Living in New York as an artist is sometimes like living with a painting you can’t finish. You’ve spent weeks staring at that canvas, perhaps months, perhaps years. What was once and still is filled with so much opportunity has become stale by the grinding down on us of life, like our teeth at night. But it still awaits your stroke, demanding your presence and attention. Sometimes people ask me what is the best part about living in New York and my answer is “leaving.” Leaving New York is like relinquishing your grip on the outcome of the painting. And coming back to New York is like knowing what to do next to the painting and moving just one step closer to some image you’ve been after your whole life.
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