Last night I weaned myself off the laptop computer and headed out. For once, I was actually socialising in my own borough of Brooklyn, and even better, could catch the subway to get to my destination.
One of my tennis-playing pals, Steven Paul, runs MadArts, an exhibition space for a collective of 30 artists all trying to earn a quid (I can use that term because Steve is originally from the UK) from their painting or their photography or their sculpture or their work that doesn’t fit into any of those aforementioned categories. The collective was having a launch party to celebrate the opening of their spring show – an ambitious description for the exhibition, given the weather has been well below freezing for the past seven days.
Australian wine was available, and there was some interesting work on display, and I knew two people there, who knew other people there … but after a bit of conversational patter and two circuits of the exhibits I felt I had exhausted my options.
Coming home, I was surprised by how crowded the train was. One can feel lonely in a crowd anywhere, but I never feel lonely on the New York City subway.
