salvador dalí, only in new york

the museum of the city of new york has an exhibition currently showing called "only in new york" based on photographs from the LOOK magazine archives. as usual, the archival images of new york are really compelling. what is it about this city that holds people's fascination?

living in new york is not easy-at least not for everyone. for me it is hard as hell. despite all my education, training, experience in multiple fields, i struggle to make ends meet, working several part time jobs in order to live out the desire of achieving my dreams. yet with the stress is the high ups of pleasure, entertainment, culture at your fingertips like a drug.  sometimes it feels new york embodies the ultimate schizophrenic, bipolar personality. something that, admittedly, flirts with my own artistic self.

life between the boroughs is literally crossing borders of culture and language. the economic classes, despite living on top of one another in the 22 square miles of manhattan, subsist in alternate realities. money changes not just your daily schedule but your entire relationship with the city. but even within your own reality life is in constant flux here. ups and downs, light and dark, sunlit days and megawatt nights, subway tunnels and grand ballrooms, high art and xxx porn, bikram yoga and hangovers.

it is surreal.

one of my good friends from the past is in town. whenever i am confronted with the reality of life outside of new york against my own day to day hyperbole, i see a bit of the edges of our bubble ny life.

i appreciated the jolt of salvador dali this morning. i have always had a fondness for dali, picked up as a self possessed teenager with limited drawing skills, but a ridiculous imagination. some how he captures the edge of reason with an air of both impending mortality and hysterical giggle. today, i feel that struggle not only in my own work as an actress, but in my aesthetic of life.

and on that note, a few dali quotes for the day:

I am painting pictures which make me die for joy, I am creating with an absolute naturalness, without the slightest aesthetic concern, I am making things that inspire me with a profound emotion and I am trying to paint them honestly.

The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.

The desire to survive and the fear of death are artistic sentiments.