You’re just dying to love her, you won’t leave til it’s done: NYC photo diary 5th December 2012

I have a really awful habit of taking a shitton of digital photos and then never actually looking through 75% of them. That’s probably why I didn’t really feel any different back in April when I went to LA, San Francisco and Seattle, and only shot on film. What was supposed to be a one-hour exercise to help ease me into sleep has (of course) woken me up entirely, and sent my mind racing in all directions, trying to retrieve some really deeply archived memories. And once I start something, I can’t stop, so this is a super image-heavy post with photos from New York aaaall the way back from Wednesday 5th December, 2012. The corresponding b/w film photos can be be found here and here.

I’m not a planner. I think the root of this lies in my pessimism, which dictates that I shouldn’t plan anything beyond having super rough skeletal ideas of what I might want to do, for fear of utter disappointment. Coupled with my laziness, fucked up nocturnalism, and what I like to call “spontaneity”, this means that I often end up doing either an inhuman number of things in one day, or not much at all. That particular Wednesday, though, I did and saw an insane number of things.

The thing about the Upper East and West Sides is that I feel like I’m walking through a movie set or something. I’m not sure why it feels more surreal than the rest of New York to me, but maybe its residential nature gives off the false pretense of normality, when it’s about as far from normal as I can get, in a sense. That day, I stupidly picked what is possibly the ugliest route through Central Park, as I headed up a few blocks first, from my friend’s place at 72nd and Broadway.

I don’t think I will ever have quite the right words to describe how I feel about the Guggenheim Museum. And all these upward-looking photos are so blasé and terribly overdone, I know, but it seemed pretty obligatory. Perhaps the only not-so-repetitive observation I can make, though, is that I love how the the lines start to visually bend and warp, when you look upwards from different angles and perspectives. If you stand close enough to the edge rather than the centre, the shift reminds me of those slinky toys from the 90s. I really enjoyed the no-photography policy for the Picasso Black and White exhibition, because it meant that everyone was looking through their eyes rather than through a lens, camera or otherwise. It also meant that many of the tourist hoards only spent a fraction of the time they normally would have, in front of each piece, which just generally improved my experience, to be honest. Also, I’m going to get shot for saying this, but I much, much preferred Picasso’s black and white works. It just felt like the least distracting way to chronologically follow Picasso’s stylistic development, and yes, inconsiderate people who liked to stand RIGHT UP IN FRONT OF THE DAMN PAINTINGS, IN EVERYONE’S WAY, Picasso could “paint normally” indeed.

Funny, the things you can do with low light and very steady hands despite the freezing cold. I had intended on visiting the Empire State Building earlier, but that just wasn’t happening after waking late, reading every single detailed label at Black and White, and then being unable to peel myself away from the Met. The upside was that I got to see the sunset from the viewing deck, but the downside was that I froze my arse off. Also, I’d stupidly forgotten that it gets windy when you’re elevated above a city, and wore a skirt that flew everywhere. I gave up trying to hold it down, and just let fly. Seriously.

I will never stop creepily stalking people for photos. This one isn’t particularly exciting, but with some of my other stuff… well it’s passed my mind whether I should actually talk to people and send them the results — for example, look at how happy this couple is (bottom photo).

I remember my friend (whose couch I crashed on) repeatedly asking me whether it was okay for me to wander about without company, and most especially if I was okay with eating alone. I think it only bothered me once in New York, mostly because of the pitiful looks I received at Serendipity; I’m so used to it now. I guess I’m just being quite reflective about that trip because it’s not that long until I’ll be back in the big bad city again. Except that everything’s going to be so different.

I booked this trip knowing I really needed it. To be lost in the familiar sensation of anonymity in a place where so many dreams are born but also go to die. To meander through roads taken but paths yet forged. It’s funny because I had so looked forward to being alone, and now I’m stupidly excited about someone meeting me there. All that shit about how “when one door closes, another one opens” is airy optimistic fluff at best. And I hate using cheesy analogies, but I think what’s more important is that people stop trying to keep or wedge open doors which are clearly slamming dead shut, and instead just chill the fuck out because there’s always another way in or out — depending on how you see it — the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Soon.