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My Day


Lorrie Goulet, 88, Chelsea
Lives and works in the Chelsea townhouse she bought with her late husband, sculptor José de Creef. Her works are at D.C.’s Hirshhorn Museum.

9 a.m. I wake up, ride my stationary bicycle, take my pills, and eat my breakfast—a blueberry muffin with fruit.

Noon I get all ready and then come down to the studio. I cover what I’m working on with a sheet, so when I come in to look at it I have a fresh eye. I listen to WQXR. When I’m carving, I make a terrible mess. The chips fly.

4 p.m. I taught at MoMA’s People’s Art Center for eight years, then at the New School, and at the Arts Student League for about 25 years. I’m still teaching this one woman who lives in Southampton and works in wood; I’m trying to pass on everything I know.

6 p.m. Every day for the past few months, I have been working on a new Wikipedia entry for José. I’m also compiling a book of my sculptures.

7 p.m. I look at the mail and sit outside on my back deck and smoke. A pack a day, but I don’t smoke the cigarettes all the way. Then I make my dinner, a big salad and a soup; I like kale. Then I watch the news. I like todo crossword puzzles at night, but I can’t find them in large print. Sometimes I defrost the freezer.

8 p.m. I go to sleep between eight and nine. When you get to be older, you just have to rest better.

Lloyd Williams 75, Chelsea
The former fashion designer (“Looking back, the pieces were very Dynasty”) who lives in West Chelsea and fancies himself a “man of leisure.”

6 a.m. Every morning, I read the New York Times in its entirety (except sports).

12:30 p.m. I’ll meet a friend for lunch. Maybe it’s a sandwich at a deli along Ladies’ Mile; maybe it’s a bowl of noodles in Chinatown. It depends on what neighborhood we’re scouting that day. I’m an inveterate flâneur. I love to people-watch, especially in Soho and on Madison Ave. I often re-dress them in my mind in a better outfit.

2 p.m. I’ll go to a show at the MoMA, the Met, or a late-afternoon movie to avoid the crowds. And then it can take me hours to finally make my way home: New York becomes very small once you’ve lived here for a long time. I ran into my friend Bill Cunningham on the street the other day and he had a scrape on his forehead from falling off his bike; we shouldn’t be riding bikes at our age.

8 p.m. I can finally decline all those stagnant dinner parties I once felt obligated to attend. Now my closest friends and I go out as a small coterie. For a treat, we’ll go to La Grenouille. You know how Holly Golightly liked having breakfast at Tiffany’s because it seemed that nothing bad could happen to her there? That’s how I feel about dinner at La Grenouille.

As told to Hana Alberts and Jessica Silvester.


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