I suppose now for most people a trip to Katz’s is not what a resident does in New York anymore. It’s like only Americans from other states and travellers like me find the nostalgia too much to bear and eventually give in to the card marking experience. Maybe it’s not so bad that I have an image of a more energetic youthful soda pop existence than the sadness that comes with all those faded instamatic shots on the walls. Lives clearly have moved on and with them the wood browns darker, the food keeps coming and the memories stack up on East Houston and Ludlow.
It’s twee old manhattan, over and over, and since the first time the prices are drifting up. No matter, if a curator told me this was an ongoing install (like synecdoche) then I’d visit the show, pay the money and repeat like a performance artist / Soda Browns – Browns Soda, like a lost lunatic.
Waddling around outside I could hear the rain on my new hat and noticed slick black sidewalks covered in water it had poured for the hour and cars washed through corners shoving water onto the path, out of nowhere I seen these leggings on a young enough girl and thought how stark against the black waterstones her luminous pants looked. I thought about her at home seeing the grey out side and saying “Yes. These will do for me” so on went the ridiculously lime green invasion pants and onto the pathway she went, luckily for me she drifted my way and then click, without thinking opened the shutter a little and squeezed.
From the old school to the new school in a swift instant.