I can’t say that growing up in a suburban neighborhood, just miles outside of the city, hasn’t made me a little jaded. My first bedroom was on the third floor of a white house that revealed the World Trade Center, the lower Manhattan skyline and the Verrazano Bridge. I’d spy at the silver cubicles through one side of a pair of binoculars as the buildings sparkled in the evening sun, as if they were entities of a science fiction novel or a surrealist painting. I never thought twice about what I was seeing, although, I did know there was something amazing about it.
Recently, well about 10 months ago, I’ve been re-discovering, or maybe finally discovering the city I’ve grown in the shadows of. I ‘ve been here all along but never stopped for a moment and absorbed its greatness, and its beauty. It’s embarrassing to think I’ve never been to Liberty Island or even the top of the Empire State Building! Maybe I will soon. This renaissance of discovery had been triggered due to my living in Brooklyn.
I’ve been gravitating towards the art filled neighborhoods and cultures that inhabit the centuries-old streets of Brooklyn. Endless graffiti and modern sculptures, people of variety, even the aged buildings, with telltale cracks and burnt brick, harboring the stories of generations past. I want to get involved; I want to exist within the bounds of this places existence. Perfectly exploring this city would take an eternity. But part of the beauty is accepting I’ll never know it all, just what I stumble across- and I’m fine with that.
I love playing my guitar with the windows open feeling the breeze of the east river on my face. I love listening to the music that echoes off of the high ceilings and into my ears, from the guitar I’m playing as I stare at the city, as it tells me what to play.
I know I’m a product of this city. I just can’t wait to show this place what I can do.