Even in the '70s, when only old men worked out on universal weights, and instead of treadmills, there was a running track above the basketball court, I hid out in gyms. A space where I could rest my expectations of myself and instead experience possibilities. Always a late night visit, just before closing, and when I was done, listening to the staff slowly shut down the place, like turning down the volume of a factory, the place getting quieter and quieter and quieter and soon I'd sit, finished, dressed, pondering on how I had gotten through the day and if I was ever going to get a chance to live my own life.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.