Great Spaces: Barry Wine (The Great)

Barry is really like no other; his home is a living, breathing organism that changes constantly as it is a direct reflection of the right side of Barry's brain.

As an early twenty-something night school college student at The Fashion Institute of Technology in 2007, I was already well on my way to jadedness. Still hopeful about my future and potential prospects, I was otherwise bored to death about most things. The people in my circle were starting to seem like clones of one another, and the diameter of that circle showed no signs of radical expansion.

It was the beginning of my fall semester, and I, an Advertising and Marketing major, walked into my branding 101 class at 6:00 pm on a Thursday, tired from working all day and praying the professor was entertaining enough to keep me awake until 8:30 pm. In this class of primarily other twenty-somethings sat this older gentleman with all white hair tossed and curled, wearing all black accented by dark violet low-top Dr. Martens. I thought to myself, "That's unusual; oh well, maybe he's observing the class or getting a degree late in life." I turned my attention away and carried on with trying to stay alert. The professor, about whom I remember no details at all, came in and explained the basics of something I'd been doing professionally for two years at that point, and I struggled to look interested until 8:30.

Fast forward to two weeks later, and that older gentleman is still in the class. I noticed but wasn't shocked as it seemed to affirm that he was probably pursuing a degree and not a member of the administration observing our professor's performance. The professor announced that there would be a group project, and he would be assigning us to teams. "Great!" I thought, "Just what I fucking need, a night school group project to work on after an 8-hour work day". The professor assigned four people to each group, except there was an odd number of people, so our group got five; the odd man in was none other than the older gentleman I'd wondered about. He introduced himself as Barry Wine, and after an awkward assignment of roles, we all began to discuss ideas. I don't remember the project, and it's not really important, but it was interesting that all the ideas Barry kept offering were utterly unlike the run-of-the-mill ideas we were passing around. Everything was just a bit more wild and unconventional, and I kept thinking, "How does his brain even think of these things?."

At the end of the class, I walked up to Barry and said, "I don't mean to pry, but I'm just really curious; are you pursuing a degree? Why are you in this class? He replied, "Oh, oh no, I'm just trying to learn a little more about branding, so I'm taking this class." "Ah," I replied, "I totally get it; that's cool. Can I ask what you do?". Barry looked me in my eyes, and with a soft smile, he said, "When you get home tonight, Google me." My bottom lip dropped slightly in a bit of shock, and I said "oh, okay, yeah, I'll um do that," and we walked out of class and parted ways.

So, I Googled him, anxiously anticipating what I might find that would elicit such a mysterious invitation from the white-haired man in my branding class. Up came article after article from the New York Times to Town & Country magazine profiling Barry Wine as a legend and icon of the restaurant and food business. These articles discussed his apparently extraordinarily influential restaurant, The Quilted Giraffe, which shuttered its doors in the early 90s. Barry and his restaurant were lauded as beacons of the food business, and the NYT even profiled his homes in Upstate New York. I couldn't believe what I was reading in part because of how I came to find the information and second because I was a major foodie, and this guy knows and loves the food at the highest level; it was fascinating.

The following week, after class was over, I went back to Barry and said, "So I Googled you." With that same soft smile, Barry replied, "Oh yeah?". I told him everything I found and that I had one million questions. He laughed and said, "Why don't we go grab a drink, and I'll tell you all about it?". We walked out of the building, and Barry suggested we go to his place as he lived nearby in Chelsea. I was a bit reluctant because I didn't know him, and it was Chelsea after all, so this could end poorly, but it was raining, and I oddly trusted him. I was not prepared for what I was about to see.

We walked a few blocks south and a few blocks west to this massive luxury building complex, which was impressive enough on its own. We walked in, Barry being greeted enthusiastically by the doorman. We got into the gold-plated elevator, Barry hit "PH," and we zoomed to the top floor. Okay, now my expectations were set for some fancy, schmancy, luxurious penthouse apartment, but as we turned the key to his apartment, that's not quite what I saw. As I entered what was essentially a large studio apartment house sitting on the roof of this building, my jaw became permanently locked in the open position, and my eyes began moving around my eye sockets in wonderment I'm not sure Disney could provoke.

I didn't know where to look first. There were paintings and art everywhere, naked mannequins draped in wire and bejeweled with trinkets and his handmade jewelry. There were mannequins everywhere: on the floor, the walls, and even hanging from the ceiling. There were mirrors smeared with graphic notes written in lipstick and very expensive classic mid-century furniture adorned with wild fabrics in colors of chartreuse and violet.

Everything seemed expensive, and nothing seemed pampered; this place was lived in. Everything was random and not random at the same time; curated is not even the word. There were books, oh boy, were there books. There were books on top of books, organized in the most eccentric of ways; Barry's face even appeared on the spines of a sequence of books. There was color and light, glimmer and sparkle, texture and depth everywhere I looked. His bed rested in the center of the apartment on a platform made from Japanese bento boxes he kept from his restaurant. I mean, who would think to save something like that and then use it for this purpose?

My eyes couldn't find a resting place no matter where I turned, and I didn't want them to. Every step deeper into this magical space revealed some eye candy, brain candy, and questions upon questions rushed into my brain, pushing out the last ten questions about the last ten things. This place looked like the inside of Barry's brain, and I hadn't even seen the giant wrap-around roof terrace yet. I probably spent the first 15 minutes in his home, roaming about without uttering a single word.

Barry offered me a drink, and I needed one. We sat down like old friends, and I said, "Start from the beginning." This began the most interesting friendship with a man I learned to admire and respect, who has done more to inspire me creatively than any other entity I can distinguish, including the eight years I'd spent in art schools.

Over the next few years, I experienced wild parties with captains of industries, experimental projects together, and fantastic dinners. Barry was my pal, and I was in awe of him. To give you another quick example of the depth of this guy's reach, FIT was honoring the work of the legendary David Rockwell of the Rockwell Group during a large evening ceremony one night. I left school that night and texted Barry to see what he was up to, and he replied, "Come over; I'm having a party." When I arrived, I emerged into a packed house with gorgeous models serving food from trays, and I walked onto Barry's terrace to find David Rockwell himself grilling exotic mushrooms over charcoal. This was the kind of thing that happened all the time!

Fast forward to today, and Barry is no less the creative genius he was more than ten years ago. His homes have gone through changes as the inside of his brain shifts from idea to idea. He has since given up the additional studio space on the first floor of his building that he used for the overflow of his handmade jewelry work and provided him space for his larger-than-life paintings, sculptures, and art installations.

Barry is really like no other; his home is a living, breathing organism that changes constantly as it is a direct reflection of the right side of Barry's brain. He's a lawyer turned chef, painter, sculptor, mixed media artist, and jewelry maker, and that's just what I knew at the time of this article. Barry defines reinvention. You will find some of his most radical creations between his home and office, from abstract paintings to wild and unconventional jewelry to massive sculptures to symbolize the "notorious Russia pee-pee tape." This is a glimpse into his rooftop home and his ground-level office/studio, although we could not possibly capture all there is to show you in this post.

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