Nothing can describe the massive amount of human beings that showed up today in NYC for the Women’s March. I’m exhausted, emotional, and overwhelmed, but above it all I feel hope for the first time in months.
We will resist. We will fight. We are the people.
I’ve been doing some soul searching lately (as one always does at the beginning of the year… how exactly do I bottle that feeling every day?) and the usual questions keep coming up.
Why can’t I focus on one thing?
What are the various things I’ve focused on over the years?
How can I become a full time artist and change my life?
How can I help change the current state of the world (really? President Trump? REALLY?)
Anyway, while pondering and searching and mulling and other such words for thinking shit through, I realized I’m constantly doodling faces. Particularly gals. So in an effort to stick to something for a few days and also get myself out there a little more, I’ll be sharing my women every day for awhile. Until I’m tired of doing it. Because frankly I’m REALLY tired of saying I’m going to do something all year long only to quit a month or two in and then feel all bad about myself for not following through.
So here are the ladies I’ve drawn so far this year:
It's just one of those unexplainable days. Thinking too hard, tired, feeling like everything is lame. I seem to be particularly hung up on everyone's need to talk about doing things yet never actually DOING ANYTHING!
I use caps lock because it helps. Like a punching bag.
Tonight I will beer and wine myself back into a smile, get a long sleep, and tomorrow wake up anew. And MAYBE there will be a little less TALKING and a little more DOING around here!!
I was working my first off Broadway show, Shape of Things at the Promenade theater. The work call for the day had just started, and right before walking in to the theater I got a call from my dad making sure I was OK. A plane had hit a building.
It was hard to take seriously at that point, especially all the way up on 76th street. We just assumed it was a small plane and, although tragic, not life altering. But there was definitely a lingering nervous energy in the air.
Nearly an hour later, the first building started to fall. We had the radio on. The reporter started half crying, half screaming "It's falling!" That's the moment everything changed.
That was the day I became a New Yorker. That was the day we started to think differently. That was the day I worried about my brother who was near enough to the buildings to see people jump from them. That was the day the people who lived in my apartment that I'd later move into and live in for the next 7 years decided they couldn't be in NYC anymore. That was my co-worker's birthday and, instead of celebrating, we sat in his apartment and watched the news. That was the day I stood on a rooftop on 191st street and watched lower Manhattan burn for hours.
We all became different people that day, for better or for worse. And now, 14 years later, it feels so distant and strange and surreal. So much has happened and life has moved forward, but I can almost physically feel that little part of me that changed that day. I do have to think about it, but it's there.
Labor day weekend. Dinner party. Hangover. Exciting side project (that I look forward to unleashing on the public eye shortly). Grocery shopping. Soccer practice. Pizza. Building a website for the fella. US Open (on TV, not in person sadly). First day of school for the 10 year old step buddy.
It's been a big last 5 or so days.