Nostalgia- New York City

I’m not really a sentimental sort of person.  I’ve moved homes too many times to feel too attached.  This morning, though when I got off the R train at 8th street and found myself downtown, a wave of nostalgia washed over me.


Perhaps it’s because I’m traveling alone.  Last Spring, Bruno came along.


His company meant experiencing the city from his perspective, and not having a moment to reflect, or indulge, in what’s familiar about the Big Apple for me.

IMG_2493 (Mary Heilmann, Tehachapi I & II, 1979)

In my old hood, I paused to read the same advertisement I read, more than 20 years ago.


The only difference is that now in 2015, an English translation is included.

I was 23 years old when I moved to New York.  I had one singular dream, and I was as my husband describes me now, very unafraid.  There was a moment of fear, when money I had worked so hard for was consumed so quickly, because New York was, and still is, expensive.  I called my mother from the pay phone right around this subway stop.  My mother said- Go Live Your Dream.

At MOMA today, I found the painting that once comforted me.


I had to catch my breath, re-compose myself.  Nostalgia is too swift a tide, tugging.

I used to hide out at MOMA- rest here, in front of Matisse.  New York was hard, hard work.  There were days I honestly could not feel my legs.  And that sort of fatigue sometimes, made me, sad.


But always this painting- about dance, about life, about celebration and linked arms, gave me the courage to go on, go on.


I want to always be like my 23-year old self, so fearless and convinced.  If there is something I could say to her now, I would say, Tammy, you’re not going to believe, what happens next.



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