Spring has basically come and gone since I was here last. The windows are open, the fan is on and sticking has started. Roses, iris and vibrunum are out in Brooklyn and it feels like the start of the next big thing. The totaling of the truck is a long released nightmare of a situation but I've actually almost enjoyed being vehicle-free. The past few months have been spent reconnecting with the sidewalks- the true home of all New Yorkers. The sidewalk here are our backyards, our only daily connection to nature. There is something more inspiring about a violet growing in a cement crack than damn near anything else in the world. And can it please going without saying that we are all that violet in our own way?
This winter was brutal. Truly. I felt abandoned by this city and ready to abandon it right back. But seasons have a way of turning corners and this place still has me under its thumb. Not just because of my loving boyfriend here and enough stuff to fill several large dumpsters, but at this point, I'm finally ready to be called a New Yorker. Not permanently, maybe just for now, but after 11 years of hustle I better face facts. The scales tipped when I did the flowers for a party at the Met this month for the opening of the new Costume Institute show. This place has been hard on me, but wow. That was everything.
(Here is a photo I took with my phone of that, since I am camera-less these days. Those instagram kids get all the news as it happens. But they don't get my heart like you do.)