NAUDLINE PIERRE wears Balenciaga new wool jacket and shorts, polyamide and spandex boots
photography by Annie Powers
styling by Julie Ragolia
located in Powerhouse Arts, NYC
special thanks to Ellie Hayworth, Pamela Rapp, Sam Polcer, Phoenix Lindsey-Hall, Zoe Weingarten
text by Eric Shiner
SHIRIN NESHAT wears Comme des Garçons polyester sweater and skirt; Peter Do boots
Dear Artists of New York,
Very rarely, I imagine, do artists receive love letters out of the blue. Fan mail, perhaps; random odes in gallery registry books, periodically; DMs and emojis galore on the socials, most definitely. But a love letter? Nah, that’s too mushy, too emotional, too…too. I would also venture forth that is too long overdue, too necessary, and too late, decidedly, for some.
To those who have already left, nothing that I say here will lure you back with the enticement of greener pastures, an easier life, a superstar career. You’ve already packed your bags, your paints and your tools and headed upstate, or perhaps to Greece, or if you’re edgy, the Poconos or maybe even, gasp, Los Angeles. Wherever you’ve landed, you are basking in the triumph of having escaped, of finding more space for less money, of salvaging your sanity with forest views and the occasional bear lumbering through the back yard. You’ve achieved nirvana, I’d say, and your work is likely all the better for it.
But tucked in the not-too-distant recesses of your brain lurk memories of New York. Most of them are awful: rats scurrying by on the sidewalk late at night as you walk home from a friend’s party in Flatbush; the anger and incredulity of finding out that your landlord will increase your rent by 15% the following year; the uncaring rejection from a gallerist who’d promised you a show, but has now changed her mind. And yet, despite all of the nightmare experiences that you had while living in New York, you are trying to make sure that absolutely everyone around you is fully aware that you don’t miss it AT ALL. You don’t really. Or do you?
Now back to those of you that stayed. And yes, I will happily include those of you who left briefly, but have already returned, pride bruised and tail between legs. Heck, I’ll even include those of you that left, because you know it as well as I do: once you’ve lived in New York, it will always be in your heart, in your mind, in your soul. For all of you, then, at last, a love letter:
