I arrived two days ago in this giant city. I cannot describe it with words, I have to paint. Trying to translate into drawing so much new information in my brain. Processing. Experiencing a bit of vertigo in my 16th floor hotel room.
I feel like a needle in a haystack.
And it’s ok.
Thankful for being surprised, astonished, amazed, shocked, overwhelmed by the contrasts of our modern world.
Expressions of our time.
I try to think about the humans behind the construction of the millions of new buildings in this country. The humans behind the factories, the millions of Kilometers of Highways, airports, train tracks. I try to empathize with the minds believing in this idea of progress, designing the shape of the cities, the modern life. I imagine the architects and engineers as kids playing with Lego. Fascinated by the power of bringing into life their plans.
I think about all the human force needed to lift up the tall towers. Humans with their arms and legs, hands, feet, hearts, and dreams, ideas, motivation, long working days, extremely low salaries.
By default I could only be against this idea of progress and development. It’s difficult not to judge, to reject, to point at the other side of the modernity. To ask about the consequences, about the future.
I could get depressed very fast. I have to find another way.
I have to see life behind the concrete and the glass. Life is complex. Life is never only good or bad. Life is both construction and destruction. Is impossible to stop this eternal movement. Life is this mystery. We are an expression of this nonsense. There’s no logic, nothing to understand.
Life is this infinite kaleidoscope of possibilities. Overlapped layers of reality.
I’m perfectly fine with being critical of this craziness. But, are we not all related to it?
Who can separate from this model and claim to be good, to be innocent.
Or Maybe I need to forgive myself as human. I somehow need to keep the hope. And think that I’m not that bad. Or yes. That in all of us there’s a bit of the predator. A bit of the slave. A bit of the oppressor. A bit of the poet. A bit of the business man.
Reflexionando sobre la improbabilidad de ser lo suficientemente hipsters para estar en Williamsburg. Mientras tanto era bonito ver el atardecer sobre Manhattan.