A violinist. A builder of computers. A renter in a building of owners who wonders why his neighbors don't hold each others' mail when it piles up. A irreverent smart-ass who still has no fear saying whatever he wants. He knows he can get away with it because it's always really, really funny.
A writer. A storyteller. A really hard worker. A seeking soul. An questioning mind. A commuter who knows where the R train goes and where it doesn't go, no matter what the signs say. An honest man. A rascal. A lover. A friend. And, after effortlessly sitting down at the old table the rest of us had sat at for 42 years, a member of the family.
But whether it was four decades ago or this evening...
...what brought us all together before - art, music, life - brings us all together again.
The never-ending curiosity of stories told in the strokes of a pen or a paintbrush.
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.