Ten Blocks
Routines. They hold a strong place in my DNA, and although I’d like to think I’m spontaneous and adventurous, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love my good old routine. It’s not flashy or exciting, but it's stable, and that brings a sense of comfort.
When I lived in NY, in my very first apartment tucked away on 75th St. between Columbus and Amsterdam, I would walk ten blocks to get to class, ten blocks back home for lunch, ten blocks back for more classes/rehearsals, and finally those familiar ten blocks back home. As I walked, I would pass this little coffee shop called The Muffins Cafe and see the same little old man with a big toothless grin on his face every time we caught each other's glance. He would walk to that cafe for a small coffee and a muffin, several times a day, and it was his routine. Our routines were intersecting and becoming somewhat of a tradition. My sister and I nicknamed him the muffin man, and we looked forward to seeing him slowly make his way to that cafe. He had seen me crying, dancing, counting out music I needed to memorize, and laughing with my sister as we walked. Of course, I was far too introverted a person to ever introduce myself. I liked our tradition the way it was. I didn’t want it to change. It was comfortable and kind and brought a moment of happiness to the mundane. His simply being there was stabilizing for me in a time when I desperately needed something stable.
I think life is filled with moments like these that get overlooked among the day-to-day but leave lasting impressions. Sometimes the most beautiful things aren’t the most noticeably so, and it takes paying closer attention to discover them. In this series, I tried to shine a light on the overlooked moments. The moments that make life far more beautiful and hardly get recognition. I hope these pieces feel like the routine walk between strangers, that same cup of coffee from your favorite neighborhood shop, and the quick kiss between lovers before leaving for work. These can fall so easily among the routine, that we forget to see them, they far outnumber the big exciting moments, yet most of us live in the shadow of past memories or long for future fantasies. The familiar should never start to become the expectation.
I wanted these pieces to feel like my ten-block walk through Manhattan. Bright, loud, and a little chaotic. I wanted to create a feeling of familiarity by using the same size stretched canvas in the same wood frames hung straight down either side of the shop. I used the same color palette for each piece but added and took away shades to emphasize different perspectives of the familiar. These nine pieces are meant to represent living in the here and now, and seeing the small moments for the gifts that they are to us.
Perspective is a powerful thing, and if we train our minds to notice and appreciate the small moments, we find ourselves living more gratefully and wondrously.
