New York is a city full of windows, looking out and looking in. A shifting play of rectangles, the city is made up of boxes upon boxes. People live in them, breathe in them, glide up them, sleep in them. Artists, too, make their work in them, and painters confine what they see within the four corners of their frames. You can understand why artists worked with geometric abstractions here: it’s in the multilayered landscapes that morph in and out of infinite squares and strokes.
Last week I relocated to New York for a few months. I’ve always loved this city, but I’ve never stayed longer than two weeks. I’m based just above the East Village, and already when I wake up I’m enmeshed in the noises outside. Although I’m on my own, there’s a comforting feeling that I have everyone around me, wrapped up in our boxes, about to embark on the day ahead.
