Empire State in East Village, New York City, New York, USA
I had never visited New York City before I moved here. The only connection I had were episodes of Friends. So I packed up a suitcase and a backpack and moved in with an NYU student I had meet on Craigslist—the best choice of my life.
Why did I move? Why did I quit a salary-paying, benefit-coverage, full-time job in Dallas, Texas to move here? An internship. An internship that became the most self deprecating act I had and have ever indulged in. It paid $100 a day and I enjoyed gathering coffee and cookie orders for meetings in the Madison Square area.
Jaded after my internship I came to the conclusion that this place is not charming, but it’s not ugly either, it’s just another damn spot on a map. A spot that has icons that we have all seen over, and over, and over, and over, and over again—in films and on television. I know what they look like and where they are and I refuse to go see them.
Living specifically in the East Village I see the Empire State Building every day, on either my run around the park or a walk to the subway. It stares over me from the Tompkins Square Park like a disgruntled parent waiting for an apology.
Independent Design & Illustration & Art Direction
Remembering to breathe.
I live in one of the last standing neighborhoods in Manhattan. I know my neighbors: bars, restaurants, laundromat, and grocery store. I see the same people and know they care about this place as much as I do. The last neighborhood I knew of was, when I was in the 4th grade, in a suburb of Dallas where I would walk to Gamm’s house after school to play Pokémon cards.
This neighborhood is my home.
Fall; no computer; no phone and a small fire in my smoker on the back patio with some pals.
It’s surprising warm in cold spot.
I don’t have a car.
Its size—both small and large.
My Mom: Doesn’t take your shit but will give you a hug.