All nights lead to the morning. Most choose to break during the interlude, the hours of sunrise, but we few take this as our time of day. I've had many relations with dawn in different cities, different countries. One New York night took us all around, from the meat packing district, to a midtown Serbian party, to the lower east side. Different folks, different drinks, different dance parties. A night of Handsome Bobs and cocky Male Models. As I got off the E in LIC, I knew the night could not end without the dawn. I found myself by the G, taking me to Greenpoint, where I found what I was looking for.
Art emanating life, life emanating art. Until we realize that it is all a cycle, we are each prowling around until sunrise. Some in dreams, some walking around in restless nights. This sunrise was the substance Impressionist paintings are made of.
No comments:
Post a Comment