Mirrors in the Street

Perception is really an amazing phenomenon. Specifically, self-perception, perception of one's own physical appearance. What does it reveal when one perceives of his or her own body? Often, forms of body dismorphia come into play. The mind exhibits an inability to accurately conceptualize of it's own physical form and thus perceives imperfections and inaccuracies. A size four woman sees herself as a size 10. 

But what do you see when you don't have a mirror? What is remembered? Exaggerated? Removed? Distorted? And how does self-esteem come into play? As I go through my days in New York, I am struck by the homeless people who speckle the sidewalks, curious about their lives and, more so, their perceptions of themselves. Thus began a project.

Before class on Wednesday, I stopped at a shop, picked up a sketch pad and a illustration pen, and set off searching. I began to encounter people on the streets who were asking for money and stopped to talk to them. Giving them a dollar, or in one case a uniball pen, I asked if they could help me with a project. I asked them if they would mind drawing a self-portrait of themselves from memory. So far, all have obliged. As they drew, they told me their stories. Openly. Without reservation. They seemed hungry to talk, to have someone listen sympathetically and without judgement. I listened. They sketched. 

The drawings are fascinating revelations of their self-perceptions. It doesn't matter the amount of skill present or lacking, but the drawings themselves are encoded with each person's story. I spoke with one man who, though employed as a newspaper seller and living in the Bronx, was severely impoverished. His was the only drawing with a smile, the only one to take up most of the page. The others, from homeless men, are small, discrete, and unobtrusive. The figures don't smile, as though apologizing for the little room they take up on the page. 

I cannot wait to get back up to the city to continue this project, to collect more stories and hear about more lives. 

A Thought: Try to draw a self portrait from memory. It doesn't matter your skill level. Just try to see if you can remember your appearance well enough to recreate it. It's a very interesting exercise.

A Find: A. I. Friedman's. Located on 17th, I think between fifth and sixth...maybe. It's an amazing store offering all kinds of notebooks, sketchpads, drawing pens and pencils, portfolios, frames, drawing tables, filing cabinets, etc... Definitely my favorite writing implement store.

Foundations of Spiderwebs

I want to become one of the skyscrapers, to become a building that engulfs its bricks and steel, its wood and glass, eating up each one until they become absorbed within my mass. I want to break out of the ground, to feel soil and concrete around my base and to push upwards, parallel with the other skyscrapers. I want to grow taller, to feel the hands of men upon me, giving them blisters and callouses as they build. I want to bite the clouds, to feel them on my tongue while I look down at the world, so far away. I want my name to last forever.

Rand posed the idea that movement equals life. To stop, to stagnate, is to die. By that theory, I must be exuberant with life as I continue this tri-weekly commute that does become, in a way, addicting. Though I love my days off, relaxing at Volan, a local coffee shop owned by a friend, and chatting with the multitude of regulars seeking caffeine and connection, I begin to feel a restless agitation in my limbs that is only sated by this journey north. The train seems less like a caterpillar of cattle cars and more like a transporter of anticipation. The passengers buzz with kinetic energy waiting to be released in their destinations while participating in a sort of transient community. We all buy the tickets, walk the platforms, ride the trains.

Once in the city, I am alive with overstimulation. The tall buildings hold reminders of man's achievement while the pedestrians suggest endless possibilities. You can be and become anybody in this city. There is also a specific promise that waits for me in this city that my home town can no longer fulfill, a forward progression. Though I do my homework in Asbury, continuing productivity, my school is in the village and within its walls teach the great minds who will help to educate, shape, and inspire me into a closer definition of the person I am to become. That is not to say that I am not yet defined, nor that I will be fully defined once I graduate, but merely that I will be at such a greater place after so much intellectual feeding. Already, only one month into classes, I am so absorbed into my courses, all of which are amazing, that I want to write and create more than I have in a while. 

A Thought:  I've been thinking a lot about the creative process lately, specifically in terms of where creation originates from. There's an obvious answer - you imagine something and then create it. But what about other means? For example, I'm in love with the idea of sculpting, particularly with metal and found objects. However, I have no idea of what to create or how. Can art come from accident? If I play with materials, construct something through trial and error rather than forethought, can it still become art? Or is it merely something aesthetic, as the end product lacks an initial concept? This I have no answer to, but it is something I've been puzzling over.

A Find:  I put a deposit on a bike Saturday for the city. Over at Second Life Bikes in Asbury, my boyfriend's little brother, who volunteers there, helped me pick out an awesome, old japanese, gold and grungy beauty of a bike that he's going to work on and fix up for me. So exciting! I will not, however, be riding her in the city. Only in Brooklyn. Inner city riding terrifies me too much, as everyone on wheels is crazy in the city (cars and bikes alike). I'll have to think up a name for my new beauty.

I Am My Own New York

6:45am and we're on the train to NYC when my boyfriend gets a text from my mother, "She left her phone and textbook at the house." Damnit. 

Thus began a cellphone-free day through New York, bothering strangers for the time and being completely disconnected from the world outside of my immediate surroundings. My boyfriend and I conferred on a place and time to meet (5:50pm at my school), but after I left him at his job, our communication ended, dependent upon both of our abilities to be at the right place at the right time at the end of the day so that we could commute home together.

As I bought my nth latte, I was glad that it was at least my phone and not my wallet that I had forgotten. The day would have been much different, then. Unable to do my imminent homework (for today's class, of course) and unable to distract myself with absurd-nothing texts to my mother, boyfriend, and various friends (as you do when passing time), I found myself with eight hours to pass before I needed to be in class. What to do??

I started the day by pulling out my camera and continuing to work on two different photography series I had started, one on urban architecture and one newer one on abstract textures. Visiting the High Line for my second time, I got a bunch of shots that I think I'll be able to turn into something. I ended up later at Union Square, working on a reflection to a performance I'm creating for a class, then working line-by-line (now that I have the damn thing finally memorized) on a monologue I have to perform for another class. All this and it's only noon! What a productive life one can lead when they're not constantly trying to distract themselves. And I even took a break here and there, browsing Crate & Barrel and a few clothing stores (not that I have the money to spend) and walking down to Soho. It really puts into perspective how much time I spend doing nothing when it ends up taking so little time to achieve something. 

A Thought: Have a cellphone-free day. No really. "Forget" it at home and enjoy going off the radar. All the texts and phone calls will be waiting for you when you get back to it, I promise. Not only does it stop you from obsessively checking the damn thing and focusing more on people who are absent from you, but it also directs your attention more towards your immediate surroundings. In a weird way, it's like taking off a pair of sunglasses and just breathing for a minute. Yes, I know we all have iPhones now and need the weather/email/internet/maps/what-have-you apps, but there once was a day when you existed without these things. What better way to remember those days than by going outside and finding out the weather for yourself?

A Find: As I continue to meander the city, I keep stumbling across awesome coffee shops. Two such shops, each having several locations, include Think (one on 14th and 8th, one by NYU) and Gregory's (one by 31st and 6th...I think, another up in midtown somewhere). Gregory's has one of the best chai's I've ever had, full of flavor and really good if you get it dirty (with a shot of espresso). Think I tried out for the first time today, stopping in two of their locations. In each instance, I was waited on by exceptionally friendly people and really dug the openness of their cafes. The one by NYU even offers beer and wine! How cool!

Hanging Curtains in Limbo

Slowly becoming accostomted to this state of limbo, as I suppose you become accostomed to most things. No, that's not resignment in my voice. It's interesting how things that initially strike you as being unpleasant become less so with time, and eventually even become... well... not enjoyable, per se, but at the very least no longer cumbersome. We continue the commute, continue waiting for a verdict on the new apartment (hopefully Tuesday or Wednesday will provide answers), and continue residing in Jersey in the hometown we love. 

It's funny, also, how you sometimes don't develop a strong pride for an area until you are about to leave it. I never felt "Jersey pride" until I moved out of Jersey to Baltimore two years ago. Now, back in Jers and imminently leaving, I'm beginning to feel such strong Asbury pride that it makes it almost difficult at times to think of moving away from the area. I love the streets, the shops, the bars, the local shop owners, the small-town familiarity of it all. Having been quite shy in high school, it's the first time that I go around an area and feel recognized, like I'm a part of the Asbury culture. Luckily, the area in Brooklyn we're hoping to move to has a similar vibe to it and we have the feeling that we'll become fixtures of that area just as we've become fixtures of Asbury. 

A Thought: Fear is such an interesting phenomenon, producing worry, doubt, anxiety, and a plethora of other uncomfortable sensations. My mother told me of an acronym associated with it: False Evidence Appearing Real. That is, you fear things that don't actually exist, but only produce unpleasant potentials. This can be seen quite well in personal little phobias, tiny fears that aren't rooted in logic, but rather rooted in some false perception. 

For example, I'm terrified of public restroom locks not working. Every time I use a public restroom, I check and recheck the lock, the handle, making sure that someone can't accidentally walk in on my while I have my pants down. Illogical, but still producing an absurd and near-obsessing reaction in yours truly. 

However, in most other scenarios, illogical fears are something that can be rationally worked through as you remind yourself of what actually exists and reason away the unpleasant, false, potential scenarios that illicit fear or discomfort within yourself. Easier said than done, I know (I'm still checking those locks), but something to work towards :)

A Find: For women with "atypical" body shapes, say a small waste, large hips, and decent thighs (such as yours truly), Lucky Brand's Charlie Fit is an amazing option. The jeans fit really comfortably, and they offer selections in several colors. I currently have a denim boot leg pair as well as a red skinny fit pair that, amazingly, don't make my thighs and ass look disproportionately large. 

Walking From Penn Station

"Beautiful." "You look beautiful today." "You're really beautiful, you know." "Please stay on the sidewalk, beautiful."

Thus starts my morning. Young girl in a thigh length white dress, knee-high riding boots, and sunglasses. At first, this may seem like a ego-centric validation of "I get hit on, yes I'm attractive." But that is not at all what I mean by this. Rather, it seems a study of the seen and the unseen. I have listed what they see directly, the dress, the boots, the glasses. Potential unseen visions they have may include imaginations of a naked body, a void between two legs to fill, at best an interesting individual to get to know better, a confident being to submit to, a woman to overpower. I can only imagine. To them, the man in Starbucks, the construction workers, the homeless men, the blue-collar worker leaning out of his van, this body presents a plethora of untapped possibilities (no pun intended), this person holds an enigmatic personality they can only assume.

The things they don't see: the sweat seeming into the underarms and back of my dress as I carry my burden of a backpack, the wedgie that creeps ever further up my ass, the limp I'm trying to hide from boots just a smidge too narrow. Even further, they don't see the boyfriend who's working a job he hates to help ensure we get the apartment we've put a deposit on, the mother who warns me against predatory men ("don't engage," "avoid eye contact."), the small child I was who cringed away from physical contact.

Their words, a compliment, an invasion, a form of contact, an assault. I respond. "Thank you." "Oh, thanks, haha." What exactly does it mean to be complimented, to be desired on first sight? The eye presents an image that one finds appealing to one's own tastes. One then reaches outside of themselves, makes known their approval (did I ask for someone else's approval?), and makes verbal contact with the desired object, the object desired for nothing other than sight. Maybe you can judge a book by it's cover, as a person's appearance does in truth reveal a lot about their personality, their tastes, their interests. Maybe it's not just these thighs, these breasts, this ass that attracts their eyes, but what the objects that cover them suggest about the person who owns them. But then again, maybe it is just this body, this face, this shell that I bare to carry all that's within, that piques their interest. Hoping for the former, more often than not, is just idealism.    

A Thought: Savor the little moments, the intricacies that make everyday unique. For example, this morning as my boyfriend and I walked down the street, an energetic, bright eyed, middle-aged african american man stops in front of us, joyously saying "God bless America. And food stamps!" before continuing on his way. Welcome to Thursday.

A Find: An old but nonetheless wonderful find, Moroccan Oil's hair oil. I'm completely in love with this product, an oil you rub on your hands and then feed through your hair that leaves it feeling silky, not overly oily, and smelling wonderful. Excess oil on your hands can then be rubbed on your skin to give it a smoother feel, as well.

http://moroccanoil.com/en_US/products/Moroccanoil®-Treatment

My Name is Impatience, I Live in Limbo

Waiting is the hardest thing to do. Still no word from the landlord as I begin to worry about credit scores, W-2's, guarantors, and all sorts of other things that sound way too adult to have to deal with right now. My boyfriend keeps a calm temperament and helps abet the anxiety that tries to creep through the cracked window as we sleep at night, our house made of boxes as I am still packed from the promise of our first apartment (the shady realtor deal that we were supposed to move into September 1st). So now I live between the floorboards of my mother's house, the desk chairs of my school, and the ever screeching train tracks. I know, I know, more commute complaining. I'll stop now. 

On a brighter note, classes are going really well. This semester's theme seems to be integrating the mind and the body, in the sense that in several of my classes, focus is aimed towards "hereness" and presence, on really being in your body and experiencing thought and sensation (something I struggle with greatly). In one class we watched an three and a half hour long old French film called 23 Commerce Street, in which a woman performed a multitude of everyday tasks with very little dialogue. On one hand, one might say that the film was exceptionally boring, bordering invasive. On the other hand, it really attuned the audience with the subtleties of movement and action while revealing the slightest of changes through body language. We're now tasked with coming up with a performance of our own, of "unconscious behaviors." So, in theory, we're consciously performing a routine of unconscious behaviors, while conscious also of being watched. BAM, hello mind-fuck. Trying playing around with that in your head. 

A Thought:  Set a really fun goal for yourself to make at least one new friend a day. Talk to the barista you get your morning latte from, compliment the guy on the street with the awesome red pants, or ask how someone's day is going and really be interested in their honest answer. Doing so not only calms and cheers up the people around you, but it also helps you to feel more connected to the collective. When you're more attuned with others, it's easier to feel more attuned with yourself, as well. It's a way of saying "hey world, I'm here right now," and sometime's other people's acknowledgment of your existence helps you to feel more grounded.

A Find: I got an absolutely amazing sweater from Free People a few weeks ago and am only now, in this newly brisk weather, able to enjoy it freely.  It's called the poetic verse sweater blazer, it's amazingly comfortable, warm yet light, and just altogether wonderful.

http://www.freepeople.com/poetic-verse-sweater-blazer

Application In!!!

What, what? So after countless emails and phone calls to brokers and Craigslisters, we happen to pass by a building that has a sign with a phone number on it saying "Lofts for Rent." Then a friend of my boyfriend's contacts us saying that he's ready to move out of his parent's house and heard of our dilemma, shall we all look together? With a hurried "yes!" and a phone call, we find ourselves standing in a beautiful, new loft in East Williamsburg/North Bushwick where old industrial buildings are rapidly being taken over by hipsters and artists, converted into loft spaces and studios, and inhabited.

Now the exciting part: our applications and deposit have been given to the landlord! We await the verdict, but feel pretty good about our situation. When all goes well, we will be the inhabitants of a new and beautiful loft come October 1st!!! Can it get any better, you ask? The landlord has also given us permission to construct whatever walls/divisions we wish in the space, so once we move in we'll be turning the open space into a two bedroom with a living and work space (guests more than welcome). The waiting, the walking, the blisters and exhaustion have all been worth it for the amazing find we now nearly grasp in our hands. This is the Brooklyn we wanted to live in, the city we wanted to inhabit.

A Thought: Why do we as a culture so enjoy reading stories, watching movies, viewing plays? One idea: we're all secretly voyeurs. No, but actually. Who out there hasn't passed a lit house at night and looked in the windows, straining to see what the inhabitants are watching on tv? However, with art we are given permission to look, to watch, to stare at other people and other lives. We hungry for that sense of "the other," that sensation of contact we get by watching another. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you don't people watch when you think no ones watching back. 

A Find: "Kiki de Montparnasse" by Catel Miller. This is an amazing graphic novel that tells the true story of Alice Prin, better known as "Kiki," a model and artist from 1920s france. Kiki presents an amazing example of a sexually liberated woman during the first real sexual revolution in a city where the bohemian artsy lifestyle was exploding. It's an amazing story and a well drawn graphic novel that will also expose you to several of the other artists from that time. 

We'll Get There, Eventually

Feet covered in blisters and I'm tired of commuting. Lesson learned: Don't trust shady brokers in New York City. Specifically, don't trust "Best Apartments, NYC." I am now familiar with the "bait and switch" tactic, where they post wonderfully appealing ads on Craigslist so that you come into their office, then discourage you from the apartment (which most likely won't even exist), and try to stick you in a shady, shittier hole after squeezing as much money from you as possible. Never agree to an apartment you haven't seen, though it will "look exactly like the other one we showed you." So they say.   

So now, second week into classes and I'm apartment searching my ass off, finding more and more that posters on Craigslist aren't open minded to couples and most of my shoes aren't conducive to walking long distances. Ah well. Onwards to glory!

A Thought: The best way to learn an area is to go there, walk around, and talk to people in coffee shops. My boyfriend and I have been exploring Brooklyn (Park Slope, Bushwick, and Williamsburg) and have met an amazing bunch of friendly baristas who are more than happy to talk about their experiences in the area. Bring a map and they'll help you get your bearings, as well as point out hip streets and areas to avoid. 

A Find:  Mate (mah-tay) lemonade. Essentially, a yerba mate Arnold Palmer. Mate provides an immense amount of caffeine without the same negative effects as coffee and espresso. We tried this at a cafe called Kave in north Bushwick at the Shops at the Loom. Definitely check out the shops, the cafe, and the mate!