So this is what happened to me on Friday.
My car had broken down the day before in Greenwich Village.
I was teaching way out at the far end of the Bronx, as part of this federal research project I'm involved in-- in a struggling school, where less than 40% of my students are at or above grade level. It can be pretty discouraging work, often I just want to quit. It was a long subway ride-- through the South Bronx. I'm sketching, there's a guy sleeping near me and someone else further away who's ignoring me. About halfway, a tall African American man, working class, little younger than me, comes in the door behind me, then sits down directly across from me, and asks, "you've been drawing a long time?" "About 10-15 minutes," I say. "No, I mean in your life. You do it for a living?" (Now I never talk to people on the subway, and normally I would find a guy like this intimidating, especially in an unfamiliar area of the city. I noticed that he had nice, but intense eyes.) So I said, "yes, I've been drawing my whole life. I teach, and sell paintings sometimes." He said, "I've been drawing my whole life. too. I really love it, it calms me down. Helps me see the positive side of things." Just then the doors behind him opened at a deserted stop, and I saw a rat scurry by inches from the car. We talked about how everyone's on the computer these days, but how working with a pencil or pen on paper is different, is special. He told me he mainly works from observation, that he likes to draw what he sees, but that sometimes he makes work for silk-screening on t shirts or bandannas to sell at the Puerto Rican day parade and stuff. He got off, somewhere in the Bronx, and I continued on, but somehow it was the kind of encounter with a stranger that made us both feel affirmed -- that this humble act of sketching in the subway is significant, important even. That somehow it helps us feel that our lives are worth living.
I was teaching way out at the far end of the Bronx, as part of this federal research project I'm involved in-- in a struggling school, where less than 40% of my students are at or above grade level. It can be pretty discouraging work, often I just want to quit. It was a long subway ride-- through the South Bronx. I'm sketching, there's a guy sleeping near me and someone else further away who's ignoring me. About halfway, a tall African American man, working class, little younger than me, comes in the door behind me, then sits down directly across from me, and asks, "you've been drawing a long time?" "About 10-15 minutes," I say. "No, I mean in your life. You do it for a living?" (Now I never talk to people on the subway, and normally I would find a guy like this intimidating, especially in an unfamiliar area of the city. I noticed that he had nice, but intense eyes.) So I said, "yes, I've been drawing my whole life. I teach, and sell paintings sometimes." He said, "I've been drawing my whole life. too. I really love it, it calms me down. Helps me see the positive side of things." Just then the doors behind him opened at a deserted stop, and I saw a rat scurry by inches from the car. We talked about how everyone's on the computer these days, but how working with a pencil or pen on paper is different, is special. He told me he mainly works from observation, that he likes to draw what he sees, but that sometimes he makes work for silk-screening on t shirts or bandannas to sell at the Puerto Rican day parade and stuff. He got off, somewhere in the Bronx, and I continued on, but somehow it was the kind of encounter with a stranger that made us both feel affirmed -- that this humble act of sketching in the subway is significant, important even. That somehow it helps us feel that our lives are worth living.
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