As far as the Chelsea Hotel goes, Arnold was the sage godfather of the hotel and all its sweet little freaks and geniuses. Having been there a long time, he had seen every aspect of humanity in the raw. Little could surprise him, and though he had a bemused cynicism, he was never jaded and rarely judgmental of the people around him. (Political leaders were another matter.) As a result, his friends spanned generations and temperaments, from Arthur Miller to Dee Dee Ramone to 20-something artists just starting out. If he didn’t like someone, however, he could be very blunt. His was often the dissenting opinion about someone everyone else liked, and he always turned out to be right. He was very independent and wise in that regard.
Arnold was that rare artist who did absolutely no self-promotion and avoided outside publicity too. Instead, he put that energy into his work and into his play. He always had time to play and had a great generosity of spirit, sense of mischief, and enjoyment of the world. He seemed to know everyone on 23rd street intimately, from Harry, Larry and Jerry at the Custom Art Laundry to Carlos, senior waiter at the 24 hour “Donuts” shop on the corner where we used to go for coffee sometimes. The last time I saw him, we went for fried shad roe at the Oyster Bar under Grand Central and he told me a story about spontaneously jumping a train one day to go see his friend William Eastman out west. Then he lamented that younger artists didn’t have that spirit, things had grown too business-like and people were too scheduled. I had just come from living with young artists who had that same spirit, and he was very interested in them and cheered that gypsies could still thrive in the 21st century -- outside the Chelsea Hotel, which has always been a kind of wildlife refuge for them.
He had two words taped to his computer, one an acronym of the other: Silent and Listen. He was a good listener, but thank God he only took his own advice about half the time, because he was a wonderful storyteller too. Two of his many stories can be found here.
He brought so much buoyancy, wit and optimism to the dance. It’s impossible right now to imagine the Chelsea without him."
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A Former Resident Remembers Arnold
As far as the Chelsea Hotel goes, Arnold was the sage godfather of the hotel and all its sweet little freaks and geniuses. Having been there a long time, he had seen every aspect of humanity in the raw. Little could surprise him, and though he had a bemused cynicism, he was never jaded and rarely judgmental of the people around him. (Political leaders were another matter.) As a result, his friends spanned generations and temperaments, from Arthur Miller to Dee Dee Ramone to 20-something artists just starting out. If he didn’t like someone, however, he could be very blunt. His was often the dissenting opinion about someone everyone else liked, and he always turned out to be right. He was very independent and wise in that regard.
Arnold was that rare artist who did absolutely no self-promotion and avoided outside publicity too. Instead, he put that energy into his work and into his play. He always had time to play and had a great generosity of spirit, sense of mischief, and enjoyment of the world. He seemed to know everyone on 23rd street intimately, from Harry, Larry and Jerry at the Custom Art Laundry to Carlos, senior waiter at the 24 hour “Donuts” shop on the corner where we used to go for coffee sometimes. The last time I saw him, we went for fried shad roe at the Oyster Bar under Grand Central and he told me a story about spontaneously jumping a train one day to go see his friend William Eastman out west. Then he lamented that younger artists didn’t have that spirit, things had grown too business-like and people were too scheduled. I had just come from living with young artists who had that same spirit, and he was very interested in them and cheered that gypsies could still thrive in the 21st century -- outside the Chelsea Hotel, which has always been a kind of wildlife refuge for them.
He had two words taped to his computer, one an acronym of the other: Silent and Listen. He was a good listener, but thank God he only took his own advice about half the time, because he was a wonderful storyteller too. Two of his many stories can be found here.
He brought so much buoyancy, wit and optimism to the dance. It’s impossible right now to imagine the Chelsea without him."
As far as the Chelsea Hotel goes, Arnold was the sage godfather of the hotel and all its sweet little freaks and geniuses. Having been there a long time, he had seen every aspect of humanity in the raw. Little could surprise him, and though he had a bemused cynicism, he was never jaded and rarely judgmental of the people around him. (Political leaders were another matter.) As a result, his friends spanned generations and temperaments, from Arthur Miller to Dee Dee Ramone to 20-something artists just starting out. If he didn’t like someone, however, he could be very blunt. His was often the dissenting opinion about someone everyone else liked, and he always turned out to be right. He was very independent and wise in that regard.
Arnold was that rare artist who did absolutely no self-promotion and avoided outside publicity too. Instead, he put that energy into his work and into his play. He always had time to play and had a great generosity of spirit, sense of mischief, and enjoyment of the world. He seemed to know everyone on 23rd street intimately, from Harry, Larry and Jerry at the Custom Art Laundry to Carlos, senior waiter at the 24 hour “Donuts” shop on the corner where we used to go for coffee sometimes. The last time I saw him, we went for fried shad roe at the Oyster Bar under Grand Central and he told me a story about spontaneously jumping a train one day to go see his friend William Eastman out west. Then he lamented that younger artists didn’t have that spirit, things had grown too business-like and people were too scheduled. I had just come from living with young artists who had that same spirit, and he was very interested in them and cheered that gypsies could still thrive in the 21st century -- outside the Chelsea Hotel, which has always been a kind of wildlife refuge for them.
He had two words taped to his computer, one an acronym of the other: Silent and Listen. He was a good listener, but thank God he only took his own advice about half the time, because he was a wonderful storyteller too. Two of his many stories can be found here.
He brought so much buoyancy, wit and optimism to the dance. It’s impossible right now to imagine the Chelsea without him."