I do not lie when I tell you I'd like to move to a village with a steam train. One of my favorite memories was taking the train from Glasgow to Peterborough and just staring out the window. During my first trip to New York my Grandmother told me, "We're taking the train to Penn Station. You may not know this but the railroad is in your blood." As a child my parents would take me to Flea Markets and then stop off at a diner in an old railroad house. I loved that diner. I love the railroad tracks. When Holly passed away my cousin RK and I would walk along the tracks. She took pictures as I danced along in floral dresses and periwinkle sweaters. "The railroad, it's our home." She said. And I'd leave pennies as offerings and we shot with an old polaroid.
Steam train in Orton. Photo by Bits n Bobs
I don't live in a small town anymore and the subway trains just don't have that same effect. I've been longing for simplicity lately. So much so that I had to change my surroundings. You see, once a space gets stale it's no longer workable. I couldn't paint because I couldn't look at the walls anymore. All I could think of was creating a space that I could work in again. I was overwhelmed by objects and so I thought of a time when things were simple. I thought of the way that old diner was decorated, and I decided I'd create that in my home, my work space.
It started with the record player. I like white noise, the staticky crackle of the record as the needle hits the vinyl.
My Dad gives me the horse shoes from the former race horses my Grandparents used to own.
The owl butterfly tray from my Grandmother.
I kept the curtains from Bed-Stuy. One of the only things to travel with me throughout the years.
My typewriter that I once brought into a Dive Bar and demanded people write.
I think I'm ready to paint again.