"If you love art, you have to give art a chance to speak for itself."

"I'm never going to be entirely happy with a performance."

The trailer for Julian Schnabel’s Miral is out and it is great, great stuff. The story concerns a young Palestinian girl who becomes invested in political activism after she is awoken to the struggle of her people. The film addresses love, violence, and a daughter torn between her father's wishes and her newfound calling to fight for justice. It looks gorgeously shot and the music in the trailer is excellent.

● Condom makers decide to get into the extra-small water balloon business, make extra small condoms for 12-year old boys. [The Awl] ● Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter may be Tim Burton’s next project; Fran Leibowitz may be Martin Scorsese’s. [GNews, Playlist] ● Schnabel, Johns, Murakami, Koons, Hirst, Kapoor and Marden are the wealthiest living artists. [Art Info] ● Mercedes Benz commercials about to make you start tearing off your clothes in search of a tall, dark, handsome jerk, as Mad Men’s Jon Hamm signs on to do the car company's voiceover work. [NYTimes]

This week, we learned that no one can out-diva New York City herself, try hard as they might. And that when NYC has no qualms about strapping on her sharpest pair of high heels and kicking your ass, even her guardian has little choice but to shyly step aside. More sobering is how she's even helped manage to humble once-wealthy wannabes, driving them to ask for alms. But because that's too real and because the President told us last night that this reality looks poised to settle in for a good while longer, let's instead preoccupy ourselves with more obliviously pleasant thoughts -- the likes of which helped us get through the first miserable eight years of this century. Pleasant thoughts like hand-held video games, leather, and Grace Jones.

Note to New York magazine: Please never use "thrusting its stamen" in any analogy involving Julian Schnabel. That said, they weren't too far off in likening the moody artist to a delicate flower (though I might use the adjective "wolf-like" myself). Last night, the delicate flower put a 60 Minutes host in the cross-hairs of an incendiary ass-kicking. The grandfatherly Morley Safer tread a little to close to the sensitive beast, asking him to reflect on being called a "shlockmeister" by Times art critic Robert Hughes.

Last night, New York’s gliteratti gathered to celebrate Gramercy Park Hotel's newly installed artworks. Creative Director Nur Khan kept it familial by not only having Rose Bar co-designer and newly prominent filmmaker Julian Schnabel's work adorn the walls, but also by inviting his daughter Stella Schnabel to host the event. A-list attendees and invite-only door policy hardly differed from an average lounge-about evening at Gramercy Park. However, the handsome wait staff with sliders and scallop ceviche in tow signaled that the night was meant to be special. And that it was--boundless bubbly replaced the usual pout with giggles and grins. Somehow, alcohol adapts a more distinguished pungency when sipped in the company of Basquiats, Herrings, Shnabels, and Warhols. Those of the noteworthy variety included Julia Restoin Roitfeld, Alice Dellal, Genevieve Jones, Jessica Joffe, and Cory Kennedy with her Cobrasnake.

New York legend Elaine Kaufman of Elaine’s gets inside a writer’s mind, grabs lunch with the New Yorker boys, and throws a bash for a Swedish dance troupe.

"So... did you get a pen in the gift bag?" we ask, wondering if we missed out on serious swag at Sunday night's Montblanc-sponsored after-party for Julian Schnabel's latest documentary, Berlin. "No, but the girl at the door checked my name off her list with one." Relief.

Julian Schnabel is trying to convince Manhattanites that pink is the new granite, but nobody's buying it. Literally. The Schnabel-designed Palazzo Chupi -- a Malibu Barbie tower which turns living on the Hudson into a vacation in Venice -- is having problems attracting residents. It was recently revealed that Richard Gere has been secretly selling his customized 4 bedroom, 4-bathroom pad for $17,995,000 (with a celebrity-style $4 million markup), and he's never even moved in. There was gossip about Bono looking at a place, but nothing came of that. Madonna opted out because it wasn't "child-friendly." For all the publicity and associations with stars, the only resident we can positively identify is some guy from Credit Suisse. We'll gladly be friends with him though, especially if he ever decides to throw a house party.