A man’s life is about his direction, I was told (much as his woman’s is to believe in her man’s direction or not).
The reality of life for a man in New York, it seems to me, is that whether he is on a path to success or not, his direction must be evident and true, if not ambitious, for him to be admired to any degree.
I heard someone very dear to me say today that she seldom saw a happy face in New York. I replied saying that it must be because they’re all so tired. Of trying to stake a claim and make a name in what seems like a fierce jungle.
This mural in a most appropriate of locations, a New York subway station, seems to make its subject, very simply and yet profoundly, of all that a man has to do in this city to be considered a man of any standing.
This, after a day spent with modernist American artists’ and late European abstractionists’ works at The Met, is truly a wide-eyed awakening.
Spring Twenty Eighteen
