What'll happen to Billyburg?

The New York Time wrote about the, often stigmatized, "trust fund babies" a.k.a "trustfunders" or "trustafarians" of Williamsburg -- 20 somethings who rely greatly on their parents to help pay for $2,500 rent lofts while they go after their passions and spend time in boutiques and coffeeshops off Bedford Ave. We all know how difficult it is to make rent and other essential living expenses in this city, while juggling jobs and having the time and energy to create work – oh yeah, and some sleep as well. It looks like the economy has hit Billyburg and many are moving out. The recession is definitely affecting the entire strata of the social pyramid. It doesn't seem like there's anyone untouched by this.

I couldn't get over the quote which, mind you, I thought was a farce and something more that I would more likely read off of The Onion than the New York Times:

Luis Illades, an owner of the Urban Rustic Market and Cafe on North 12th Street, said he had seen a steady number of applicants, in their late 20s, who had never held paid jobs: They were interns at a modeling agency, for example, or worked at a college radio station. In some cases, applicants have stormed out of the market after hearing the job requirements.

“They say, ‘You want me to work eight hours?’" Mr. Illades said. “There is a bubble bursting.”

I know, I know...but schadenfreude is the entire point of the article...and this blog post. (I never claimed to be perfect.) Here's a link to the New York Times article. As an added bonus and for an interesting read on the hipster debate, check this out. Technorati Tags: art, art, recession, economy, Williamsburg, struggling artist

Be a Thief

If you're going to steal, be authentic and sincere about it.

Street Artist: Swoon

I ran into one of my an interview of Swoon, whom I've never seen before. So it was quite a discovery. I had a feeling this artist was somewhere nearby, definitely living in Brooklyn 'cause most of the pieces I've had the luck running into have been in Dumbo, the Slope, etc, etc. I love how the direction the art is going.

National Poetry Month: A poem a day

Here we go....I'm a bit behind already since time escaped me and I didn't realize it was already April.  So here's the first prompt. There are actually two sites, each with a different prompt.  Whether it seeds from indecision or overachievement, I'll attempt to write one for each.  On uninspired days, I'll choose one.

Prompt from April PAD Challenge, Writer's Digest: Day 1
Write an origin poem. It can be the origin of a word, person, plant, idea, etc.

Upstream Passage


Cold tiles against bare feet, using
bathroom walls and banisters for balance,

she stretches and squats all day,
intent on inducing

labor. Some days she sits
on the sofa with her seasoned belly exposed

like a peeled mango showing
its ripe flesh.  She practices in solitude,

squeezing an orange
for pulp, crafting

the perfect birth. You
peek through the window and see

one of Degas’ dancers warming up, reaching
for her toes in mid-stance.  Beautifully awkward.

But most days she stands

by the door, a worn out trout
swimming upstream, waiting to be done with it.

NaPoWriMo Prompt, Day 1: Metaphor
Right now, at this very minute, list five things in front of you. In
front of you being a relative term: on your desk, on your arm, out your
window … . Choose the two most disparate things and yoke them together
into a fabulous metaphor. Now, use it in a poem.


sometimes fruit

not everything’s a metaphor.  sometimes fruit
no matter how sweet
or fleshy is just
fruit. juices drip from hinge
of mouth tells me
you’re messy
and maybe next time
more napkins.


---
For the Writer's Digest Challenge, there's an e-book giveaway -- a feel good incentive, something to work towards that's all.  For rules check out Robert Lee Brewer's blog, here.

John F*$!-en Malkovich

Someone else noticed his favorite word when acting.  He has truly developed this into an artform. Watch.

Challenge: Name a movie where he doesn't say it.

Interview with Art Spiegelman

Here's a light interview with well-known comic artist, Art Spiegelman (author of graphic novel Maus) on one of my favorite podcasts, KCRW's Bookworm with Michael Silverblatt. 

Enjoy.

Links:
Direct Link to the Interview's webpage, click here.
Visit KCRW's Bookworm and subscribe to their podcast.

pinch me now

For the first time in what I thought was two or three and a half years (which I now realize has actually been four and a half years!!) I can say that I'm actually writing a poem again.  The funny (and scary) thing is that it wasn't even writer's block.  One day there was just nothing.  As for being back....it wasn't a big moment of sudden creative energy or a dried-up dam suddenly overflowing with water from the gods up above. No, it was not a sudden rush of inspiration nor was it the muses filling up my well with creative juices and inducing a brilliant flow of words which I couldn't stop.  No.  It was nothing romanticized like that, but a simple moment--just like any other in the past four and a half years--where I attempt to write. This time there was something different, something very small and deceptively inconsequential ...  And I think it's here to stay.  The dormant period is over and maybe all the work of trying is paying off.  This "poem" is only a start to an awful, banal poem perhaps, but it's something and I'll toast to that and kiss this awful year off. 

I am very rusty.

To be frank, it was probably fear.  Fear of failing, of dying, of aging and withering away in this city that I cannot learn to leave despite all the bad hands it deals out to me.  I still have some fight in me, I guess.  I better, as I'm too young not to.  And perhaps this poem by Jenny Joseph had something to do with it.

Warning

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other peoples' gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that jeep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

By Jenny Joseph