanese windows and fashionable veils.
Milan, Italy. Sable stride - DK

Implode (Life Anew)

The hour was past appropriate, its continual progression bordering on vulgar.

Benjamin contemplated the contents of his glass.

“I should go.”

He prepared to stand, though with some difficulty, encumbered by the auburn spirit and the breadth of his heart. At variance with gravity, yet equipped with the fastidiousness of his nature, he gathered his lineal composure and recaptured his balance.

Lucy set her wine glass onto the crystal Freya, the extraordinarily handcrafted table of the Mulberry Vanir Collection, composed of Venetian glass and red beryl.

“I’ll have a car brought ‘round.” She would say.

She started to stand.

“That’s very kind, though I intend to walk.”

Lucy stood upright, directly in front of the de Gris Laurent heir, though swaying slightly like the Kvalsund Bridge.

“Ben, you cannot walk now. It’s four a.m.”

Benjamin smiled, his face near enough to graze the amber fibers on her head.

“The air is brisk.”

Lucy addressed him, sleepily.

“You mustn’t walk now! You mustn’t! I absolutely…”

She faded momentarily, before coming to.

“I forbid it.”

Benjamin considered her words, before nodding in acknowledgement.

“A taxi, then.”

Lucy smiled an intoxicated grin.

“A taxi it shall be. I will have Renaldo see to it.”

She turned and started for her crimson Chanel coat.

“Lucy. Stay here and rest. I’ll hail one as I go.”

She turned.

“No! That won’t do! What if something should happen to you?”

Benjamin was overcome by her concern, though aware of her inebriated state.

“I’ll take caution.”

“But Ben!”

“I’ll hail one in front of the building.”

“Let me accompany you or I’ll worry.”

“I’ll have Renaldo assist me.”

Lucy paused momentarily and remembered the efficient nature of the doorman.

“Very well.”

She beheld Benjamin in a glassy gaze.

“May I walk you to the door?”

Benjamin smiled, as Lucy took leave of her couture fleece. He proceeded toward the door, where he was well met by the somnolent enchantress.

“Thank you.” She would say, accompanied by the radiance of her smile. “For the pleasure of your company.”

Benjamin acknowledged, though refused to behold her, moving hastily past her through the portal.

Lucy leaned against the door, as Ben idled in the corridor, adjusting the collar on his black Gucci pea coat.

Satisfied with the wool coverage on his neck, he turned to her.

“You are the beginning of my life.”

Implode. Part LII - DK