We packed our bags and got on a plane and here we are

Hey. Sorry it’s been a bit quiet here lately. I’m in New York. And it’s sunny and warm and lovely. We’re living in a small flat in Greenwhich Village and have spent our days walking around the city taking hundreds of photos for Gerry’s up-and-coming series of New York prints (more about that at a later stage). We’ve also spent quite a lot of money buying fancy cheese and nice beer.

We’ve sat in parks in the evening, surprised at how relaxed everyone is, how the edginess of London isn’t anywhere to be found, watching some university kids play american football with a group of homeless men, some hippies practising their drumming, kids running around a dried up fountain, people talking and laughing and hardly anyone drinking alcohol. We’ve gone to a private view in Brooklyn and Gerry has found a print he really, really loves. We’ve talked about art over brunch, read thick newspapers, sat on the fire-escape and looked out over the street below. I’ve had strange vivid dreams and I feel my life changing a little bit. This is what I hoped New York would be like. I’m trying to restrain myself from figuring out how to stay longer. New cities are dangerous with their undiscovered neighbourhoods, interesting people and rules yet to be figured out.

It’s been a strange week as well, with the tragedies in Boston and Texas. We’ve been following the news, some of the commentary has been insightful, some of it has been insane.