Monday 28th November 2011
In a city as iconic as New York, everybody has a story. The place is so big that you don’t necessarily have to be told a story by the person in question; you automatically become a spectator when you look out of your window at the natives as your car passes.
You don’t have to sit and talk to someone to know their story, all you have to do is observe because you’re imagination starts sewing the thread through every piece of their puzzle: their environment, the way they walk/talk/dress, and their facial expression. We’ve seen so many depictions of this iconic city a million times over; The kid walking down the block on his way to the ‘Liquor Store’ to buy some candy instantly becomes the eldest sibling who has become a young carer as a result of an absent father and a mother addicted to drugs. The same kid who is the top of his class en route to a stellar career in law instantly becomes the kid who caves in to the pressure of his environment by dropping out of college to become the local drug general.
This is something that the Big Apple does to all visitors because we’re so used to the hyperreality often seen on TV, film, music, and literature.
In all honesty I can only speak on my own behalf because I can’t help but to become wrapped up in the NYC fantasy, especially on my first visit.
The city, the life, and its natives are amazing, beyond all the smoke and the preconceived mirrors is where you’ll find six million stories based on actuality so I guess this is a way of me saying that its time for me to remove my hyperrealist lenses.