Your shopping cart is empty.
Apr 07, 2018
And the speed at which I walked was a meander compared to the warped speed and heartless determination of the commuters on their way to work or home or somewhere very important. All the things I heard about New Yorkers were being confirmed to me. I was a pariah, everyone glared at me because I was keeping them from going as fast as they wanted to go. No one was the least bit curious about who I was and why I was there.
What made me such an irritation was that not only did I have to wedge my way through the turnstile with my backpack and frame on my back making me wider and more cumbersome than usual, I was also carrying my guitar case, and had to maneuver myself through the crowded station with all my accoutrements. What a disaster. Once again, New York City was not measuring up to my expectation of it, the romantic view of myself was slowly dissolving into a disappointing reality.
Making my way to the surface streets from the bowels of the subway, barely squeaking through with my guitar case and backpack, it was pouring down rain. Someone had told me about a really great place to buy pizza on some important sounding corner around there in Manhattan, but was it really worth it?
I made my way to the Museum of Modern Art. That was all I could muster on this rainy day, heavily burdened as I was. But I was in New York City, and I was going to make the most of this opportunity.
I found myself standing in front of a painting I recognized.
I felt that this was very important, that I met her this way. She was asleep in the desert, her mandolin at her side. There was a lion hovering over her, eerily eyeing her in the stark moonlight. How colorful her gypsy garb, but her dark face was lost in the night, even the moon could not illuminate it, perhaps knowing she needed to be hidden from the stalking predator.
All these thoughts eluded me then, but looking back to that moment, I now recognize that girl. She is art imitating life, she was me. Her mandolin, my guitar, her desert bed, my vulnerability. The lion is poised to attack as he picked up on the scent of her womanliness contained in her heaving breast, deep in slumber, dreaming of love, the romance of adventure, riding across the country on a train, only to be met by disappointment.
What happens next in my story is that I slept all night in Grand Central Station, and just like the gypsy girl in the moonlit desert, I slept exposed in an awkward pose, guitar under my arm, backpack as my pillow, keeping one eye open to any stalking predator. When I awoke to the surging throb of civilization on their early morning missions, I was safe, I had survived the night. I then went to catch a train to Boston, trying to imagine that I was a normal commuter, to meet my Uncle Jack, who would provide me with a blue VW bug driveaway car for the last leg of my journey home, across the country to California.
But that's another story.
Go home, gypsy girl, and wait for the silence telling you something important about yourself, about how beautiful you really are. You need a soft bed for your head. You can play your mandolin in your own room, and sing along with your graceful fingers as they cascade around the strings, carving out a melody of desire, telling the story in moans and whispers, whichever you want.
You are worth the wait. You will be planted, you will bear fruit, you will become all the colors in your gypsy garb, and when the moon sets, and the sun rises on your new day, the lion will be far away, knowing he is barred from entering. You are safe here. Now rest your head on your soft pillow and dream of the days ahead, when you will be seen for who you really are, in all your beauty, your unique knowing, your adventurous heart, your melodious arpeggios, telling your story for all to hear.
The presence of this badge signifies that this business has officially registered with the Art Storefronts Organization and has an established track record of selling art.
It also means that buyers can trust that they are buying from a legitimate business. Art sellers that conduct fraudulent activity or that receive numerous complaints from buyers will have this badge revoked. If you would like to file a complaint about this seller, please do so here.
The Art Storefronts Organization has verified that this business has provided a returns & exchanges policy for all art purchases.
We do not accept returns. All sales are final. There is a 25% fee for any changes after an order is placed. Did your print arrive damaged. Please keep all packaging and contact Skyline Print for further instructions to replace your prints. https://www.skylineartprints.com/shipping-and-returns
This website provides a secure checkout with SSL encryption.
The Art Storefronts Organization has verified that this Art Seller has published information about the archival materials used to create their products in an effort to provide transparency to buyers.
Museum-quality canvas and fine-art archival prints and reproductions, printed on 100% acid free archival cotton papers - a true museum quality appearance. https://www.skylineartprints.com
This is only visible to you because you are logged in and are authorized to manage this website. This message is not visible to other website visitors.
Click on any Image to continue
The above preview shows how to use the live preview on this website. The image displayed is just an example, and is not available for sale.
This means you can use the camera on your phone or tablet and superimpose any piece of art onto a wall inside of your home or business.
To use this feature, Just look for the "Live Preview AR" button when viewing any piece of art on this website!
Below, select which favorite lists you would like to save this product into.
SAVE 20% ON YOUR FIRST ORDER!
Enter your email below and we'll email you a 20% OFF Coupon right now!