: In Soho, on our way to meet Sherill Tippins- the historian of the Chelsea Hotel. Radek is drawn to some street art. Sophie is there by his side to document.
Art is our weapon. Fire away.
“Was not so much our finding America as it was America finding
its voice in us; many spoke to America as though
America by land-right was theirs by law-right
legislatively acquired by materialistic coups of
wealth and inheritance; like the citizen of society
believes himself the owner of society, and what he
makes of himself he makes of America and thus when
he speaks of America he speaks of himself, and quite
often such a he is duly elected to represent what he
represents… an infernal ego of an America
Thus many a patriot speaks lovingly of himself when he speaks
of America, and not to appreciate him is not to
appreciate America, and vice-versa
The tongue of truth is the true tongue of America, and it could
not be found in the Daily Heralds since the voice
therein was a controlled voice, wickedly
opinionated, and directed at gullible
No wonder we found ourselves rootless… for we’ve become the
very roots themselves,—the lie can never take root and there grow under a truth of sun and therefrom bear the fruit of truth”
Gregory Corso, Elegiac Feelings American
As Radek and Sophie walked through the streets and reveling at the beauty of the city and its many gifts, they happened upon a street artist creating a beautiful chalk drawing in Union Square. A fitting end to celebrate a day of gloriously rogue artmaking!
“When I went back upstairs I felt an inexplicable sense of kinship with these people, though i had no way to interpret my feeling of prescience. I could have never predicted that I would one day walk in their path. At that moment I was still a gangly twenty-two-year-old book clerk, struggling simultaneously with several unfinished poems.
On that night, too excited to sleep, infinite possibilities seemed to swirl above me. I stared up at the plaster ceiling as I had done as a child. It seemed to me that the vibrating patterns overhead were sliding into place.
The mandala of my life.”
Patti Smith, Just Kids
