MAGNETIC FIELDEN
ay Fielden, I have decided, is what happens when Jim Morrison and F. Scott Fitzgerald reproduce. My first close encounter with Fielden, the, and , came during his tenure, in Brunello Cucinelli’s homeland of Solomeo, Italy. It was an extravaganza that attracted international media of all types, and muttered in reverent tongues among journalism’s finest was the gossip that Jay was on site. His reputation proceeded him, and we all hoped for a chance meeting. He came across exactly as we wanted him to: a rock star with an intellectual aura.
