The Old School House
I am pretty sure I was awkward (vs. cool), waiting in anticipation of the stranger who invited me to the repurposed school house on Prince and Mott. I found myself in a sea of hipsters, Euro-creatives, artists and Rastas. Each room offered a varied style of mild visual debauchery, (compared to the original values dominated by the grounds, I imagine). Decidedly, it was a much more appropriate creative stomping ground than a disciplined one. Just like in school I wrote on the chalkboards only this time the colors were rainbow. Tatted fashionistas strolled through as if it were their world. Indeed it was but their shade of neurosis fell into installations, suspended mannequins, first dates and groups of friends huddled in smoky social clouds. I knew my ability to believe could leave me in stasis for abnormal amounts of time so I just dumbly waited for my stranger, chatting with the people who seemed more cool in their skin than I was. Art and boldness lived around each curve, scribbles became charming and the most simple tools began to draw a new global religion of purpose. I opted to view the rhetoric inspired by the take-over as an invitation to consider the possibilities…if I could only remember this was my world – what would I do with a brick building that used to be a Catholic School? I walked away remembering why I love New York, somehow soothed and happy to return home.