This time, I'll share about my private trip to New York, my tenth visit, which I made again at the end of last year.

I Love a Melancholy New York

My pilgrimage to New York for art has become a year-end tradition for me.
This year marks the seventh year of this journey. Like Tokyo, the city is changing at a dizzying pace. By riding the subway, which I don't do much in Tokyo, and swaying along with the local residents, I sometimes discover unexpected views and ideas that I wouldn't normally see.

I stayed at a B&B in the West Village run by a friend.
Incidentally, the New York chapter of the Hells Angels is next door. Tough-looking guys hanging around every day.

However, that hazy, somewhat desolate atmosphere of Brooklyn, and the Meatpacking District with its lingering scent of meat, are all things of the past... Now, everywhere has transformed into a stylish area. The precarious, slightly edgy, and melancholic atmosphere is what New York means to me! And I feel, with each visit, that the place that sparks a sense of unpredictable creation is steadily disappearing, which sometimes makes me feel melancholic...

In the twilight, the Meatpacking District, unlike its daytime bustle, takes on a somewhat melancholic air.
The Stars and Stripes fluttering in the wind also have a certain Robert Frank-esque artistic feel?

I realized that in the rapidly changing New York, I seem to be seeking out and finding remnants of its old charm. Especially this time, I was frankly a little disappointed by the extent of its transformation...

Certainly, I felt a little thrill when I found a used bookstore with past works by Jack Pearson, a thrift store with a vast collection of 1950s vintage eyeglass frames, and a nondescript pharmacy that carried toothpaste in classic packaging I'd found in London 20 years ago. However, it was extremely disappointing not to encounter anything that truly moved me, which was my main objective regarding art.

I visited the much-talked-about NEW MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART in SoHo, as well as galleries in DUMBO and the Chelsea gallery district, but nothing quite struck a chord...

The exterior of the NEW MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART.
I approached it with high expectations... but left after about 20 minutes.

As I wandered through New York, confronting various artworks, the words of artist Hiroshi Sugimoto, whom I met last year, kept echoing in my mind...

'Will today's conceptual art survive 800 years from now?'

To put it frankly, and perhaps controversially (this is my personal opinion), the artworks themselves that I saw this time had an intense aura of commercialism from the outset, and I felt a certain dissonance with the people surrounding them.

Now, both Japan and the world are experiencing a construction boom of museums and galleries – an oversupply of spaces. It's obvious that there's a severe shortage of artworks to fill these vast spaces. Consequently, artists, pressured to fill these spaces without room for deep contemplation, are churning out prolific works and making money in a short period. I strongly felt this vicious cycle in New York, the mecca of contemporary art.
And it's not just art, is it?

However, while galleries and museums may have been lacking, I was somewhat saved by encountering things in the city that, albeit few, drew me in.

What Changes, What Stays the Same

A stool made of metal and wood, and this object that appears to be a bicycle frame.
If my memory serves me correctly, it's been chained to the roadside in Chelsea for the past six years. And previously, the wheels were on top. Doesn't it look like a street art piece, reminiscent of Marcel Duchamp? Even with the wheels gone and weathered, its guerrilla-like playfulness, which makes viewers chuckle, and its enduring presence there, are so endearing that I couldn't help but take a photo.

It's quite weathered, but that gives it character.
I wondered if it would still be here next year, lost in thought. Near the Comme des Garçons shop in Chelsea.

Another was a pile of bicycle frames, their tires and handlebars brutally removed, chained and left to decay. As the birthplace of fixed-gear bikes, and as a rider myself (though perhaps only within a 3-kilometer radius of my home?), I was inexplicably drawn to this mournful, dinosaur-bone-like pile of wreckage, and took another photo.

It feels so melancholic, so full of pathos, this kind of object-like quality.
It's truly art, born of chance (for me, at least).

I usually don't carry a digital camera, but for OPENERS, I carried one every day. In the end, I only took about 10 photos... It was a rather anticlimactic New York trip.

From those precious shots, here's one last one. A photo taken on the subway of the Hirai couple, who started their new life in New York this year. Mr. Hirai intently studying a guidebook, and next to him, his wife Kei, yawning with complete ease. They create a relaxed atmosphere wherever they go, whatever the situation. Seeing them, I felt a warm sense of comfort. I hope they find their "something" in New York. Keep up the good work!

Mr. Hirai is a photographer, and Kei is a former subordinate from the LEON editorial department. We've worked together.
I took them around New York all day, and they seemed a little tired.

I read an interview in the newspaper with Ryuichi Sakamoto, the host of this site, who has based his creative activities in New York since the 90s. He said, 'New York today is too driven by money. I'm thinking of renting a new apartment in Berlin and moving my creative base there.'

For me, what matters is not where I go, but what I 'feel' there. Although this trip was not fruitful, it gave me much to think about and opportunities to 'feel' something. Perhaps New York is still a place worth revisiting.