Drunken Friends on Labor Day

September has snuck in behind us and Labor Day sits atop it.

I read a NY Times article years ago about the final hurrah of the summer season in the Hamptons.

It described brisk evenings, friends migrating between beachside fires, and the last train from Montauk to the city, post Labor Day.

The article was about the social scene and the migratory patterns of NYC residents summering in the Hamptons, trousers in white and off-white linen, friends from the city transplanted to the island, chance encounters, networks of people connected by privilege or occupation.

I must have read it 20 years ago.

When I visited a few years later, I learned an appreciation for hedgerows, wooden shingles, the Shinnecock, the Montauks, whaling ports, hamlets and villages, maritime history, lighthouses, and small businesses that serve year-round residents whose families have lived there for generations.

The tourist destinations and the lifestyles of the wealthy (wrapped in secrecy) were somewhere else, lathered in the optics of charm and walkability, but "over there”.

Nearly 400 years of colonial occupation and township establishments (and prior to that the time immemorial inhabitation of the Shinnecock and Montauk) creates a spirit of place that runs deeper than seasonal migrations.

There are many ghosts of Christmas's past on that island.

The Puritans who settled eastern Long Island in the 1600’s lived on land that offered little mercy between the Atlantic and Long Island Sound.

They were drawn to its’ fertile farmland, abundant seafood, farming knowledge from the Shinnecock, and whaling opportunities.

It was a rugged, isolated place where survival demanded purpose and community.

In the late 1800s, artists started showing up. Winslow Homer, William Merritt Chase, Thomas Moran, Childe Hassam, along with others, left the city for the inspiration of the sea.

They came seeking something that the Shinnecock, the Montauk, and the Puritans understood, a place where natural beauty could inspire higher purpose.

Today, it's the artists, the sculptors, the writers, all creators, that are the keepers of the land and the spirit of place.

It's not the developers, hoteliers, and yacht clubs.

It's you, anywhere and at all times.

If you live on the surface of things, yes, there is an undercurrent of emptiness in today's version of the Hamptons.

It's a great beauty, like the Titanic, none other like it, blinded by its prowess, but feels a lot like "rearranging the deck chairs” on a sinking boat.

It's become a place where the American dream has been achieved, but the abundance feels hollow.

Remember, it's you.

You are the chosen one.

You are the Homers, the Chases, the Morans, the F. Scott Fitzgeralds of the world now.

This is the sole message to us, as Creators, in this newsletter this week.

Document, bear witness, and reveal it to the world.

So tell me, can you imagine how awestruck I felt when through the infamous art critic, Jerry Saltz, I discovered Eric Fischl?

It was a classic Saltz Instagram post with this image…..

I said to myself, "Say….is that the Hamptons?", "It looks an awfully lot like the Hamptons."

And the next thing I know Eric Fischl is on my dance card and one of my favorite contemporary oil painters.

Even though I don't understand all the inner workings of many of his works, my feeling is I know what this represents.

I will say NO MORE about this image.

It's your turn.

Let art do what art is supposed to do.

Before you google Eric, before you read about this piece, tell me what your thoughts were, the moment you saw it. What struck you?

I'll keep your answers anonymous.

Give me your ideas and I'll synthesize the responses and report back to you next week. This will be fun!!

Share with me as if we are in the gallery discovering this piece together.

Share here.

Now read more about Fischl and his Late America show. It’s worth your time.

See credits below. Until next week.