I have never made a secret of my love for New York. Certain places just resonate in ways that are impossible to explain. Impossible, because it’s not a matter of analysing or thinking about the place. Rather, it’s a matter of emotional fascination, voyeuristic satisfaction and energy in quaquaversal motion. Even before coming to New York for the first time, in 1993, I fantasised about the place. Gotham romanticism, 42nd Street, Beat & Jazz 50s, Warhol 60s, tasteless disco 70s and no wave, cocaine-fueled yuppie 80s… ”The first trip blew my mind.” Since then, I keep coming back. I probably have more friends in New York than at home in Sweden, and interest in my work certainly seems greater there (vanity must surely be a part of the resonance!).
Strolling down the wide Manhattan avenues or the skyscraper-encased crossing streets, I’m always amazed at the mix between the new and old. Remnants of glory days fiercely remain and defy, threatened by new and ugly Trumpisms. The real sleaze is gone (at least on Manhattan), and yet an atmosphere that anything could happen remains.
Trash is taken care of, eventually. The more or less constant wailing of sirens signals distress, yet the overall feeling of laissez-faire and mind-your-own-business-ism creates a comforting, constructive sense of human endeavour. People want to get by. And somehow most of them do. It’s as if there’s a shield protecting the coffee-cup-hugging and smartphone-grabbing mass of humans from each other, from cab drivers on a rampage to clueless tourists looking up at big money touching the sky. It’s one great big geometrical antheap for sure, but a seemingly functioning one. And fun.
Old signs blink and buzz along with new. Classic venues for foodstuffs and entertainment still deliver, the subway deafens and rattles, steam still oozes up from the manholes, a bombardment of exquisite logotypes still convey… something. Uniformed doormen still politely receive their privileged residents after eccentric dogwalking, the homeless still build their own temporary castles out of cardboard, delivery vans load and unload tons of stuff in a frenzy of commerce…
There’s room for the TV-programmed automatons, the corporate humanoids and the most radical shape-shifting artists, for the nervously greedy and for the disgruntled down-and-outers. There’s more to do than can ever be done. That in itself is a huge New Yorkean comfort, and perhaps the most important ingredient in this ever simmering alphabet soup. Also a great parable or metaphor for life itself. There’s so much you want to do, but there’s simply no time for all of it.
One key to the functionality of New York (in this case meaning Manhattan) could be good old fashioned stratification. Everyone needs to survive so you do what needs to be done. The extreme multi-ethnic experiment has worked out because of this: immediate business opportunities transcending even deep-rooted prejudice. The American dream of success is possible to maintain because basically everyone wants the same thing: more. Each and everyone in their own place, dreaming of success and something else, something extended, something more visibly successful. Yet contained within a very Draconian structure, allowing for an undisturbed process of more of the same.
Yes, Giuliani cleaned up what was essentially a romanticised image of New York sleaze in my own and many others’ minds. Disneyfication ensued. But there was also a very tangible decrease in crime as a result of it, no doubt decreased further post 9/11 draconianisms. What remains may not be the same intense insanity as during the 1960s, 70s or even 80s, but there’s still that vibrant creative buzz around that may actually be part of the city’s soul rather than its strategic social constructs and the symbolic value of monstrously vulgar lifestyle Neubauten.
As I drift around mid-town aimlessly I come across a stationary store. I stop by to see what’s there. A book cover in the window catches my attention: ”The Zen Doodle Coloring book (for adults)” It tilts my mind because it contains so much of what I love about America. Ingenuity, (mild-mannered) insanity and competition being three essential things. It’s simply a book with black and white images that you’re supposed to colour. This apparently to bring you peace of mind in your fragmented lifestyle. Fair and fine as a concept, and I’m sure it works for some people (although perhaps mainly as a healthy regression to childhood colouring sessions). But that title says it all: ”The Zen Doodle Coloring book (for adults)”. Allusions to something spiritual, a funny word, a real item specification and then a safety measure to make sure it doesn’t get into the wrong (small) hands (litigation, ever present). It really is an ultimate title for a product, and in many ways it touches upon America in itself, and perhaps New York specifically: ”The Life-enhancing Stratification Hamsterwheel Bag of Tricks (for adults)”, the neon-glazed underbelly of the Beast we gladly delve into to learn about the human condition in the best possible way.
