A trip through the heart of my youth

We are, each of us possessed by a kind of magic. A way in which we navigate the world everyday, dealing with thousands of things without thinking, just drifting through the field of existence like butterflies in a high wind. Preparation is an after-thought brought on by necessity. We do, because there is no other possibility.

After a trip through the heart of my youth, arriving in Chicago, train to Michigan, a bit of paint and then long drive to upstate NY i found myself married. She and I have known each other forever. And we always will. But honeymoons end and her return to the UK left me behind to dance with the bureaucratic nonsense of nations. I was in NYC alone. Drifting again against a backdrop of randomness and want. So I found myself something to do.

In an abandoned firehouse in the Bowery I spilled colour and danced with paint. Listening to the endless conversations outside the door go by into the early hours. Colour becoming an atmosphere, a shape that is more than the room can contain. Finally the room dissolves. The shapes linger on the horizon, the light bare and unassuming, the walls still smelling of age and dust.

When it is finished I show it to my friends, the party ends, the food later is good. The show will run for a week. But then a hurricane descended on the city.

Rain and wind brings this metropolis of 21st century to a standstill. Streets fill with water. Power ends, darkness begins. Subways grind to a halt. I am stranded, immobile and even if I wanted to go someplace where do you go when nothing is open, all lights out and everyone is cowering inside?

After a day or so the storm has ended but the city still cleans itself, hobbling back to normalcy like some crash victim. Broken bones mending slowly, movement difficult but no longer impossible. It is Halloween night and I am in the heart of Brooklyn, buildings tall around me, a shadow from a former time returning to claim its throne. People walk the streets but still the subways are closed. Parties cancelled, ribaldry called off.

Soon I will return to London, the home I imagined as a child, now a reality. The music and the lights of NYC fade as the winter wind takes me back they way the crow flies. A New Year is coming, and with it new possibilities, new adventures filled with endless discovery.