My expedition to the core of the Big Apple
by Christina Marcon
Using my mom’s old point-and-shoot film camera, I snapped pictures of the tallest skyscrapers I’ve ever seen in my life, and the juxtaposition of the lush greenery in Central Park. Using a mix of my film photos and what I had captured on my phone, I created a little digital scrapbook to document the trip.
Cosplaying as a city girl, I ventured out into NYC last spring and explored a place I had been yearning to revisit. Imagine me, a bright-eyed 13-year-old girl, prancing around NYC with my family. I loved it, I was beyond ecstatic to be there, but I didn't know then just how much I’d appreciate it now. I hadn’t had a real slice of New York pizza, I hadn’t apologized for taking far too long counting change in the MoMA souvenir shop, having forgotten that Americans have dollar bills. I hadn’t been awestruck by a Broadway production, I hadn’t walked the highline, I hadn’t overpaid for a pretty matcha with purple flower petals on the top.
And I hadn’t sat atop a rock in Central Park by Turtle Pond, overlooking Belvedere Castle, while listening to Wallowa Lake Monster by Sufjan Stevens as children laughed in the background.
I went to New York as part of a cultural tourism trip with my school. About a month-long course with a week spent in New York, focusing on trans-disciplinary education. The course wanted us to examine how people across the creative industries can work together towards a common goal. I think New York’s creative landscape is a perfect example of this. During my time there, I met director/screenwriter/producer Jeff L. Lieberman, attended lectures at The New School with TMU partners, and got a behind-the-scenes tour of The Metropolitan Opera House. It was a very affirming experience, hearing from a lot of successful Canadians, across disciplines like photography, writing, technical producing and more, who took a big risk and moved to New York in hopes of thriving in a very cutthroat atmosphere.
On my first night, I took a stroll through Central Park alone. I stumbled upon the Bethesda Fountain, where a busker was strumming an Elvis song on his guitar. A great introduction to the city. During my promenade, I foolishly neglected to check the time and realized the sky was slowly going dark. I’m sure if I had told my mom or my cousin, who lived in New York, what I was doing, they would’ve advised me to go back to the hotel. But I didn’t feel unsafe, and I wasn’t scared, really. It was just another city, and I wanted to feel like a local. But I doubt I was doing a very good job. I tried adjusting to the fast-paced environment (crossing the street without the walking man symbol), but I suppose some things cannot be taken out of the small-town girl in just a measly week.
As I blasted Lorde in my eardrums, I found my way towards an exit. I will say, there aren’t nearly enough lampposts in that park.
Skipping ahead, I wandered through two art galleries that were at the top of my bucket list.
First stop: The MoMA. They have a favourite painting of mine, Christina’s World by Andrew Wyeth. Admittedly, I discovered Christina’s World one random day as I scrolled through Pinterest. Stopping me in my tracks, it really captured the same aesthetic as Ethel Cain’s album Preacher’s Daughter. I had the chance of writing about it in an Existentialism in Art and Culture Course, so I really wanted to see it. However, I knew it wasn’t on display, but that didn’t sway my decision to head to the gallery anyway. I perused this famous art gallery and gawked at lovely pieces, Salvador Dalí’s The Little Theatre, and Claude Monet’s Water Lilies. I wish I had my sister around with me, with her encyclopedic knowledge of art, so she could tell me about the things I mistakenly overlooked.
I will note, I am greatly disappointed that now, just a year later, Christina’s World is available for viewing. I suppose that means I need another trip to New York.
Lastly, At The Metropolitan Museum of Art, I got to see the Costume Institute's Superfine exhibit and Madame X, two very surreal experiences. However, I was actually there for a very uncommon reason. I wanted to see another all-time favourite painting, The Death of Socrates by Jacques-Louis David. In grade 12, I was required to take a Philosophy course as part of my catholic school education, either that or another religion course. I know people weren’t thrilled about that, but I was, and I had an incredible teacher who had also taught me World Religions the year prior. A print of this painting was stapled to the bulletin board behind me, and when my teacher detailed the story of Socrates’ death, I was immediately captivated. And in the maze of The Met, I eventually found the Greek philosopher facing his hemlock demise. It means a lot to a girl who, at just 15, nearly had the same profound thought as Socrates, that the only thing we humans know is that we know nothing (and if I didn’t delete Snapchat, I would have the receipts to prove it).
Alas, pursuing a philosophy minor is really so I can look at paintings like this and know what it all means — that Socrates was likely having a gay love affair with Plato — allegedly.
Ultimately, my trip to New York proved to be very difficult to fit into a little collage made for Instagram, but I hope I did it justice. I can't write about every detail, but I believe I hit the best parts. I know I’ll be back, with my film cam, digi cam, DSLR, and phone, annoying the hell out of the native New Yorkers. But I hope they’re just as excited to wake up in that city as I was to be a very small blip in its tourist statistics.
