was appreciative of the sentiment, I still wasn’t sure how soon I would be sitting on that couch. Of course, based on their boldness with such activities, I wasn’t sure if many spots in the apartment would be untainted.
I worked on my sketches in my bedroom and used the school studio for my paintings. It was working out exactly like I had envisioned it. Occasionally the space was booked, but nothing I couldn’t work around. I was focusing on my work and successfully avoiding distractions. Now here I was, my first Saturday as an actual New York resident, and I was eager to experience everything. I had gotten up early and visited the farmer’s market in Chelsea.
After a quick trip home to unload my bags of goodies, I packed up my travel portfolio, excited for an afternoon of sketching in the park. I wasn’t sure if all the members of this amazing city appreciated what they had at their fingertips all of the time, but it was clear some did.
People were out in droves, enjoying the outdoor time with their pets and loved ones. When I used to see couples, huddled close together, it would bother me, but now I could actually look around and not burst into uncontrolled sobbing fits. That was probably one of the hardest feelings to wrestle with: I was leaving Ashton, yes, but to have him completely taken away from me—someone I loved no longer be part of the world I was walking around in—created an unexplainable emptiness.
Arriving at the 14th Street Park, I was pleased to find an area with grass, but also amazed at what little green space qualified as a park in this city. Opening the gate that surrounded the place, I struggled to balance the lunch I had packed, a blanket, and my art supplies as they overflowed in my arms. As I attempted to close the gate behind me to ensure no animals or children could slip out unnoticed, my sketchpad fell from my grasp, hitting the sidewalk and sending the loose pages scattering in the wind.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, dropping the remainder of my items and giving chase to the random sheets, blowing about. Stretching out one arm and a leg, I extended my toe as far as I could stretch it in order to press a sheet against the ground, engaging in the invisible game of solo twister. As quickly as possible, I gathered up the drawings, my cheeks burning form the sheer embarrassment of my clumsiness.
Frantically, I shoved the pages into the back of my sketchbook, looking around to ensure I hadn’t missed one. Confident I had them all I made my back to the gate where a man was standing, giving me a disapproving look for leaving it ajar, unaware of the efforts I had made to avoid that. Based on the tiny Chihuahua in his arms, his beloved companion had attempted an escape.
“I’m sorry, my arms were full, and I was trying to balance it all, but then my stuff fell, and the wind, well—it was a mess. Sorry.” I realized quickly my speedy apology sounded more like rambling. After the man with the ascot decided he had gotten his point across with his snotty look, he turned to head back into the park and engage in more play time with his tiny sidekick, who, based on the incessant barking, seemed to dislike me as much as his owner.
Using my foot to kick the rest of my belongings into the park I secured the gate behind me before scooping up my bag and blanket. The beautiful shady areas, underneath the few trees, were all taken, and I was left spreading out my blanket in an open area, the blazing sun directly overhead. I was determined not to let the start of this excursion deter me, certain I would have a good time if I simply resolved myself to the fact I would.
I sat my sketchpad down and placed my packed lunch on top to guarantee I didn’t have a repeat of the great tornado of art incident. I spread out my blanket, folding it in half so I wouldn’t take up more space than a single person should. On my knees, organizing my remaining belongings around myself—sweat was already causing my
I worked on my sketches in my bedroom and used the school studio for my paintings. It was working out exactly like I had envisioned it. Occasionally the space was booked, but nothing I couldn’t work around. I was focusing on my work and successfully avoiding distractions. Now here I was, my first Saturday as an actual New York resident, and I was eager to experience everything. I had gotten up early and visited the farmer’s market in Chelsea.
After a quick trip home to unload my bags of goodies, I packed up my travel portfolio, excited for an afternoon of sketching in the park. I wasn’t sure if all the members of this amazing city appreciated what they had at their fingertips all of the time, but it was clear some did.
People were out in droves, enjoying the outdoor time with their pets and loved ones. When I used to see couples, huddled close together, it would bother me, but now I could actually look around and not burst into uncontrolled sobbing fits. That was probably one of the hardest feelings to wrestle with: I was leaving Ashton, yes, but to have him completely taken away from me—someone I loved no longer be part of the world I was walking around in—created an unexplainable emptiness.
Arriving at the 14th Street Park, I was pleased to find an area with grass, but also amazed at what little green space qualified as a park in this city. Opening the gate that surrounded the place, I struggled to balance the lunch I had packed, a blanket, and my art supplies as they overflowed in my arms. As I attempted to close the gate behind me to ensure no animals or children could slip out unnoticed, my sketchpad fell from my grasp, hitting the sidewalk and sending the loose pages scattering in the wind.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, dropping the remainder of my items and giving chase to the random sheets, blowing about. Stretching out one arm and a leg, I extended my toe as far as I could stretch it in order to press a sheet against the ground, engaging in the invisible game of solo twister. As quickly as possible, I gathered up the drawings, my cheeks burning form the sheer embarrassment of my clumsiness.
Frantically, I shoved the pages into the back of my sketchbook, looking around to ensure I hadn’t missed one. Confident I had them all I made my back to the gate where a man was standing, giving me a disapproving look for leaving it ajar, unaware of the efforts I had made to avoid that. Based on the tiny Chihuahua in his arms, his beloved companion had attempted an escape.
“I’m sorry, my arms were full, and I was trying to balance it all, but then my stuff fell, and the wind, well—it was a mess. Sorry.” I realized quickly my speedy apology sounded more like rambling. After the man with the ascot decided he had gotten his point across with his snotty look, he turned to head back into the park and engage in more play time with his tiny sidekick, who, based on the incessant barking, seemed to dislike me as much as his owner.
Using my foot to kick the rest of my belongings into the park I secured the gate behind me before scooping up my bag and blanket. The beautiful shady areas, underneath the few trees, were all taken, and I was left spreading out my blanket in an open area, the blazing sun directly overhead. I was determined not to let the start of this excursion deter me, certain I would have a good time if I simply resolved myself to the fact I would.
I sat my sketchpad down and placed my packed lunch on top to guarantee I didn’t have a repeat of the great tornado of art incident. I spread out my blanket, folding it in half so I wouldn’t take up more space than a single person should. On my knees, organizing my remaining belongings around myself—sweat was already causing my
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